#the moral is get a car to catch a cat

[rafesgfs]

just a friend

he’s just a friend … but.

He’s just a friend, but he sleeps over almost every night. Whether you’re begging him to stay the night because you need a pillow or angry with him for insulting your friends, he’s there on your bed, substituting as a body pillow. No matter what position you fall asleep in, you always wake up draped across his chest, face nuzzled against the crook of his neck.

He’s just a friend, but he spoils you constantly. He gifts you a diamond tennis bracelet when your cat dies, hoping to cheer you up. He buys a convertible when you finally get your driver’s license, grinning when he sees your gleeful face. He showers you with your favorite flowers when get into your dream college. He buys whatever you look at when you take him shopping, repaying him with a kiss on the cheek, and it’s enough for him.

He’s just a friend, but you’re his only soft spot. Everyone else walks on eggshells around him, worried about being in his warpath. Even his own family wasn’t an exception to his hostility, especially after he stopped trying to win his dad’s approval. He does everything you want him to because why wouldn’t he? Hold your bag? No problem. Pick you up from a party? His pleasure. Stop being a rich, egotistical asshole? For you and you only.

He’s just a friend, but he’s your date to every formal and informal function. It’s just easier that way, you both explain to your friends. Midsummer’s preparation goes smoother when you already have a date, someone who will dance with you without complaint, someone who’ll make fun of whatever headpiece Rose is wearing, and someone who’ll sneak out early to drive their dad’s boat to another island.

He’s just a friend, but he knows everything about you. He comes with you to the doctor, dentist, and gyno visits for moral support, sometimes going in the room when needed. You had brought up being codependent but he quickly waves it off. He’s stocked a drawer in his bathroom with tampons and pads, and a few bottles of Tylenol in case you get your period on the nights you stay at Tanneyhill. He carries a cooler filled with water in his car because he knows you hate the intense heat. He wears an extra pair of sunglasses tucked in his shirt for you when you both go to the beach because you always manage to forget yours.

He’s just a friend, but his family thinks you’re dating. Sarah keeps asking you if you are, hoping to drag the truth out. You tell your friend no, laughing at the thought. Ward sits him down to talk after catching him admiring you during breakfast. He stays silent. Rose questions you about what she should give Rafe for his birthday, thinking the same as her husband. You laugh again at the thought, not noticing the way his jaw clenches when you make fun of the idea.

He’s just a friend, but he hates it when guys flirt with you. You’re too pretty to be entertaining guys who are far below you. He strains a muscle from resisting the temptation to punch the man standing too close to you, bicep veins popping out from the resistance. He drags you away when the guy tries to cage you against the wall, making up an excuse, needing help with containing a drunk Wheezie.

He’s just a friend, but he can’t go a minute without thinking about you. When life separates you, despite Rafe’s plans to be at your side twenty-four-seven, he texts you. He ignores Topper and Kelce’s snickers as he pulls his phone out during a round of golf, taking a picture of the sunset to send to you. His friends’ teasing is worth it when you text him back, telling him how much you like his improving photography skills.

He’s just a friend, but he can’t fight the urge to attack the guy kissing you. He blacks out, rage consuming every cell in his body as he breaks the man’s nose and grasps his throat until his hands leave bruises. His brain doesn’t focus until you’re back in his line of sight, blue eyes meeting yours. Despite the man coughing on the ground, surrounded by concerned partygoers, you pay no attention to the injured, instead, pulling Rafe away before yelling at him in his room.

He’s just a friend, but he’s at your door with flowers, apologizing. He stammers out an apology because he was never good at them, and never had the maturity to admit he was wrong and beg for forgiveness. When you stare at him with a blank look, he gets desperate, taking your hands in his and slowly dropping to his knees, eyes pleading with you. He promises to never get that violent again, and you believe him because Rafe Cameron could never lie to you.

He’s just a friend, but he kisses your forehead every night after you fall asleep, waiting for you to doze off before doing so. He presses his lips to your head, warmth in his heart as it yearns for yours.

He’s just a friend, but he wants to be more.

[lasanya539]

tuck your head under the covers

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @remedyturtles)

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Prompt: Insomniac Leo - visiting various brothers when unable to sleep, or managing to fall asleep and his brothers doing anything to PRESERVE that sleep Word Count: 4635

Posted on AO3!

---

The first time it happens, Mikey doesn’t make a big deal out of it. 

It’s four in the morning on a Monday, and he’s thirsty, so he gets up from his train car and walks to the kitchen. Only to find Leo sitting at the table, with a lollipop in his mouth and a Jupiter Jim comic in his hands, legs rested on the surface, humming a tune under his breath.

“Leo?” Mikey mumbles drowsily, rubbing at his eyes. “Bro, what are you doing?”

Leo startles in surprise, and sits up, shooting him a guilty look. “Mikes!” He exclaims, voice pitched low. “Shit, I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no.” He flaps his hand, grabbing a glass. “I was thirsty, wanted water. Why are you awake right now?”

“Eh, you know, same old, same old. Couldn’t sleep.”

Mikey hums, taking a languid sip. His tired eyes catch a giant mug on the table, black as tar coffee peeking from the bottom, a pack of pink Starbursts with wrappers, and what looks like the crumbled remains of the pecan pie April’s mom had lovingly gifted them. If he was a little more awake, he’d be a lot more pissed about that, but for now he just sighs and stretches. 

“Did you at least try to sleep?” He asks, knowing the answer. 

“Yeah, of course.” Leo replies easily enough, turning away to flip another page. “But that’s the problem with insomnia, my friend, it kinda makes the ‘fall asleep’ thing not happen.”

Hm, not good enough. Mikey waddles over closer, physically pushing his brother’s head up so he can study him. Leo’s eyes are just barely bloodshot, cheeks hollower than he’d like to see on him.

“Can I help you?” He asks, bemused. 

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“Somewhere in the evening, I got a cat nap in. Don’t worry, Mikey, you’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep.” He retorts around a yawn. He plops down in a chair next to him, picking up an uneaten Starburst and chomping on it. Leo tsks at that, but he ignores him, folding his arms and resting his head comfortably. 

“You just brushed your teeth and are supposed to be asleep, why are you still here?”

“Moral support.” 

“Moral support from what? I – okay,” Leo stands up, all big brother voice. “C’mon, up.”

Mikey whines, not having enough energy to fight as Leo physically picks him up and throws him over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Grk–?” He chokes out in surprise, when the hell did he get so strong?

“Nope, don’t wanna hear it. This is what happens when you don’t listen to me.”

Leo plants him on the bathroom floor, and pointedly stares at him as Mikey brushes, having to actually count each stroke on the rows of teeth under the scrutiny instead of a quick wash. As soon as he rinses his mouth, Leo picks him up again.

“You realize I have feet.” He said, flopping his limbs in defeat and letting himself be carried lifelessly.

“You think I don’t know you were planning on dragging more ass by suggesting a movie night or something? I’ve taught you all my tricks, I know how your brain works.”

Mikey tries to keep in his smile at how well his brother can read him, and gasps dramatically. “Language! I’ll tell on you to Raphie.”

“If you make it to morning asleep like a good turtle, I’ll tell Raphie, how about that?”

Mikey gets tossed on his bed, the springs creaking under his weight. His favorite quilt is thrown over him, and his stuffed crocodile is tucked in between his shoulder and neck, just how he likes it. The warmth immediately makes him even drowsier, but he blinks up at Leo and invitingly opens his arms.

“Sleep?” He suggests, making the motion of scooting over to make room for him.

A few seconds, but Leo eventually sighs, far too susceptible to the prospect of little brother cuddles. He sticks his freezing feet into the tangle of limbs, making him hiss, but settles in comfortably on his pillow. Arms wind around him and squeeze affectionately.

“Better?” Mikey asks. 

Leo hums on top of his head. “Yep, thanks Angelo. You can pass out now.”

It doesn’t take very long for him to do so. Unfortunately for him, when he does wake up to his 9 A.M. alarm, the side of the bed is cold and the corner of the pillow undented. Outside, he sees Leo casually do the crossword puzzle with Dad with a newly filled mug of coffee in his hand, looking like sleep never graced him at all. Mikey sighs, but sets to making breakfast.

–

The second time it happens, Donnie is pulled out of his whirlwind of thoughts by a single hand on his shoulder. 

Naturally, he jumps, not having expected that contact when he’s working in his lab alone, smack-dab in the middle of the night. He’s too scientific and logic-driven to ever assume the existence of ghosts (which are different from spirits, thank you very much Michael), but the sudden touch makes him doubt that fact for a second.

Leo backs up with his hands up apologetically, and Donnie realizes with some amount of mortification he actually hissed at him. The mortification lasts for all of two seconds before he scowls at his twin with all the irritation in the world as he turns off his loud music. 

“What the hell do you want?” He groans at Leo, rubbing his sore eyes. 

“Just checking in.” Leo says, sounding normal enough, though Donnie picks up a strange note in his voice. He peeks at him between his fingers and catches his eyes look up from his torso just in time.

Looking down, he sees his other hand gripped into a fist, sharp claws extended, held right to the middle of his chest. Shit, he was scratching at his plastron again, the dull ache finally registering in his brain. 

It’s a nasty habit he’s had since he was very young, all the complicated feelings of the big, bad world too much for him to handle. His family has been trying for years to help him work through his emotions instead of immediately resorting to this, but apparently all the effort goes to shit the second it gets to debugging, the devil’s favorite method of torture. Donnie turns away, embarrassed but not willing to admit it. 

Leo thankfully doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and flops onto the back of his chair, resting his head at the top. “What are you working on?”

“Setting up face identification in the scanners in the Hidden City.” Donnie replies tiredly. “The mystic orbs they use as cameras are advanced enough to pick up magical signatures, but somehow not enough to track facial features of their various species of mutants and Yōkai. So, I’m doing it for them.”

Leo snorts. “Wow, how altruistic of you.” He leans in further, presumably to try to read the strange symbols that make up their programming language, before Donnie swats at his face. 

“Stop, you’re ruining my concentration.” 

“Shut up.” He swats back. Annoying

Donnie’s eyes flick over to the corner of the monitor, looking at the time. Wonderful, it’s another night of no sleep for his insomniac twin brother. 

He sighs. “I’m assuming getting bored to death from Papa’s speech on the various opera singers of the 20th century somehow didn’t lure you to sleep?”

“What, are you telling me you don’t care about the 1950s Maria Callas and Renata Tebaldi drama about their different vocal techniques? It’s the hottest tea from that side of the century, Don-Don, I’m disappointed in you.” He dodges the swat from him this time.

Donnie turns up to look at him, noticing his brother’s heavy eyelids blinking over his sharp eyes, far too awake for someone who hasn’t slept in Gaga knows how long. He’s wearing his soft blue hoodie, the big one that he makes sure is always washed with the rose scent beads for the comforting smell. 

“Is there anything specific that is keeping you up?” He asks, worried. 

“Nah, not really. Unless you count my dumb brain as a whole, nope.”

“Don’t call yourself dumb.” Donnie says, practiced. He stands up and stretches, hearing some impressive cracks from his neck that Leo whistles at.

“Is there anything I can say that will make you try to sleep again?” 

“Probably not, if I’m being honest.”

“Okay, then.” He doesn’t argue. If there’s one thing he knows about his twin is that badgering him about his sleep intake, no matter how worrying, is the best way to get completely shut out by him. And as annoying as he finds Leo on a day-to-day basis, he’s rather fond of the time he gets to spend with him in the middle of the night when it's just the two of them, the disaster twins. “Do you wanna play some Mario Kart instead?”

Leo brightens up. “Snacks?”

“Of course we’ll have snacks. I may be crazy, but I’m not a heathen.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, you’re a civilized demon-possessed genius, right?”

“Exactly right, my dear brother.”

The twins grab enough popcorn and candy from the pantry to send a tiny child into a coma, but as soon as Leo’s hand moves to the coffee machine, Donnie whacks it with a box of Nerds. “Dude, ow?”

“No more caffeine.” He says sternly.

“Oho, that is rich coming from you—”

“Yeah, well, deal with it. Otherwise I’m switching the kitchen permanently to decaf and making myself a secret password protected machine with the good coffee, the extra dark-roasted one.” That shuts Leo up fast. 

They play and bicker loudly in the soundproof lab, up until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, Donnie falls asleep with the controller in his hand, only to wake up in the afternoon and find himself resting on the cot with his favorite blanket, battle shell and mask off. His sleepless twin nowhere to be found. 

–

The third time it happens, Raph is having a nightmare about the Krang. 

It’s par for the course, really. In the morning, he happens to overhear one of Mikey’s favorite YouTubers talk about their grief over their late friend who was lost to the bubblegum aliens, so he spends the most of the day in a haze, keeping to himself in the dojo, training, and eating his dinner alone while reading news articles about the reconstruction in New York to repair the damage from their fight. 

One trigger after another. So it’s no surprise that his dreams are filled with sick pink flesh and yellow eyes, tentacles worming over his body, digging into his brain, sadistic voices of the hive mind overpowering his screams, the feel of a lithe figure in his clutch, nails scratching onto his hand as he tightens his grip on his victim, his brother—

The part that’s surprising, however, is the other presence in his room, comforting, safe. Soft words spoken over his whimpers, warm hands smoothing over his shell as he regains consciousness. “Deep breaths, big bro, you’re okay, you’re safe, I promise you. Try to breathe, please.”

He breathes, turning away from the damp pillow, lifting his head up by his elbows to blink the sleep away. Blood pools back into his body, bones creaking in protest. All four limbs, whole, green, normal. 

Raph takes in one deep breath, and lets it out with meditative precision. His vision finally clears. Leo is sitting on the corner of his bed, hands anxiously rubbing together but giving him space to get up on his own. Worried eyes ticking over his face before latching onto his, relieved. 

“Hiya, Raphie.” He says with remarkable poise. “Okay?”

Raph slowly scoots up to sit properly, picking up one of his stuffed bears and hugging him. Embarrassment keeps him from meeting Leo’s eyes, burying his face in the soft fake fur. “Mhm.”

A hand gently strokes his leg, a comforting, involuntary motion. “Long day?”

“...You could say that.” He agrees. He clears his throat. “What time is it?”

“Just after 2.” Leo squeezes his knee. “Do you want me to wake Dad?”

Raph scoffs. “What is Dad going to do in the middle of the night? Let him sleep.” 

“Okay, how about the other guys? We could turtle pile.”

He shakes his head before Leo finishes. “No, no, it’s not important, Leo. Let them all sleep.”

“It is important.” He replies sharply, and Raph blinks up at him. Leo’s sporting his own version of a Raph Chasm, eye-ridges pulled together in a gut-wrenching frown, lips turned down. “You are important.”

A lump rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. He’s had enough of Leo stubbornly insisting that he stop dismissing his own emotions over the years, so he says nothing, instead lifting up an arm. Leo immediately snuggles in next to him, shell fitting perfectly under his arm. 

The tension falls off his frame as his little brother wiggles to get comfortable. Raph sighs, the dregs of his nightmare-fueled dread seeping away with Leo right next to him, the scent of roses in his nose. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He offers. 

“Pizza Supreme, no.” Raph snorts, making Leo huff. 

“Okay.” He agrees easily. Then, “Oh, I almost forgot!”

From the pocket of his hoodie he pulls out his phone, tapping at it for a couple of seconds before holding out the camera. “Snap streak.”

Raph snorts again but obliges his younger brother, putting on some version of a smile as he takes the picture, adding a bunch of unicorn emojis in the corner before showing it to him for approval. 

He takes the phone, but immediately frowns, zooming in to study Leo’s face. Even though he’s grinning, the exhaustion is practically radiating off him. The red stripes under his eyes are marred with purple bags, eyes squinting with the effort of staying up. He looks like he’s about to pass out almost any second.

Raph sends off the streak, and starts arranging the pillows and stuffed animals around him to make space for two sleeping turtles. He pulls his blanket over Leo’s head, which he, of course, shoves back. “What are you doing?”

“Tucking you in.” He informs him, dragging him down. “We’re going to sleep for a very long time.”

“Sure, Raphie, whatever you say.” Leo says too easily, and he immediately calls bullshit. 

“No, we’re really going to sleep. No more pretending.” He glares at him with one eye open. “Promise?”

Leo hesitates, but then forcibly relaxes himself, nuzzling closer. “I’ll try, promise.”

As good as he’s going to get, Raph thinks. He squeezes his brother tight enough for him to wheeze and laugh, wishing him goodnight and eventually falling asleep, nightmares far away. When he wakes up, Leo is on the floor next to the bed, face illuminated by the glow of his phone screen, playing a game of chess. The eye bags seem heavier than ever. 

–

The fourth time it happens, April is trying to catch up on physics homework. 

It’s actually ridiculous how she, a journalism major, has to study physics at all, even as a gen-ed. She’s a sophomore now, for god’s sake, she’s supposed to be interning at CNN and MSNBC, or at least spearheading some kind of journaling initiative with a bunch of her classmates. But no, Eastlaird is forcing her to calculate angular momentum and torque for a homework that is apparently not due on Monday, but in the morning on Friday, which is tomorrow. Or more accurately, today, she thinks, warily eyeing the clock on the table that reads 3:35 A.M.

She has maybe one more problem left before she can finally get some sleep, and hopefully get to stay over at the lair for the weekend. She hasn’t seen her boys and her Pops in over a month, and the joy of destroying Donnie in the Just Dance competition of their lives is the only motivation getting her through this. 

April sighs and stretches, cracking her back, before she hears a notification from her phone. Picking it up she sees, ‘nardo💙 sent an Instagram reel.’

She sits up in surprise. Why the hell is this idiot awake? And why is he sending her Instagram reels of all things?

‘awake???’ she texts back, worried. ‘why??’

Seen immediately, typing. ‘YOU awake why??’

‘homework’

‘yuck get away from me’

April picks at her bottom lip, watching the clock on her desk tick. If Leo’s awake at four in the morning, he hasn’t slept all night. She considers texting one of her other brothers to force him to sleep, but hopefully they would all be in bed by now, Donnie included. 

‘how much coffee did you have in the evening’

‘...’

‘Leo.’

‘okok four cups’

‘nardo you gotta be kidding me’. April rubs at her face, sighing. Leo knows better than to lie to his big sister, so he’s definitely telling her the truth, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Four whole cups of coffee?

‘did you try melatonin? helps me sleep a lot better nowadays’

‘apes do u even know me, obv melatonin doesn’t work on us’

‘damn’ 

‘ur taking it tho?? don’t take too much, not good for u’

‘yeah dum-dum, no sleep is not good for YOU have you thought about that?’

No response. Two minutes later, a funny reel. 

She huffs frustratedly, thinking, before finally deciding to call him on FaceTime, setting the phone against a textbook.

The face that greets her is so fucking worrying that April gapes, not responding to Leo’s raspy greeting. His eyes are completely bloodshot, face gaunt, red stripes practically completely purple now. 

“You look like shit.” She says, uncharacteristically blunt. Maybe the lack of sleep and physics is getting to her. How the hell does Donnie do this all the time?

Leo scowls, putting the phone down so all she sees is the dark ceiling of the kitchen. “If you just called me to insult me, I’m hanging up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She raises a hand in surrender, pulling her notebook closer and picking up her pencil. “Science is turning my brain to soup, I lost my speaking filter. You’re still very pretty.”

A second, and Leo’s face comes back into view. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” She nods, smiling as Leo grins, as brightly as he can with fatigue coming off him in waves. “What are you up to?”

“This guy on YouTube is reviewing the older JJ movies, it’s a four hour long video. And I have Sour Patch Kids, so I’m happy.”

April bites back the hundreds of worried comments she comes up with, deciding to think a little more tactically. She doesn’t want to piss him off again, so telling him to sleep or pointing out his eye-bags is off the table. 

“You wanna hear about my homework? It’s so difficult and horrible, I hate it.”

“I respect your degree, I do, Apes, but how hard can journalism homework even be?”

“It’s physics, man, that’s the thing. I’m going to jump out of my window.” She groans, equations swimming behind her eyelids. “I’m like ninety percent sure if I tried explaining this to you I could bore you to sleep.”

Leo chuckles, but there’s something tired and morose in it. “I wouldn’t take that bet.”

She blinks at the bitter tone of his voice, but doesn’t call him out on it. There’s a lost look in his eyes as he stares off to the side, chewing slowly on his candy. Her big sister instinct rears its head immediately at that.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” April assures him, deciding fuck it, opening up Chegg to find the answer to this last question so she can finish this as fast as possible. “I’ll be done in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you tell me what this random guy has to say about Pluto Vacation IV, and I’ll tell you how valid that is.”

By the time the sun rises, and Leo hangs up to go help Mikey make breakfast, April has turned in not only physics, but has finished all of the rest of her homework. She starts to pack, a plan ready in her mind.

–

They don’t let it happen a fifth time. 

Leo sighs, letting his head fall onto his bed, hiding his eyes from the fairy lights in his room. Normally, they look so pretty and aesthetic, but ever since this new bout of insomnia hit him, a lot of things have been bothering him more than usual. And he’s currently too exhausted to get up and turn it off on his own. 

He groans, reaching for his phone, because what else is he going to do? His brain is too tired for anything other than mindless scrolling, and if Raph asks him to train today he might just burst into tears. The time reads 12 P.M., a very productive time of day for the majority of planet Earth. The minority includes him apparently, as he pulls up one of his old blankets over his head, and settles in for an afternoon of TikTok.

The door to his train car opens quietly. Leo blinks, emerging from his nest to look up. 

Mikey stands at the doorway, sunshine smile on display. He sees his eyes scan his face, and the sunshine dims a bit, but he still says excitedly, “Hi, Lee! April just got back, we’re doing a sleepover!”

“Oh – oh yay!” His delayed response throws his act off a little. Don’t get him wrong, he is so happy his sister is back, it’s just he’d really rather not do a sleepover tonight where he has to spend another eight hours pretending to be asleep next to his peacefully resting siblings. “That’s great, I’ll be right there.”

Mikey nods but doesn’t leave, so Leo has to go through the excruciating process of forcing himself up and out of the room with a performative smile painted on his face. Mikey hooks his elbow with his, walking in step with him to the living room. 

He finds Raph and April talking, a bag carelessly dropped next to her feet. She catches sight of him and grins immediately, raising her arms. Leo can see the conscious effort it takes for her to not linger on his eye bags, he’s been needing a lot of that too lately.

“Hi, Apes.” He mumbles into her shoulder as she tightly squeezes him.

“Hi, Leo.” She replies warmly. “Missed you so much.”

A large hand rests on his shell, and he looks up to see Raph smile down at him. “Wanna join in on the hug fest, Raphie?”

“Ha, don’t worry, there’s gonna be plenty to go around in the sleepover soon.” He chuckles. 

“Soon?” Leo asks, and Raph points a thumb to the entrance. Leo turns around to see Donnie and Mikey walk in with a bunch of blankets and pillows in their arms. One of the spider limbs in Donnie’s battle shell is holding Raph’s largest teddy bear, the other holding his blue hoodie he couldn’t find in the morning. 

“We’re doing a sleepover now? It’s literally noon.”

“We’ve hit critical condition.” Donnie informs him primly, dropping the blankets in the middle of the floor. “You’ve been awake for too long.”

His mood sours immediately. He knows, okay? He’s aware that not sleeping for days at a time isn’t healthy, and he knows he looks like shit, but people don’t have to keep commenting on it. 

“Don’t pout.” Mikey wheedles into his side, giving him another squeeze. “We’re gonna help, I promise.”

“Right.” Leo says, disbelief clear in his voice, before something rose-scented smacks him in the face. “Hey!”

“You’re welcome.” Donnie responds, starting to move the furniture to make enough room for the blanket fort. “Your favorite hoodie, freshly washed with softener and your scent beads.”

Leo pulls it over his head, the familiar comforting smell easing some of his tension, the soft texture making him feel like he’s being swallowed whole. “Thanks.” He says quietly, hoping they can’t hear the croak in his voice. 

Donnie pauses in his ministrations for a millisecond before getting back to work with more gusto, him and Mikey setting up an impressive fort that could withstand five siblings. While Leo watches them, Raph taps him on his shoulder, and he’s offered a cup of freshly made chamomile and lavender tea, steam curling on top. The thoughtfulness almost makes him cry as he gives him a wobbly smile in return, taking a sip. It’s the perfect temperature, splash of milk and sweetened with honey, just how he likes it. 

He feels April at his back, gently untying the knot of his mask, carefully folding it and walking to his room to put it away. She comes back with his fuzzy Christmas socks.

“You guys.” Leo tries, feeling emotionally wrung out and sore. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up.” Three turtles reply in unison, breaking out into chuckles. Raph guides him to the center of the fort, making him sit down and rest on the biggest pillow. He finishes his tea as Mikey puts the teddy bear under his other arm and April puts the socks on him, brain too fuzzy to protest. 

He jolts out of his fog when he feels something pressing down on him. He looks up to see Donnie tuck him in under his purple weighted blanket, the one he uses on his bad days. He’s awash with the clean scent of roses, as tears fill up in Leo’s eyes unbidden. He tries to blink them back. “Don…”

“Hush.” Donnie replies, quietly, and Leo sees the lights in the room have been dimmed, his other siblings wearing their pajamas and getting ready to pile. “Stop using your brain. It’s sleeping time now.”

“Wow, I never thought there’d be a day when Hamato Donatello would actually tell me to ‘stop using my brain’.” He croaks out.

Leo prepares for the obligatory joke about him not having a brain in the first place, but Donnie just gives him an amused look in return, speaking softly but matter-of-factly, “Your brain is hurting my twin. So stop using it.”

A ball of emotion lodges in his throat that keeps him from speaking out loud, so he just nods. He gets a head pat for his troubles that he’s too emotional to block away.

Eventually, Donnie lies down next to him, their arms pressed together. Mikey nestles into a ball on his other side, snuggling close. Raph settles behind their heads, turning to his side and curling around them all protectively. April throws her feet over their legs, playfully kicking him in the shin. 

Leo chokes on a laugh, tears soundlessly rolling onto the pillow. This has been one of the longest weeks of his life, hours in the middle of the night spent staring mindlessly at the ceiling, into the middle distance, into the New York skyline. The darkness seeping into his body, harsh, cold. A high pitched hum in his ears, heaviness in his eyes.

Right now though, he feels warm and loved and exhausted beyond belief. But not alone. Never alone. 

“Thanks, guys.” He finally whispers. 

Donnie gently bonks his head with his own, affection clear in the action. Mikey presses a loud kiss onto his bicep. “You’re welcome, big bro.”

Raph strokes his head. “Sleep, Leo.”

“We love you, Nardo.” April says, nudging his foot. “We got you.”

Leo smiles. He trusts them, they got him. He closes his eyes and pulls on his night mask. The demons of the night don’t stand a chance against the warm glow of his family. He finally falls asleep. 

[satuguro]

*ೃ࿐TO FAULT A NET

[ ACT I: KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE ]

spiderman! ethan landry x black cat! reader

#SYNOPSIS— you stumble across a murder, ethan has daddy issues, you think spider-man's an easy fight, and spider-man makes a deal with you.

#CONTAINS— enemies to lovers, slowburn, antihero&vigilante reader, familial issues, gore, blood, murder, death, sexual/suggestive content (in this part & some other parts), reader is overly flirtatious

#AUTHORSNOTE— is anyone really surprised that i started a new series? no, but i will warn you rn that this series won't be incredibly accurate to marvel and scream (obviously), so if that bothers you, don't read!

your feet moved quickly as you ran from rooftop to rooftop, the sound of distant sirens moving father and farther away from you was like music to your ears. it would've calmed you down— maybe even slowed your running —if it weren't for the fact that you had a shadow. a comically dressed shadow in red and blue.

the continuous sounds of webs being shot at you was the only thing keeping you running towards nothing. running away from the metropolitan museum (which you didn't even steal from, by the way) with some insect man close to your feet.

"hey, wait! lady, stop!"

and he wouldn't shut up. constantly calling at you, trying to catch your attention like some fanatic. it would've almost been cute if you weren't avoiding capture.

you didn't even turn back to look at him, forcing your body to move faster and faster until your momentum was stopped by a web hitting your ankle. you growled in annoyance, reaching down with your unsheathed claws to cut yourself free from the webbing, until you were harshly pulled onto a roof by the masked hero himself.

you laid on the rooftop, staring up at new york's very own spider-man (who was never a problem until a couple months ago, when he seemingly appeared out of nowehere). covering your obvious discontent, you smiled a malicious smile. "hi, spider," you said, before kicking his knee back and forcing him to fall. his groan of pain met your ears as you threw a punch at his face, one he quickly dodged.

"are you another hero?" he asked between kicks and punches, completely ignoring the fact that you were both in a fight. it didn't seem like much of a problem for him, as he was far too focused at multitasking between asking you personal questions and dodging your attacks. "i take that questions back— if you were, you wouldn't be attacking me right now," another dodge, "but you brought that painting back to the museum! but you also stole it so it's a bit of a question of morality, so i think i have to turn you in—"

you grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back, your other hand coming up to wrap around his neck. your sharp claws dug into his neck, making him hiss in pain as you leant in close to his ear. "do you really think you can turn me in?" your hand let go of his neck but remained close to his face, your pointer finger coming to play with the edge of his mask. you pulled it up, only making it halfway up his face, before he broke free from your grasp.

but once he turned around, you were already gone.

some say that when your father died, the rich people of new york were finally able to breathe. finally, their endless valuables were finally safe, their priceless collections of stolen art, their rows of cars enough to pay any college kid's tuition, and their bank accounts were now all free from his iron grasp. gone was the man who had taken what he wanted and got it, gone was any trace of his legacy or his family; walter hardy was dead.

he always claimed that of all the valuables in his hands had taken, you were his most prized possession. the one person he would lay down his life for, and to have him gone.. it was all too unfair. all too wrong for him to die trying to get back to his daughter.

so that was why you had taken his place. black cat no longer became something policemen and journalists used to reference your father. that title was something you chose to share with him, because as policemen talked over their little radios about the burglary on west 81st street, you were already miles away, listening to their pathetic voices over the radio.

it was halloween in new york, and while many homeowners chose to stay home and tend to their candy duty, others were off partying at their friends' houses, oblivious to the fact that you had already deactivated the alarm to their home. three houses in the span of one night; you were sure that your greed would be your downfall one day.

but as you raised your hand up to the moon, watching how the rays of light danced along your wrist, you knew in your heart that your greed ran deeper than simple wants. you had your reasons.

a blood curdling scream met your ears, making you hurriedly shove the jewels into a pack and unsheathe your claws, ready to attack. walked near the edge of the building, the squelching sound of blood reached your ears, making you all the more on edge as you peered off the side just in time to watch a man shove a mask (the same mask from that one movie, stab) into his bag and turn a corner.

your eyes focused on the woman in yellow, dead and seated against the wall with blood pouring from her chest like a fountain. not a sound was made as you climbed down the wall and landed on your feet, cautious as you stepped closer to the unresponsive body.

"fuckin' asshole," you murmured as you observed the body, eyebrows furrowing. the woman, blonde and pretty, looked familiar to you. leaning down to take a closer look at her face (and careful not to step in the growing pool of blood around her), your eyes widened when you fully took in your features.

that was a film professor at your college.

wordlessly, you pulled out your phone and called a number you've never typed in your life.

"manhattan police department," the policeman stated.

"laura crane was just murdered in front of a manhattan bar." and with a click, you hung up.

the sound of that familiar thwip and landing feet made detective bailey roll his eyes in annoyance. just when they had gotten the reporters and journalists in control— a certain masked individual just had to make an appearance. "you aren't supposed to be here," he said in annoyance, turning to look at the masked hero.

"don't you know my m.o by now? like, isn't that your job?" spider-man asked with a cock of his head, obviously enjoying his teasing. "but you can't really.. not allow me to be here. i'm here to help, after all."

"i'm not letting some kid help," detective bailey practically growled, but the hero was already pushing past him to look at the body.

from beneath the mask, ethan hid his shock at the sight of one of his college's professors, dead and staring blankly into empty space. as if constantly being around his estranged his father wasn't enough; now a professor from his college was dead.

"what? bug man finally ran out of things to say?" detective bailey asked snarkily, making ethan snap out of his stupor.

"no, da— detective," ethan said in a faux matter-of-fact voice, squatting down to look closer at the dead body. he almost cringed at the slip up he just made; if only his father knew. "can't a man observe in silence?"

it wasn't like ethan had planned his superhero life out. he had moved to new york right after his brother's death for college, and being desperate to leave his brother's horrible crimes behind, he changed his last name. calls to his dad and his sister became texts. visits became nonexistent. even after he was bitten and took on the superhero roll he was desperate to move on, and right when he believed he finally was, his dad and sister moved to new york.

ethan didn't tell any of his friends that he was related to richie, nor did he tell them that he was the detective's kid. all they knew was that quinn was his sister, and while it hurt to pretend as though richie never existed, it was for the best. he left that life behind him, and quinn seemed to respect that at least.

"how'd you find her?" ethan asked a nearby cop.

"anonymous tip around the time she was murdered."

his eyes took in the gruesome scene in front of him. his eyes drifted to professor crane's blank face, before following the splashes of blood on the brick behind her. his eyes squinted as he continued to look up the wall, the dots connecting when he saw familiar claw marks above the body. they were faint, so faint, that if ethan hadn't seen them before, then he was sure that the police wouldn't have.

he raised his hand, and with another thwip of his webs, he was gone.

ethan was searching for any sign of you. a part of him hoped that you weren't within the confines of your home hiding behind your civilian name. there was a possibility that you helped kill the professor. maybe you were an accomplice. regardless of your role in it all, ethan was sure that you had seen something and chose to keep it to yourself. you had your own reasons for doing so; you believed you were far more clever than anyone. maybe you were.

the scratches on the walls were something you left behind. ethan knew that; he had literally been choked by those claws of yours when he first took up his job as a hero. he didn't want to believe that you you were quicker than him, but the fact that you had gotten away.. to say that he wasn't annoyed by it would be a lie.

he later learned who you were because of his father during one of their awkward dinners. the black cat.

he hadn't invited quinn this time. it was as though he was trying to strictly have some father-son time with ethan; some pathetic attempt at reconnecting, he assumed. if reconnecting meant taking him out to a thai restaurant and only talking about his job or richie and never asking ethan anything beyond the, "how's college?" question.

but something within his father's ramble about work had caught ethan's attention. home burglaries were a huge problem, that much ethan knew, but this had been the first time he ever heard his father talk about it; much less talk about who he suspects had done it.

"they call her black cat. witnesses have only ever seen enough of her to know she's a lady—"

"who do you think she is?" ethan asked, unable to stop himself as he leaned forward in his chair. so that was who he caught running along the roofs of new york. the one person who had gotten away from him.

"some fan of the original black cat, walter hardy. either that," his father put a forkful of pad thai in his mouth, chewing and swallowing, "or his daughter. there's no record of them, though."

"do you think they're the ones who stole from all those houses?"

"that's all i'm saying about the subject, ethan," his father said sternly, looking him up and down suspiciously. "just eat your food."

it didn't take much for you to catch yourself up on the stab murders. you had only heard a little bit about it; not because you lived under a rock, but because you didn't care. not until now, at least.

tara and sam carpenter. tara was in your psych class at blackmore university; you had talked to her enough times that she was probably the closest person you had to a 'friend,' as off as it sounded. you had a similar humor and she wasn't the type to pry over your past (which made sense now, after you scrolled mindlessly through your phone to catch up on the continuous murders).

that was why you were watching their apartment building from the building right in front of it. you had only seen them through their window, but at least you knew they were alive. on any other day you would've called anyone in your position creepy, but you considered this to be lawful stalking.

truthfully, you weren't sure why you were doing this. maybe you had gotten soft ever since you started college. maybe you were bored.

you toyed with a golden locket you had stolen that night, eyes set on their forms moving in and out of sight. you were so focused on them, something akin to worry thrumming through your veins until a web hit your back and dragged you away from the edge of the building. your back scratched across the roof floor, and as you looked up, you saw the familiar red and blue suit you had only ever seen from afar.

“hi, kitty,” spider-man said, almost smiling.

you practically hissed at the sight of him, your hands making quick work of unsheathing your claws as you narrowly dodged another web. you moved quickly and kicked him in the face, letting him hit the ground for just a second before you were straddling, legs tight around him as you grabbed his hands and held it above him. your claws came close to his wrists, the shining metal threatening to break and hurt his web makers.

"oh, spider. i didn't know you liked me enough to stalk me." you smiled wickedly, pressing the metal closer to his wrists. you could feel something bulky underneath his suit, and your malicious grin only grew as you pressed harder against it.

"i don't like you," the super hero said annoyedly, making you scoff in amusement.

"are you sure?" you leaned closer to him, practically touching your nose against his mask. "then why aren't you fighting back right now?" you sent him one last grin before your hand left his wrists. you stood up, not even bothering to offer him a hand as you let your claws come out fully, one of your hands reaching for your gun. "what do you want?"

"i needed to ask you questions about the murder of laura crane," spider-man grumbled, standing up and crossing his arms at you. he looked at the apartment building before glancing back at you, the eyes of his mask narrowing. "why're you watching tara and sam's apartment?"

"why do you know that tara and sam live there?" you fired back, raising a brow. it was moments like these where you were happy you had a mask that at least covered half your face; the more you heard the spider-boy speak, the more you noticed how young his voice sounded. what if he went to your college? what if he was friends with them?

"because based on their history, they're vulnerable to attacks. i know that— being the friendly neighborhood spiderman ‘n all," he said, and you swore he rolled his eyes. "but it doesn't make sense for a criminal like you—"

"that's unnecessarily rude."

"to be watching them.” he looked you up and down, eyes seemingly lingering on your grappling hook and pack of god knows what that were strapped to your sides. the hero’s head then snapped up to look at you. “did you kill her? laura crane?” even he seemed unsure by his own question, the uncertainty in his tone making you shrug nonchalantly.

"do you think i did?" you asked, "you seem unsure yourself."

a pause. "no, i don't. but you know something, and you need to tell me what it is."

you glanced at the apartment building before looking down at your nails, absentmindedly observing them. "what's in it for me?" you asked, not even looking up at new york's favorite hero.

"i don't bring you to the police."

"as if you could do that before," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. you heard him exhale slowly, a smirk appearing on your face at the sound. you were getting to him; with every snarky comment, you pissed him off more and more. and the sadistic part of you loved it. "don't you remember? you couldn't even catch me the first time. sad, isn't it?"

"i'm not gonna make that same mistake again," he said firmly, walking closer to you. stiffly, he brought his gloved hand out. "you tell me what you know and you help me—"

"well, don't word it like that," you muttered. "i'm only telling you information, spider. i'm not being your stupid sidekick."

"you aren't," he said, "but since you're such a well known felon, you could help me figure out who's the murderer. see if they're a criminal, if they were hired by anyone, anything." he sighed. "you help me, and i let you go. deal?"

warily, you looked at him up and down. you weren't one to make deals with anyone, much less a masked hero who was loved by practically everyone. but you found yourself wrapping your black gloved hand around his and shaking it once. "fine."

ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, EPILOGUE

#AUTHOR'S NOTE— feel free to ask to be on the taglist! i'm also sorry for all the typos lol

[zo3mess]

From The Bottom (Of My Heart) | Part 2 to Bitter-sweet

Summary: Officers from other towns were reassigned to help the understaffed police force in Evergreen after the butterfly massacre. The good old game of cat and mouse begins with Vigilante continuing his shenanigans and one police officer determined to catch him. Except it is not entirely clear who is chasing whom.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, thigh riding, foul language, forced proximity, reader has slight anger issues,  female reader, no Y/N, Minors do not interact

Word count: 4.2k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Extra songs for this fic

Masterlist of my works

Note: This needed to continue, right? So here is another part. I’m currently writing another one, so this will be 3 part story. Did you guys know that writing smut for your favorite character is a great way to relax in between exams and panicking? Yeah, now you do, give it a shot. Anyway sorry for any grammar mistakes and stuff. Love ya <3

When you started working for the Evergreen police department, nobody warned you that there was not much work to do. Not the dynamic part, the one you were living for. Your coworkers were happy with the lack of risk, rather hiding behind stacks of paperwork and handling noise complaints and petty conflicts.

The working morale was benevolent at best. After one especially tedious shift at the precinct, you packed yourself up to go for a walk, to scout out the sleepy town. You longed for anything to put you back in motion.

After the whole fiasco with Vigilante you were unsure of your every move. Mind bent, soul crushed. The way you just gave yourself away, determination, ideals being snatched from you the second his bloody lips collided with yours in a dark alley.

Thankfully, soon enough you found yourself running after a car thief, poor guy did not see you coming from the shadows, while he was prying open the trunk of an expensive car. Hope started to spark again deep in your core. The pleasant burn of lungs as cold air filled them with every shallow breath, flashing lights blinding you, legs cramping. Oh you needed this after your slump.

What you did not need was a well-known person closing in behind you. His heavy footsteps gave him away. Vigilante…

“Who are we chasing?” He caught up to you with ease, his speed always surprised you, however that was the last thing you appreciated at the moment. This was your time to shine, not his.

“Where did you come from?” You asked him breathlessly and sprinted faster. For a car thief, that guy was goddamn fast. You couldn’t get distracted with Vigilante barging in your chase. But him being by your side rather than the one you were chasing was a pleasant surprise.

He didn’t give you an answer to your question, he much rather came up with a stupid idea. “Who catches him first gets to kill him!” The lively voice catches you off guard every time, talking about murdering people like it was nothing.

“Don’t you dare! I need him alive!” That pleasant surprise turned into an unpleasant one in a second.

“Run faster then, chicken!” He’s laughing. Of course he was laughing. How could he not. Everything was a game for him, no real stakes, no real consequences. Well… Game on Vigilante.

You kept running after your target for quite a while, feet began to trip over each other, vision getting blurry, not noticing the change of environment. The thief led you from the town center, aiming for abandoned buildings, construction site long lost and forgotten.

That was where you finally got an advantage, leaving Vigilante behind you while you both zigzagged through empty halls until you reached a massive room that made you wonder how is this structure still standing. Rubble, trash, graffiti, skeletons of dead birds covered the ground and there was a giant pit in the middle of the room.

The criminal ran right by the hole and you were close behind, just a few more seconds you would tackle him. Except Vigilante had other plans, his ego would not allow him to lose this. Once you catch the bad guy before him and the next you will think you can catch the infamous Vigilante.

No, he could not let you win. Somewhere deep inside he found an extra strength to side up with you. The plan was to just slightly shove you out of the way to earn leverage.

Unfortunately for you, he miscalculated the force he did it with. Weak knees buckled under you and your body toppled to the side.

Before you could fall to your doom into the abyss, you grabbed his arm in one last attempt to save yourself. And unfortunately for Vigilante, his legs did not support him either. With united screams, you both fell down the hole.

You landed with a loud huff and painful groan. Everything hurt as hell. This evening was going far worse than you anticipated. Was it in your fate to mess up anything you touched?

You heard Vigilante cry out next to you, lying like a starfish on the ground. It was all his fault you ended up at rock bottom. Metaphorically and literally. You got onto your feet with struggle and sharp pain jolted through your whole body.

“Are you alright? You hit your head pretty hard.” For a moment you were actually afraid for his well-being, even though you should hit him twice as hard for his sudden ambush.

“ ‘Tis but a scratch.” He got onto his feet quite quickly and brushed himself off. Dust, rubble and dry leaves that got carried inside by a strong wind stuck to his suit, drowning the bright white and blue stripes in grey.

“Great, you’re talking nonsense.” You shook your head and limped past him, analyzing your surroundings in the low light of the dawn. He just shot you a glance but did not say anything in defense of his Monty Python reference.

It seemed like an empty pool, with colorless tiles that barely stuck to the walls. Only water ever filling this tank were puddles of dirty rainwater and muck.

Edges were too high for you to reach, maybe if you ran up the wall, you would be able to get to the surface. However, the missing strength was undermining that perfect plan. Vigilante had the same thinking as you, except for the realization that the plan will ultimately fail. You just watched with a gleeful smile as he tried to jump up over and over again with no outcome.

“If you give me a leg up, I could help you out once I’m on the surface.” You threw the idea in the air like it was nothing, you really needed his help though.

“You’re out of your mind, you’ll call for backup and I won’t have a chance to run. You boost me up! I can pull you out.”

“I don’t trust you, you’re gonna leave me here.” You half expected he would defend himself against all the accusations. But tension sparked in the air and it made you realize that it was the truth. Your precinct would probably receive an anonymous phone call about a person stuck in a hole on a construction site. But how long would it take for him to report it?

You were sure you heard a loud crack when you fell. Wishfully a delusion, in reality, it was the walkie-talkie that broke thanks to the impact. And phone signal? Of course not. You let out another disappointed groan when you found out.

“If you don’t wanna help me, fine. But know that my coworkers will notice I’m gone and will look for me.”

“Doubt that,” He walked past you to the other side and sat down with his head thrown back against the wall “You’ll change your mind.”

He did not care at all. His suit shielded him perfectly from the cold wind that had been afflicting Evergreen for several days.

You walked all over, trying to catch some signal on your phone, looking around and trying to find a way to get out of this situation while a focused hawk followed your every move with a burning stare.

“Shit, officer, are you shivering?” His voice was full of fake concern, if only you were able to see his eyes you would see mocking puppy eyes to match his words. “I heard the justice is best served cold, I thought you cops would be used to lower temperatures.”

“And I’ve heard cold-blooded animals don’t mind cold. No wonder you’re fine.” You snapped back with an equally fake tone and looked away from him. You wrapped your hands around yourself, rubbing to keep yourself warm at least a little bit. He was right, goosebumps were rising on your skin.

“Hilarious! You should have been a comedian. Maybe that way you wouldn’t have fallen into a pit and taken me with you.” He pointed his finger at you accusingly. It made you stop in your tracks, eyes wide with unbelief. How dare he accuse for it.

“Maybe if you did not poke your nose into my business we wouldn’t be here at all!” You scoffed at him in return and rolled your eyes. Like it was your fault. If he did not shove you to make room for himself you would not have ended like this.

“Please, you looked desperate for help.” Your blood has already been boiling and this was a final blow. Spare metal pipe lying close to you was viewed as far too tempting. In a second you bent down and threw it at him. Vigilante dodged, even though the pipe was thrown far off, crashing against the wall a few inches away from his head.

“See? You can’t even aim!” His laugh drowned the frustrated noise you made in sheer freakout. You decided to follow his lead and slid down the wall on the floor. You were already freezing, the icy ground made you shiver even more, but your legs ached, you needed a rest.

You sighed with exhaustion and bent your knees to your chest, tucking your head down, eyes closing just for a second. Vigilante’s laugh was still ringing in your ears, at this point you were sure it was forced. You simply had to wait it out, someone from your work will eventually notice you’re gone and will look for you. At least that is what you hoped for.

You curled up into a tight ball, breathing heavily, trying to calm down strung nerves. You did not care how weak you might have looked at the moment. You needed comfort. You failed to catch a criminal, had an overall shitty day, fell into a pit on an abandoned construction site and were stuck with Vigilante laughing at you once again. A psychopath that broke into your home and fucked you dumb. A psychopath you swore to catch. Path to glory was not going according to plan at all.

You kept thinking about the best option to get out of there in case no one came in time, as well as contemplating the strange relationship you started with the guy in front of you. You could almost feel his burning gaze on your body, but were not brave enough to check what he was doing.

The crinkling of wrapper interrupted your train of thought. You opened one eye just in time to see Vigilante stuffing his mouth full of a chocolate bar while humming away some tune. He looked so childish. Sitting criss-cross applesauce, mask familiarly rolled up again, snacking and mouthing away text of some song that was stuck in his head.

He did not owe you anything, however part of you felt a bit betrayed he did not offer you a bite.

“Do you always carry around snacks?” You meekly asked, this time trying to sound friendly. Maybe a nice attitude was in place, considering you would be stuck together for some time. Plus if you were mean to him, you would never persuade him to boost you up and get you to the sweet, sweet freedom.

“Only when I plan to be lost in the middle of nowhere with a big meanie who throws pipes at me.” He looks up to you and finishes his chocolate bar with a single bite while you stared at him back and rolled his mask back down. “I mean… I bring some food with me sometimes. I get peckish during patrols, no biggie.”

In the end, you both realized that arguing would not help your whereabouts. You nodded to his answer and shivered again when the wind blew into your face with freezing intensity. What would you give for a mask like Vigilante right now, he was all warm and cozy inside his suit.

“Come here..” He stretched his hands towards you, the sudden change in atmosphere took you aback. “Have you heard about penguins?”

“I know they exist, yeah?” Your brows furrowed with confusion, basically like every time he opened his mouth. What was he babbling about this time?

“When it is too cold they cuddle and share body warmth,” His hands still hovering in the air, now making grabby hands at you. “You will freeze until someone finds us here. Unless you wanna help me get up?”

“No way.” Mind was set with the opinion he would just leave you once you helped him out of this hole, maybe his idea was the best option for warming up.

With sluggish steps you walked over to him. Vigilante focused on your scrunched eyebrows, a thing you absentmindedly made in sheer embarrassment, but decided to not comment on it. However, when he saw the uncertainty in your eyes, his hands reached out for yours to guide you down in his hold.

What was the probability of ending up tangled around Vigilante again? Pretty high appartenly. Was it you? Were you the reason you always get into situations like this? You’d much rather blame it on fate. Life has a weird sense of humor.

You straddled his middle and awkwardly hugged him back. Thankfully Vigilante did not mind you were shivering in his hold, moving around, trying to find a comfortable position. He simply held you close to his body.

“Can I ask you something?” Was that worry in his voice you could hear? You hummed in agreement instead of actually answering.

“Why are you after me? Other officers like- weren’t happy with what I was doing, but they never chased me when they saw me or anything. Why do you care?”

Damn good question. Maybe he deserved an explanation of why you were busting his nuts all the time.

“Since I was little I’ve dreamed about being a hero. But I’m no Superman, no Batman, I don’t have god-like powers or millions of dollars,” Cautious words spilled from your mouth. Who would have guessed you’d be telling your life’s story to Vigilante. “And I wanted to make a difference, to catch criminals. If I came to Gotham with zero experience with catching real villains I would be just another nobody.”

“I’m not a villain-“

“Neither a hero.” You interrupted him. So what was he? Not a villain, not a hero. He was someone flickering in the middle, in the little grey area. A nuisance messing with your idea of good and evil.

“So if you came to Gotham with me on your list…” He fell silent at the end and his hold on you loosened.

“I would be somebody.” Now that you said it out loud, to him, you realized how stupid it sounded. Like in elementary school, when you had to have the same toys as others to fit in. This time you had to have a good history of arrests.

You were able to feel his fingers stretch on your back, hear a long exhale, almost feel his heart beating. Maybe the truth hurt more than any of his ideas of why you kept meeting each other.

“You’re not nobody to me.”

Your heart sank. His words made you feel… comfort. The one you kept looking for the whole time. All your life your achievements have driven you forward, ambitions controlling your every move. And to be praised even when everything was crumbling under your hands?

No matter how his embrace loosened, you hugged him tighter in reaction to his sweet words. An unspoken ‘thank you’.

The air was thick with tension. Emotional. Physical. And for a while you just listened to shared breaths, dripping water echoing somewhere in the room, wind whistling around your ears. You kept moving around, trying to adjust to more comfortable position. It didn’t even pass your mind how you were affecting Vigilante under you, until you felt something pressing into the crest of your hip.

“Is that a gun or your dick?“

“You can guess,“ He giggled and pressed himself closer to you. “I’ll give you a hint, it’s fully loaded.”

“I’d rather not know.” ‘Vigilante, don’t get horny in the most inappropriate time’ challenge. Level impossible. You wondered how this guy managed to work so far, he just appeared at random places, did the most odd things, and got surprise boners at any given moment.

There was something that fascinated you about Vigilante. At first, it seemed he had some sort of routine, you soon found out that was not completely true. The more you were after him, studying him and now being given a chance to get him to know on an almost personal level, you realized he acted on impulse with little to no plan whatsoever. In case there were some sort of plans for his actions, they were sculpted on different frequencies your brain could not comprehend.

His dick throbbed in his pants with need. Every time you were close his brain threw logic out of the window. Magnetic attraction controlled his and your brain with such cruelty. He experimentally jutted his hips up. And again and again. Bulge rubbing against your core ever so lightly.

“Don’t-“

“Don’t what?” He immediately stilled and lifted his head. Unsure eyes stared at you through the bright red visor.

Don’t what…. Don’t do this? Don’t tempt me into giving myself to you? Don’t give another blow to my already shattering views? Don’t make me feel something I haven’t felt in eternity? Don’t make me feel alive…

“Don’t stop.”

You didn’t even notice how tense he had become when you stopped him with panic in your voice. But now, with your words of confirmation, he molded against your freezing frame with such natural grace it made you question your reality for a split second.

Two cold bodies moved in waves with each other, creating fire to not only get rid of the crawling cold but also to melt the ice-covered hearts.

His face was hidden in the crook of your neck and despite the mask, you were able to feel the hot breath he puffed out. And he felt the same sensation from you, quiet moans were silenced by his suit, but still, he felt the warmth of your lips.

You held each other in such a tight embrace you were afraid he would squeeze out your last breath. But did you mind it? No, not really. He kept bunching up your clothes in his hand with every little move. Scrunching and letting go, scrunching, letting go.

The silence of the night was getting interrupted by heavy breathing, whimpers, and shuffling of clothes. It wasn’t enough for Vigilante, his mind had a tendency to run off with quietness, even when he was in the middle of bucking up his hips against yours. So he chose what he always did. Talking.

“Fuck, it feels good,” Vigilante hissed out throught gritted teeth “I thought humping was for horny teens.”

“And for two idiots like us.” He was right, it felt too good to stop.

“Yeah, yeah”  he chuckled and drove himself to you faster. The friction in his pants became unbearable. “I bet you’re so fucking wet for me right now. Tell me, are your panties soaked?”

“Oh God, you’re gross.” His words made you smile nonetheless.

“You love it though. You love me,” Poor boy sounded so wrecked when his set pace stuttered “Tell me you love me.” Last pained whine before he stilled and came on the spot. Cock flaring and twitching in his pants, cum staining his boxers.

This time you had a chance to watch Vigilante ride out his orgasm, and even without seeing his face, it looked beautiful, it sounded beautiful.  You waited patiently for him to calm down and once he locked his tired eyes with yours he was able to enjoy the sweet smile you gave him.

“I hate you.” You could not resist the temptation to answer to his wish with another snarky remark.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” One of his hands left your waist and tucked a few stray hairs behind your ear, he was being sweet again, but his tone was downright sarcastic and mean “You sound like a broken record. Did you cum?”

“You can guess.” You answered with a mocking tone and rolled your eyes, yet another involuntary smile appeared.

His strong arms lifted your hips just enough to seat you on his thigh, straddling the big tense muscle. Hands enveloped your ass and a sigh left your lips when he started guiding you to grind on him. “Go on then, take what you need. At least you will warm up more.”

You exhaled and leaned your forehead on his padded shoulder. Face covered with cold sweat that formed with each roll of your hips, dust and debris smudged your skin. You were dirty, tired and overall worn out,  yet a weird sense of peace filled your insides.

Vigilante pressed your body close until there was no inch of space between, fingertips digging in the cloth of your jacket, masked face planted at the crown of your head. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

Barely audible praise and promises soon turned into soft buzzing in your ears and they kept you going despite the ache. The delicious feeling was neverending. You were already pretty close before, it did not take long to be tethering on the edge again.

Vigilante was enjoying every second of it, his pretty bratty girl riding his thigh with such fervor, gasping and whimpering for him. He wasn’t that dumb to say you’re ‘his’ out loud, you would swipe that idea off the table immediately.

But in his mind, you two were tangled to the point of no return. Even if you did arrest him and leave, you’d be forever his in those regretful memories. Your name would be on his lips to the end of times just like it is now. The only thing keeping you from floating away on the intense pleasure.

“Come on, cum for me.” A simple command that threw you over the edge. Your body seized in orgasmic bliss, twitching and shaking while Vigilante held you tightly.

A few minutes of calm down cleared your mind and you quickly realized the position you were in. If anyone came to save the missing officer, they would see you cuddling with the guy wanted for multiple counts of murder.

So you rolled away to sit next to him, shivering immediately when his hands left your body. He did not want to let go, you became his only want and only need. He would sit in the cold pit, in the middle of the night, with freezing wind blowing over his head, hungry, thirsty, sleepy, if it meant you would stay in his arms a bit longer.

“Shit.” You could not help but laugh, running your hand through messy hair and wiping away droplets of cold sweat.

“Hey uhm… ” After a few beats, Vigilante spoke up carefully “Are you okay?”

He was already staring at you when you turned your head to look at him, sitting on the ground like a rag doll, completely spent just like you. Your lips pressed into a thin line when you got up with weak legs. “I’m gonna help you up. But promise me you won’t leave me here.”

“I swear on my dead mother.” He jumped up to his feet and got closer to you in an instant under the promise of getting out of there.

“That’s dark, dude.” You brushed it off, but your head got into detective mode right away. He just carelessly threw you another piece of information about his real identity.

He just snorted in retaliation. After you decided on the best place to climb up, you allowed him to stand up on your connected hands and tried your best to lift his heavy build. With a struggle, but successfully after all, Vigilante climbed up over the edge. To keep his promise, he offered you his hand when you ran up the wall yourself and pulled you up.

“Anything else I can help you with?” You couldn’t care less about his smug question, saying like he just saved your life. Truth be told, this was a big point for him, maybe you hated him a bit less.

“You can walk me back to town, this place gives me creeps.” If luck was on your side, you would not see this half-collapsed building ever again.

That night you parted ways on weird terms. Awkward ‘goodnight’ and pat on the shoulder. Both of you were tired and quite frankly confused about the state of your entanglement. If you did not fall asleep the second your head hit your comfy pillow, you would be thinking about Vigilante for the rest of the night. Those caring touches and comforting affirmations, his over-the-top competitiveness, his dirty talk you wished you heard more of.

The next day, when you were leaving for work, you bumped into a surprise on your front lawn. The pleasant/unpleasant surprise was knocked out and tied car thief you were chasing the night before. His bruised face was pressed in the wet grass and a lousily scribbled note was lying next to him, reading ‘For my favorite enemy’.

Vigilante just upped the game.

[mariamakeslemons]

Canon CoD movie killer types (with Bonuses!)

Like I did with the 70's horror stereotypes, I need to make a Canon character version of the 141 movie killers.

Non-Canon Killers are here now!

Alex is a stalking killer. Like mentioned in the stereotypes, he's the kind of guy who can blend into the background. Here, he uses it to hunt and harass his victims, for his amusement before he kills them. There's no better prey than a scared prey.

Final Girl isn't actually his prey, but they put themselves between him and his prey, even managing to keep his prey safe from him. He becomes obsessed and wants to be their obsession in return.

Farah is a "victim" killer, a true wounded gazelle gambit. She'll go out to bars and clubs, fake getting drunk or drugged, and allows someone to get her out of the building. Whether the person is helping her or "helping" themselves, she doesn't care. She kills them while believing that she's ridding the world of more scum.

Final Girl gets on her radar because they "save" her from an asshole who wanted to help himself to a seemingly drunk woman. Instead of trying to drag Farah anywhere, they get her an Uber and wait with her for the car to show up. She soon tries to find a way to get close to them again, to be "saved" again.

Kate is a manipulator. It's pretty close to how she is in canon, but her moral code is a little looser. She finds killing to be therapeutic, to the point that she'll go out into the field herself. Preferring to either snipe her victim or poison them, she doesn't shy away from killing for her perceived greater good.

Final girl is pretty much her sweet little neighbor, and a huge part of her morals. Someone mean to them? That person is dead and tied to some big conspiracy, even if they weren't while alive. Every life that Kate ruins or destroys is connected to their comfort and life.

Alejandro is a snapped soldier, dishonorably discharged after having a mental breakdown in the field and killing friend and foe alike. Honestly, he's more tragic than horrific, but he still kills. This is more due to the loss of all the people he cared about, to the point that he can't see people as civilian or ally. Something in his mind has placed everyone as an enemy.

Final Girl ends up being the sole exception, as they actively help him. To his mind, they appear angelic, and he needs to keep them safe from all the enemies surrounding them.

Rudy is the Brother's Best friend killer. Similar to Gaz, he's a killer that is the Final Girl's brother's best friend. He only really tolerates the brother (unless it's Alejandro, in which case he tries to hide his darker side from him as well), because it gives him easy access to his obsession. If a non-Alejandro brother gets in the way, he'll kill the brother while comforting their sibling at the funeral.

Again, similar to Gaz, he views Final Girl as his. He'll manipulate brother to either be his fall guy, or his hypeman and Final Girl's body guard.

Valeria is pretty much Canon, with a little set up similar to the 'Hostel' franchise. When people are brought into her set up, she gets first pick at the "meat". Her shows are horrifying and often used as a way to tell her men that they could easily become "meat" for her to use in her shows.

Final Girl was picked as someone else's "meat", only to escape. Valeria watches the video of their escape and is intrigued, wanting them for a "pet".

Graves is, like Valeria, pretty much Canon, but perhaps with an inflation to his ego, to the point of Narcissism. The highest bidder can buy his "loyalty", until either someone richer comes around or he grows bored with their orders. He doesn't shy away from working on the field, he actually prefers it.

The Final Girl was an objective that he'd been hired to kill, only for him to find them fascinating. He even kills his "employer" to keep playing cat-and-mouse with them. When he catches them, he plans to make them into a "proper spouse".

Makarov becomes a mafia don, one that gleefully gets his hands filthy with blood. Human trafficking, drug trafficking, weapon trafficking, prostitution, threats, his gang does it all. He controls the Russian underground and shadow controls Russian in it's whole.

The Final Girl would be an innocent at the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd initially find them amusing, only to become obsessed with figuring out how they're able to keep being so kind after they help him without knowing who he is. He hunts them down in hopes to keep them.

Nikolai is a pick-up killer, driving a cab to kill the passengers who don't fit his rules. His rules are ever changing to match his mood and whimsy. There is no rule list to decide who Nik does and doesn't kill.

Originally, Final Girl broke his "too pretty" rule, but they kept their life by being on the phone, on speaker, and obviously paying attention to the world moving past the window. It becomes a game to him, how they keep managing to get him as a cabbie and surviving. Eventually, he decides that once they slip up, he's keeping them.

Bonus!!

Alex and Farah form a bait and monster killer pair. Alex leads possible victims to his love while Farah eats them to remain as humane as possible for her love. A sick version of Beauty and the Beast.

Final Girl was originally planned as a victim, only for the couple to become smitten with them. The pair decides that they need to become like Alex, nearly immortal to stay with Farah.

Alejandro and Rudy are tag team killers. Depending on who their target for the night is, they get rugged, mean-acting Ale forcing them outside, or soft, shy-acting Rudy asking them out of the building. Once their victim is outside, the other man attacks and the bait watches on, usually aroused at his lover covered in blood.

The Final Girl actually got away, as they wanted nothing to do with either man or their persona. This, of course, intrigues the men, to the point that they hunt Final Girl down. After all, they've always wanted a "pet".

[venuscrashed]

Together - Spider-Noir x Vigilante!Male Reader

For all the Spider Noir lovers and my non minor readers

Spider-Noir x Morally Grey reader

Spider noir was the “hero” compared to you. He fought for his beliefs and had the better morals. He fought for the people.

You fought for yourself. The selfish, unaware vigilante. The one the police would rather capture so you can get off the streets. Although you just did Justice for the city and left without acknowledging it, causing the news to claim it as your game. You would kill if it came down to it, you were the “villain” compared to him.

Society put you two in your respective boxes. Unknowingly they made it interesting for the both of you. It started off as a favor for the police out of boredom but be soon fell for you. The game of cat and mouse soon turned to a sick twisted game. You would take his enemies from him, and leave right when he got there causing him to get the credit.

He did his research, attempting to find you. He would patrol a bit longer to see if he could find you. He would hang around your spots to catch a glimpse of you in action. He would monologue and stand in the rain thinking about you. He didn’t know if it was the thought of you or you yourself that drove him to insanity or love.

All his questions would be answered if he got to you. Maybe that’s why you were trapped on the building with him. He wasn’t going to let you become the villain anymore. He was going to bring Justice to you and your name. He could be the villain.

You stood on the roof staring down at the city bellow you. War raged on and people struggled along the streets, begging for a life. You would let people do what they needed to do but the minute something was illegal you would step in.

Noir was patrolling, looking for some Nazis to punch. He saw you and knew that he needed to seize the moment. He swung towards the roof and landed lightly. Walking towards you his spider senses went off, you anticipated his arrival. A piece of wire went across the roof with some contraption coded to go off.

“If you wanted a normal conversation you could have gone up to me,” you turned around and walked towards him.

“I don’t know who you are,” he stood up straighter. Ignoring his spider senses that something wasn’t right. The city was filled with crime the police can handle it without him for five minutes, hopefully.

“No,” you smirked through your man. “But I know who you are.”

His breathe hitched with his whole body tensing. He stepped back a bit before regaining his composure. He noticed your confused body behavior before placing a hand out to you.

“I thing to dancers should know their partners names. Why don’t you tell me yours.”

You laughed before grabbing his hand and shaking it. “Nope.”

He jumped over the wire and wrapped and arm around your shoulders. He walked you both to the ledge and grabbed a cigarette.

You watch as his mask was lifted and the cigarette sat in his mouth. He lit it before puffing smoke out. He looked down at the people and crime ridden city. For a couple of moments you two stood there, watching as life went on.

Once he finished his cigarette he dropped it and put it. “The paper puts you on the same levels of the Nazis. Why don’t you take credit for you achievements. I never seen a boxer win a match and not yell at the top of his lungs.”

“Maybe some people don’t want to be know by everyone.”

“Like a flapper girl and her stage name.”

“What,” you snorted.

You two looked at each other before he grabbed you again. His arm went around your waist as he stared into your eyes. “Hold on. This may be a gas. So new yelling like this is your fathers car going over 80.”

Before you could ask he aimed his arm towards a building and jumped off. “Wait Noir! I’m not ready,” you screamed as he swung from building to building.

The wind pushed against you as your guys speed went up. He swung faster all while acting cool while his webs slowly ran out. He had no idea where he was taking you, all he knew was that he enjoyed the thrill.

-

You two sat above the city on the tallest sky scraper you can find. Your head rested on his shoulder as you two talked about the superhero world. Noir went on about the life he would want after the war, and the time he had before it.

You would hum in response before grabbing his wrist. He watched as you sat up and held his hand close towards yours.

“Let’s make a promise.”

Noir looked at you, his gaze falling towards your exposed lips then going to your eyes like it didn’t just happen. “What?”

You sucked in some air before lowly stating your thoughts. “When all of this is over we rule the world.”

He smiled softly and left your declaration in the air. His pinky went towards yours and softly wrapped around it. He softly said one word, “Together?”

Your pinky wrapped around his, “Together.”

[ohforficsakelibrary]

Woodsmoke

masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Gender Neutral Reader. No physical descriptions of reader beyond having hair. Reader has a cat. Established but new-ish, implied long-distance-ish relationship.

Summary: Life has been running you ragged lately, but someone is waiting for you when you get home. For a moment, you don't have to be strong.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of difficult family life, attending therapy, absent parents, wounded inner child, loneliness as a general theme. If I've missed anything, please do tell me.

Word Count: ~1.6K

Rating: General? Two curse words and some kissin'. The remainder of my work is 18+ / minors DNI.

A/N: I do not know about y'all but I have been going through it lately. And Frankie Morales is my comfort character. This is not along the lines of my usual writing, and for that reason, I haven't tagged anyone. But I'm sharing it on the off chance that you, like me, just need a hug. I know this time of year isn't the easiest for a lot of us, and I hope maybe this gives you a little comfort. Comfort!Frankie, if you will. Please heed the warnings and read with care.

You are worthy of love.

You don’t have time to cry.

Not right now, on this highway, snowflakes flying towards you like crystalline stars at a speed twenty miles per hour slower than the speed you’d be moving at if they weren’t.

You can’t see the lines on the road even without tears in your eyes.

One thing at a time.

Like everything lately.

Just follow the tracks of the car in front of you until it gets you home.

Home to your house that’s empty save for a grumpy tabby cat.

Most days you swear your existence hinges on his.

He’s been your thing to look forward to for the last fifteen years.

Well, and Frankie is visiting this week. 

Provided that this storm doesn’t shut the airport down.

Fuck.

It’s not that you hadn’t been doing well without him. 

It’s that you hadn’t been doing well.

Too long without a mental break. Exhaustion that seeps with the cold into your bones.

Too many things on a to-do list that you can’t bring yourself to do on the weekends because it’s too long and your own time is so short.

Maybe it’s some malefic arrangement of stars and planets, perhaps.

You haven’t even started buying holiday gifts. 

And it sends you face-first into the dread of making a trip back home.

The place that was supposed to be your home.

And dread is the correct word, even if your therapist says you're making real progress. 

See, the thing is, your therapist doesn’t have to sit in the contents of the box of shit you dug out from the corner of your brain and emptied all over the floor of your mind.

She only helps you sort through it every other Tuesday.

It was in the box for a reason.

It was easier to carry that way.

_____

When finally you pull into your driveway and step out into fresh snow, it’s the smell that hits you first.

Woodsmoke.

Someone has started up the wood stove so that you don’t go cold, but you hadn’t been expecting company. You figure it’s your best friend who has a key and a standing invitation, and you’re not necessarily opposed to them being here. 

Sharing a bottle of wine would probably do you some good.

You stomp snow from your shoes and step inside to offer your layers to the hooks on the wall of the mudroom before you catch sight of the boots in the tray as you toe yours off.

“Frankie?!”

“One sec, babe!”

Frankie.

You wrench open the door that leads through to the kitchen and catch sight of him in front of the sink where he’s draining steaming water from a pot of pasta.

He looks up at you across the kitchen and winks.

“Frankie,” you breathe and he quickly pops the pot back onto a dead burner, slinging oven mitts off a fraction of a second before you collide with his chest.

“Baby,” he whispers, locking you in with an arm around the small of your back and the other at the nape of your neck. 

He smells of woodsmoke and cedar and Frankie.

Smells like home.

“You weren’t supposed to be here for another two days,” you pull back and look up into brown eyes framed by mirth-filled creases.

“I was keeping an eye on the weather,” he urges you against him again to nuzzle into your hair, “didn’t want to wait. There’s another front coming behind this one. Took an Uber from the airport. Got in about an hour ago.”

Pilots and their forecasts.

“I’m glad you didn’t wait.”

“So am I,” he tilts your chin up and presses his lips to yours. Soft and sweet. Perfect.

“I made pasta, thought you’d be hungry when you got in.” He grins against your mouth before turning back to the stove to stir tomato sauce. “There wasn’t much in the fridge, but there’s plenty for tonight.” Frankie turns off the burner.

And it’s so new, having a man in your kitchen. 

Making you dinner.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I haven’t had the chance to go to the store,” you rake a hand through your hair as he winds a corkscrew into a bottle of wine.

So new, having arms to fall into.

“Don't apologize, babe. We’ll go tomorrow,” he sneaks another kiss as he fills your glass, one hand absently rubbing your back as he does. “Oh, I also fed the cat,” he points to stacked tins of cat food near the fridge, “from that, hope that was okay,” he fills his own glass. “He was hungry and he was insisting on spaghetti but I figured that’s not…”

“Thank you.”

It’s not more than a trembling whisper.

Because you’re fighting back tears.

This man warmed your house and poured you wine and fed your cat and made you a meal.

Because he cares.

Someone cares.

For you.

“Oh, hey no no no, cariño, what’s wrong?” He replaces his glass on the counter and cups your face in one massive palm.

Soothing with a gentle thumb over your cheekbone.

“This is so nice,” you breathe and the tears finally blur his face. “I just—no one has ever done this for me before.” 

It leaves your mouth slowly, like you're not even sure if you can say it.

If you're allowed.

Your view is quickly replaced by the grey and red of his sweater.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do, baby.”

And it makes your chest heave with the sobs you can’t hold in any longer as you wrap your arms around his waist, sinking into the way he presses you tighter against his heart.

The wool of his jumper eager to collect all of the tears you haven’t had time to cry. 

Because time stands still here, wrapped tight in his embrace.

And Francisco isn’t afraid of your mess.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

He doesn’t ask.

Instead, he tiptoes around the debris of that box to where you weep in the center of the chaos.

To where the child sits with hot tears streaming down their face.

And he looks straight into the heart of you with eyes as soft as the toy you clutch to your chest for comfort.

And offers himself instead.

He offers the breadth of his chest and the strong panes of his back. The vice grip of his arms and the gentle soothing of a palm.

He offers his whole self.

In the stead of the affection you were never given and so learned too well to do without.

In the stead of the wire-framed mother.

In the stead of the shell that should have been a father.

In the stead of all of the unkind words you clung to in the belief that they must be true.

For why else would they not love a child in the way that a child needs love?

For why else were you left lonely for so long?

And the back of your throat goes sore with the burn of his kindness.

Kindness that you still don’t believe you deserve.

“Put it down, baby. Let it go.”

Where Life asked you to soothe yourself.

“I’m here.”

Life offers him to you now. 

For Life, it seems, has taken pity on you.

Or perhaps It grew weary of how your grief made It ache.

“I’m here now.”

And so It proffered this apology.

One that you accept in the form of skin and muscle. Bones and blood.

A soft-hearted one with big kind eyes.

And Frankie holds you until the sobbing eases.

And thumbs the tears from your lashes.

Plush lips soften into a crooked smile.

"Are you hungry, cariño?" Whispered softly.

"Yeah," you murmur because you suppose you are.

"Can we sit by the wood stove?" He turns you towards the living room and lays a kiss at the crown of your head.

"Yeah, yeah of course."

"Good, because it's fucking freezing." And that finally pulls a laugh from your throat. "Go on," he smacks you lightly on the bum, "I'll bring you a plate."

You grab both glasses of wine and toss a few throw pillows on the floor before Frankie settles next to you with two shallow bowls heaped with pasta.

_____

When you've finished dinner, plates stacked on the coffee table, cat napping on a throw pillow near the pair of you, Frankie sits back against the sofa and pulls you to sit at his side.

"I'm sorry that I..."

"No," Frankie cuts you off and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Don't ever apologize to me for feeling, baby."

And you stare down into the dregs of your wine.

"Promise," he prompts with a nudge of his arm.

You look up at him through tired, but grateful eyes. "I promise, Frankie."

"Good," and he kisses you slowly, all warm lips and soft moans.

He regales you with stories from his latest trip until you settle in against him, head tucked under his chin. Lulled by the rise and fall of his breath.

You let him hold you here, with one arm wrapped around your shoulders.

Safe by the gentle heat of a dying fire.

You'll be yourself again tomorrow.

But tonight you allow yourself this.

Frankie kisses into your hairline as you drift between this word and sleep. Your weight against him is soothing as he finishes the last of the wine, eyes trained on the windows beyond, tracking the path of snowflakes on their way to meet the earth again.

"Te comprendo, cariño," he murmurs, resting his cheek against your crown.

"Y creo que te amo."

[ohforficsake]

The Margay: Chapter 9

Memorize it. Destroy it.

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~4.7K

WARNINGS: I'm going to go ahead and flag this chapter as Dark!Frankie / Potential triggers herein for verbal and physical abuse (extreme jealously, manhandling, pinning against a wall, facial bruising, borderline choking), brief mention of self harm/suicidal ideation / Please read with care.

Rating: Explicit 18+ / language / crass mention of sexual acts / mentions of drug use / Minors DNI

A/N: Frankie breaks something.

Finally getting one of these up in time for Frankie Friday. This chapter. Whew this chapter. It came to me months ago. Something that makes you put everything down so you can transcribe this thing from wherever it’s coming from.

chapter moodboard if you're interested

Divider by @cafekitsune!

“Why are you draggin’ me to this, couldn’t you have found someone else?

“I already told you,” Santiago fiddles with his bowtie in a car window reflection. “It’s a favor to the guy who got us this gig in the first place. Needs bodies in the room for this fundraiser. Davis is covering the donation, it’s the fucking least we could do.”

“You coulda brought some girl.”

“Yeah, but I like you on my arm,” Santi quips with a pout and Fish flips him a choice finger.

The room is filled from marble wall to marble wall with standard Washington DC fixtures. The low din of conversation punctuated with the occasional chime of laugher and clink of glass. Diamonds glitter in the low golden light under massive, equally scintillating chandeliers.

Francisco can't help but scan the room as he trails Pope to the nearest proffered tray of champagne glasses, fingers absent-mindedly wrapping around one when it's placed in his hand.

And it's Frankie who sees her first at a distance. Sheathed in a flowing column of white. Black hair is blown out into loose curls that fall down to the middle of her back, face lit up in a laugh.

When she rocks on her feet he notices that her arm is wrapped around a man’s bicep.

Frankie drains the rest of his champagne, slamming the glass down on a hightop table before Pope catches the crook of his elbow and cuts off his path to her. 

“Don’t.”

“Who the fuck is that.”

“The senator who sponsored this thing? That’s his son.”

“That doesn’t make it better, Pope.” 

Audrey hanging off the arm of some spoiled fuckin’ rich kid.

Not that he’s a kid, he’s got a few years on Frankie at least.

But a senator’s son? 

Audrey. 

His Audrey.

Audrey who he’s seen covered in engine grease, cuddling stray cats, trekking through the jungle covered in sweat and blood.

Audrey who warms his bed and angles big green eyes up at him with his spend still coating her thighs.

His Audrey.

She’s clearly playing a game. 

She’s on a job. 

Undercover. 

She’s not herself. 

And she catches him staring heat at her from across the room.

A million watts of light spark across her features and she waves them over.

“Francisco. Behave.” Pope spikes him a warning.

When they weave through bodies to make it to her she greets each with kisses on both cheeks, grip falling subtly to Frankie’s arm as her last kiss lingers. 

“Let me introduce you," she says to the man, "this is Santiago Garcia and Francisco Morales. The boys who’ve been helping me out down there. The Major is, one of my oldest friends.”

“I should thank you both for keeping her safe,” the Major grins. He’s got a California accent and the tan to match.

She gives them his name but Frankie doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy sizing the man up. Guy’s got three? Four inches in height on him at least. Dark black curls, a face that’s weathered enough to betray that he’s never really worked a desk job. Even Frankie can admit he’s handsome. Roman nose, strong brow. But his eyes startle Frankie the most. 

They’re the same color as Audrey’s. 

The exact same shade of green. The effect of it is stunning when they both meet Frankie’s gaze. 

And Catfish can’t get the flash his brain conjures of the two of them tangled in white sheets out from behind his eyelids.

“You look beautiful tonight, Aud,” Pope charms in an attempt to distract from Fish’s tangible simmering.

“I can clean up okay if I have to,” she winks, untangling her arm from this man’s.

“So what is it that you do?” Frankie cuts in, just this side of prickly.

“Marine engineer,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of champagne. “Which is a pretentious way of saying that I spend my days on boats looking for sunken treasure.”

It is an oversimplification at its finest. Because like the three of them, he’s done his fair share of greasing the cogs that keep the world running smoothly.

And like the three of them, he’s greased them with blood.

“I think we could all use refills," Audrey clears her throat, "Frankie, would you be my extra set of hands?”

“‘Course,” he doesn’t realize he grits it out.

Like spitting slivers of glass.

He flattens one broad palm across the small of her back and guides her in front of him in the direction of the bar. He follows close behind, eyes searing into the back of her skull.

The tattoo on her shoulder taunts him where it peeks out from under the seams of her sleeveless dress.

On display for anyone to see.

When they reach the bar, Frankie slots in behind her, the panes of his chest finding her back.

Audrey presses against him with a hum.

She’s nearly his height in heels and he doesn’t have to bend now to whisper in her ear. “A man more dangerous than me?”

“A friend with a Messerschmitt,” she turns to face him, running her hand over his stomach under his jacket.

And he revels in her touch before betraying the way it soothes.

“You fuck all of your friends?”

Frankie can tell there’s history between them that involves more than clunky warplanes and tinkering with old cars and it bubbles up like bile spat out in needless cruelty.

“Only the ones who know what Messerschmitts are,” she tosses back in kind, her tone level in direct defiance of what’s clawing at the back of her throat. 

She turns around again as the bartender approaches and Frankie steps back a hair, breaking contact with her form.

It makes her seethe.

She hands Frankie three glasses of tequila with lime, balanced easily in generous hands, before she sweeps a gin martini off of the bar and leads him back to where Santiago and the man are laughing about something.

Fish hands Santi and glass holds the other out for Audrey, but she sips from the martini without breaking his stare and Frankie instead has to hand it over to the other man.

Messerschmitt. Since Frankie can’t remember his name.

They toast, what a pleasure to meet, happy you boys are keeping Audrey company out there. 

Company.

“Fish, the Major is a pilot, he was Air Force.”

“In my youth,” the man quips.

“I’ve heard,” he drains his glass and doesn’t attempt to continue down the path what Santi has forged for him. 

And so the two of them carry the conversation alone, Frankie staring daggers at Audrey who shoots him the occasional searing glance every time she plucks an olive from the golden skewer in her drink.

A hush falls over the crowd as vainglorious speeches start up.

But Frankie's ears are ringing.

Audrey makes it through one speech before excusing herself to the restroom with a soft hand on Santi’s elbow, and a brush on Messerschmitt’s cuff.

She doesn’t need to alert Frankie because Frankie’s been watching her every move.

He waits five minutes before slipping away in the same direction.

They’re about to pass each other in the hallway when Frankie’s hand shoots out for her bicep, a glance over his shoulder to be sure no one is looking before dragging and shoving roughly to pin her against the wall.

“So is this what you do, when you’re not with me? Fuck senators’ sons?”

“The fact that he’s a senator's son is honestly the most unfortunate thing about him. And what we do is not my being with you. It’s my job.” She presses something soft into his hand. “That’s for you. If you want it.”

Frankie stuffs whatever it is into his jacket pocket and continues.

“And is this part of your job? Hanging off the arms of handsome men in fancy rooms?” He runs his palms down her bare arms before they settle on her hips.

“Sometimes. But I don’t frequent these in my downtime. This is a favor.”

“A favor. To him.”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t make a habit of this? Being this charming.”

“Aw you really think so?” She snarks and Frankie’s hands on her hips slam her back against the wall.

“You like it, don’t you. All of these eyes on you. Driving me insane.” His fingers brush a curl from her cheek. “Don’t play coy, I see how they look at you. Do you beg them for it, Audrey?” 

“They look at me because I’m a novelty in this room, Frankie.” 

And she’s not wrong. She’s a lithe beautiful thing with rich bronze skin in a room of wives and mistresses the same shade of blonde caked in the same shade of orange. She moves through a sea of hungry eyes with comfort precisely because she doesn’t give a fuck about the other men in this room.

Not even really about Messerschmitt. Not now that he’s here.

“You mean you don’t work your way into their beds? Let them fuck you until you’re screaming?”

She scoffs a “no” and Frankie listens but doesn’t hear.

“Is it their money? Their expensive whiskey and the thread count of their sheets that makes you come?”

His hand skates up over her chest, fingers feather-light over the skin of her collarbone that peeks out from under the high neck of her dress.

“Because there’s no way their cocks are satisfying you. That room is rife with overcompensation.” 

Everything to this point has been some twisted form of foreplay.

But Frankie tips.

His hand moves to her neck now, the broad span of it making easy work of fitting around her throat. 

Because some part of him believes this. Believes that Messerschmitt has had her and would have had her tonight if Santi hadn’t dragged him here and it makes him wonder how many others. 

He needs to know how many others. 

Frankie's eyes are blown dark, logic is abandoned in a brain fogged with jealousy. Skin thrumming with possession.

And it’s out before he can catch it.

“How many of them have had you, Audrey?” Rumbled through low registers of his voice.

He uses his index finger to roughly angle her face back to him from where she’s glanced back into the room.

“How many of them have seen you fall apart? Hmm? How many of them have left you shaking?”

His body holds her against the wall, thighs pressed to hers, his elbow jammed painfully in the sparse space between them where he holds her. 

And Audrey just watches, gaze angled down her nose.

Amused.

Frankie’s a man in a trance as he runs the pad of his thumb over the lush of her bottom lip, hot breath following its path.

“Have they seen the way your mouth falls open when you clench around them? Do they know that you can see these little fucking teeth when you do,” he snarls it, sliding his thumb over her top incisors before slipping it farther to slide over her tongue.

He tastes of lime and ozone.

“How many of them have come in this pretty little mouth, Audrey?” Frankie presses down with his thumb to open it wider. 

She could bite down. She could box his ears and take out an eardrum or both. She could throw a knee into his crotch.

She could scream.

She’s not going to.

Not yet.

But she could. 

He adjusts his grip and his middle finger and thumb dig painfully into the space at the hinge of her jaw and he gives her head a small shake, voice dripping with condescension. “Do you swallow for them, or is that just for me?” 

And it should frighten her. The way her sweet soft Frankie has gone dark. 

The way he’s a hair’s breadth away from squeezing down on her pulse.

The way he could crush her jaw with the strength of his hand alone.

But this? 

This is always there. 

Churning under the surface until it heats enough to boil.

It's what she loves about him.

“Do you let them come inside you too? Let them empty their balls into your hot little cunt and leave you dripping?” He shifts one leg to the outside of hers to press her further into the wall with his body.

And it should terrify her, this being caged in, his fingers jammed hard into her mandible as he spits and seethes with equal parts disdain and infatuation.

“Do they fill you up like I do? With as much as I do?”

The hard line of Frankie’s cock pressed against her hip telegraphs unyielding, sick pleasure.

“Do they fuck you better than I do, Audrey?”

“There is no ‘they’ Frankie.”

“Oh? Well then. Does that man. Out there. Fuck you. Better than I do.” His arm twitches with each sentence, moving her head with it.

She should be ashamed of how wet she is.

“Would you let him come down your throat the way that you let me?” 

And she doesn’t dare give him the satisfaction of the truth.

“I know he doesn’t eat you out the way that I do. Doesn’t make you come on his face.” He presses his nose to her cheek, breathing in the scent of her. “I can tell.”

“But I bet he’d still give it to you. If you wanted him to.”

He doesn’t realize that he’s growling with every breath.

“I don’t want...”

“But would he. Fuck you.” 

“Yes.”

And Frankie’s nostrils flare and a breath hisses through his teeth.

His hold on her tightens.

“Yeah, I bet he would. Because you’re a fuckin’ toy. A pretty little plaything to be used when the need strikes and then…” he trails off. “He’d fuck you but he wouldn’t keep you.”

“Yeah—" he growls.

"I wouldn’t either.”

And Frankie says it because he’s frothing with impotence at what he doesn’t have to offer.

Any one of these men could give her the world. 

They paid $14K just to stand in this room. 

But Frankie wouldn’t keep her because Frankie doesn’t deserve her. 

And Frankie makes it her fault. 

Lashing out at her for the way she consumes him.

And all of this. This is trying to prove himself with his body where the rest of him falls short.

Because it’s all he knows.

The Delta who gave his body to the Stars and Stripes in search of validity and purpose and a place in this world. 

And those colors chewed him up and spat him out tasting like a bad back and a coke problem.

But he’s taken it too far now.

Still gripping hard at her jaw.

And her scorpion’s tongue delivers a barb that sticks right in the spot in his brain where he’s regretted it every moment of his existence since that night.

“You going to strangle me again, Francisco?”

The antidote to his fever.

“No,” the grip on her loosens.

The fight drains through the soles of his feet and back to the earth to be transmuted into something that doesn’t destroy.

He breathes without snarling.

And rests his forehead against hers before taking half a step back.

And she tips her face to hover her lips over his but neither of them move any farther.

They just breathe.

Looking like lovers to anyone who is watching.

She brushes a hand over the napkin slipped into his jacket pocket. “Memorize it. Or don’t. But destroy it either way.”

And Audrey slips from between him and the wall.

Frankie doesn’t move to turn around, instead bracing his forearm against wallpaper, listening to her heels on marble as she returns to the bathroom.

“And Frankie,” she calls over her shoulder, staving off the shattering of her voice. “Please be nice.”

He snorts as he spins and leans heavy against drywall, head thudding backwards. He scrubs a palm down his face and breathes deep, trying to bring himself back to even.

Trying to stave off the panic winding around his organs.

Threatening to constrict.

He has no idea what just happened. 

Frantic fingers scramble for the thing in his pocket.

A napkin that he unfolds. 

An address in Alexandria.

Her address.

He storms off to the gents and into a stall, mentally repeating the numbers and letters until it’s ingrained before he drops it in the toilet bowl. Blue ink bleeds into something illegible before he flushes it away.

His stomach turns and for a moment he thinks tequila is going to follow it. 

Frankie breathes in hard through his nose and out with a hiss, storming out of the stall to splash cold water into his face.

He prays he hasn’t left a bruise.

_____

“You good?” Santi whispers when Audrey slips in beside him.

“Yeah, do I look fine?”

He gives her a quick once-over. “Physically, yes. Spiritually?” Pope tips his glass of tequila towards her hand and she drains it as applause breaks out at the end of another speech.

“He okay?”

“Dunno.”

Santiago casts a look over his shoulder towards the bathrooms.

“Come, let me get you another,” he gently presses an open palm to Audrey's elbow, leading her to the bar. 

“Gin and soda.” Santi knows her and joins. “Two."

Santi knows the two of them well enough to hit on what just happened. "That really spun him up, huh?”

“Never meant to. I’ve known the Major for over twenty years, I came as a favor. He’s one of the few people on earth who knows what I actually do.”

“It’s not a fucking crime to be comfortable around someone," she adds in a soft voice. "I had no idea you were going to be here.”

“Sort of a favor on our end as well.” Santiago slips a tip into the glass jar as the bartender slides over two drinks.

Audrey swallows a sip, letting the ice cold liquid chill her burning stomach.

“I was fucking happy when I saw you both.”

And she sounds like she's about to fracture.

“Hey.”

Santi’s eyes are soft, heavy-lidded as is his way when he’s sincere.

“He’s an idiot when it comes to this.”

She scoffs and takes another sip.

“I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.”

“That’s very kind Santi, but I can do it myself.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“No.”

“Yeah, your jaw is starting to bruise.”

“Fuck,” and she adjusts her hair to fall where Frankie’s fingers were with Pope calmly directing her movements.

To anyone else they’re making conversation. 

But to anyone who knows, Pope is fuming and Audrey’s a frayed nerve.

And Messerschmitt knows and Messerschmitt would kill for her, but only if she says the word.

And she doesn’t.

“Let’s get you some food, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She has no appetite but she takes the arm Santi offers because he’s the only person Frankie won’t murder tonight and he guides her towards the nearest waiter with a tray of canapés.

For the first time in the two years that he’s known her, Santi realizes that Audrey can’t take care of herself right now. 

She’s unfocused, eyes darting around the room with none of their usual calculated discernment.

Big, liquid things. Fighting the threat of overflow.

Whatever the fuck Frankie just said.

He broke her. 

And so Santiago spends the rest of the night putting his body between her and Fish, and Fish knows that Santi knows something, the shame of it heating the tips of Frankie’s ears.

Audrey doesn’t stick around long after speeches are through.

She takes her leave after wrapping Santiago in a grateful embrace, kissing Messerschmitt on the cheek, and squeezing Frankie’s arm.

He can tell that was for appearances’ sake and he knows better than to follow right after her.

In the end he plays well in the sandbox. So well, in fact that he strikes up a conversation with the Major. They talk of helicopters and Immelmann maneuvers and they bore Santiago enough that he abandons them for a pretty blonde at the bar.

And Catfish shakes Messerschmitt’s hand when he leaves.

But he still doesn’t know his name.

_____

Frankie crawls back to her at midnight like a shamed thing with his tail between his legs.

She opens the door to find his hands stuffed in his pockets, doe eyes back on full display.

And Audrey wishes she hadn’t handed him that napkin.

But she also wishes for the confirmation that he offers now.

That they’re going to be okay.

In their own, fucked up kind of way.

She invites him inside without saying a word and he doesn’t reach out for her as he steps into darkness.

City lights filter in through large windows, but a candle on the coffee table is the only thing lighting his way.

She’s just been sitting in the dark. 

And he stands in her home that he can’t see, somewhere between her living room and her kitchen, watching her move from the bar to the fridge and back again, still clad in her white evening gown.

Like a ghost in the night. 

She hands him tequila and scoops the dregs of her martini off of the coffee table, downing it before heading for the sink.

He catches her arm on the way, holding her on the tips of his fingers, waiting for her to move. 

She stops but doesn’t lean in. 

“I’m sorry.” Frankie whispers. 

And the candlelight catches in her eyes when she looks to him.

For my jealously. For what I said. The questions I asked. 

For insinuating that you’re a whore.  

But instead “I’m sorry” is all he repeats on a sigh as he lets her go and to his surprise she reaches to wrap an arm around his neck, pressing her body to his, burying her face in his collar.

It takes him a moment before he holds her back, biceps squeezing around her ribs. 

And feeling bursts from his chest with a sob. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, I’m sorry,” he kisses against her hairline, seeking forgiveness in her mouth. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” is all he gets in return. “Alone.”

And she leaves Frankie standing backlit by city light, looking for all the world like a man-shaped void in her home.

Frankie thinks he should leave.

He wants desperately to run from this pain of his own creation, slip into drink in his own hotel room and pass out on the floor.

It can’t be that hard to find coke in DC.

And the thought scares him enough to make him stay. 

He forces himself to move on legs of lead to collapse on her couch, screwing the heels of his palms into his eyes, listening to water against tile where she’s left the bathroom door open. 

Audrey returns to him in a black linen robe, wet hair smelling of white flowers. 

Darkness unfurls into night-blooming florals.

The same darkness that dry-rots him from the inside out, leaving nothing but a cloud of cheap blow behind every time something collapses.

And her manicured feet enter Frankie’s frame of view, but he doesn’t look up until she kneels down, reaching her hand to cup his scruffy jaw and tip his face to hers.

He’s crying.

She thumbs one tear from his cheek before it’s replaced with another.

Frankie engulfs her hand with his, turning to press a kiss to her palm.

“We don’t work here, Francisco.”

And she skates around her issue to get to the heart of their issue. 

She’ll deal with herself later.

What they have doesn’t belong here. 

In city lights, where people wear diamonds and Rolexes. Where mistresses and wives are the ones making deals to keep everything running smoothly. 

Here where she moves with practiced ease. 

Here where he’s lost in words that don’t mean what they say and smiles that lash instead of soothe.

Where the air draws cruel things from his throat.

“I know.”

They never intended to bring it here.

“Forgive me.” He whispers.

Forgive me the delusion.

“Forgive me, Audrey.”

Forgive me my words.

“Forgive me,” panted against her mouth, foreheads pressed flush.

Forgive me and show me you still care.

Because I don’t. 

Not about my body, not about my soul, and I might damn them both tonight if you don’t forgive me.

But he’s still asking on his behalf.

“Audrey, please. Please,” he sobs. 

I don’t know why I’m like this.

I don’t know where else to go.

Take me back. To before I bruised.

Bruises that blossom on her jaw now in low light.

But bruises were how they started.

And she takes his hands in her own and leads him to her bedroom where she strips layers from him. Rids him of wool and cotton and lays him in linen sheets.

She fits against his back, arm around a chest that can’t find steady breath. Audrey presses kisses to the back of his neck. Strokes his hair until sleep briefly takes him.

Like the warm body that she is.

And in the night he finds her, heated palms on her stomach, pulling her weight to rest on his hips but she peels his fingers from her skin and rolls back to her side of the bed.

He knows why he came here.

To fix what he’s done but he doesn’t know where to start sewing up the damage. 

He ripped too deep.

And Frankie doesn’t know what else to do but offer his body and allow her to take what she needs.

To allow himself to be a body for her to use after his words and his fingers implied she was the same.

And she knows none of it’s true but she can’t help but feel it.

The love she doesn’t know how to give. 

The family she’ll never have because she knows nothing more than how to bring death into the world.

But from where Frankie lies, tonight what she needs isn’t him.

And it brings a fresh, heaving wave of regret to crash through his chest.

_____

“I was engaged once,” she offers hours later as the blue beginnings of dawn start to light the room because she knows Frankie is still awake behind her.

“To him?”

“To a man more dangerous than you.”

“What h— what happened?”

“We were playing house in a home that was never ours.” 

“We’re brutal things. Where he tries now to atone for his sins, I lean into them. We were never set up to work.”

“What does he do.”

And she doesn’t answer that particular question when she starts again.

“He was a Delta too, once upon a time.”

“What was his name?”

“Spencer.”

And it’s like a gift. Frankie knew of a Spencer who had made rank before him. Knew of the whispers that spread like wildfire through barracks of a ghost of a man who could do the impossible and he wonders if they’re one and the same.

Not unlike the woman in his arms.

“And now?”

“Sometimes we find each other on nights that get too dark. Sometimes we save one another.”

Lives and souls.

“But most times we’re nothing more than memories and whispered wishes in each other’s general directions. Each one of us hoping the other is still alive.”

“He would take you back?”

And Frankie doesn’t understand his fixation on this question, because she’s not his and never claimed to be. 

But pieces of her live in the hearts and beds of other men and he desperately wants all of her for himself.

A wildcat in a cage.

A taxidermied husk with glass eyes.

A pelt to drape himself in.

He doesn’t ever ask if she would have them.

“Everyone would take me back, Frankie,” she pulls the duvet up to her ear.

“Because I’m always the one who leaves.”

“Will you leave me?”

It hangs in the air. Unanswered.

And he knows now.

She will leave.

And he will be another man who holds another piece of her.

And she will continue giving away whatever pieces of her that men will take.

Until there’s nothing left.

Nothing but murmured whispers of a ghost.

And pieces of her memory.

_____

When daylight comes, Frankie blinks hard at where sunrise streams through sheers.

Reaching out for warmth before dread blooms in his chest.

Audrey’s gone. 

It’s her house and she’s gone.

And he bolts from the bed, searching for signs that she��ll return. 

But he finds no note, no text, no sign.

Audrey’s left him.

next

_____

Author's Post Script: Messerschmitt and Spencer are actual characters that I've borrowed to play with for a moment, all credit to their original owners. Feel free to slide your guesses into my DMs if you're so inclined. Or just want to chat after all of that.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @toomanytookas @spookyxsam

Also again taking the risk to tag some lovely folks who have shown interest in this here little story. As always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged:

@tinytinymenace @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @theshensei @iamskyereads @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @soft-persephone @julesonrecord @criticalarchitecture @oliveksmoked @jessthebaker @tanzthompson @youandmeand5bucks @ems-chaos-corner @thethirstwivesclub @76bookworm76 @tuquoquebrute

Please note that old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted here at Ohforficsake.

Shoot me a message @ohforficsake or comment under this post if you would like to be added to the taglist for updates! Thanks so much for reading.

[raina-clipse423]

Cat Doki! (Pt. 2)

Here's Natsuki (Monika and Yuri) for those who haven't seen her!

SAYORI!! She's going for a surprise attack, look at that fearsome hunting face!

She's a Devon Rex kitty, and Warriors her name is CherrySilk!

(Warriors!au info for those interested bellow the cut)

A cheerful cat of Windclan, seen running around the territory most of the time and is a little bit too clusmy to be a proper warrior. Despite that she still gets invited to hunting duty and occasionally patrol, however she's usually just moral support and cheer her clanmates on when catching prey, or the voice of reason if they come across an intruder.

Under her outgoing ways, CherrySilk is quite burdened by the gamble that is life in the forest. She avoids talking about it, but often she wonders what life is like for Kittypets. They always looks so full, healthy, and generally happy, they don't suffer the disappointment that is missing a kill, near starvation during Leafbare if there wasn't enough freshkill stocked, the fear of losing kittens and cats to bigger animals, and so on... Their twolegs do quite a good job keeping them happy in her opinion, she doesn't understand what's just so bad about kittypet life that other cats just despises it, both Kittypet and clan life are great in their own ways. The tension between clans is what hits CherrySilk hardest.

There was one... Inspirational stroll she took one day. Thinking of StarClan... How.. warm, and happy cats must feel up there, how they don't suffer from their scars anymore, kits reuniting with family.. she had aimlessly wandered to a Thunderpath, in rumbled under her paws and for a second she welcomed it, but she was startled by yowl then noticed just in time as a twolegs monster ran by and she leaped out of the way. It was her first time seeing one, and it was terrifying, loud and big. A kittypet thankfully saw her and called out to her, a "Car" she called it. She's not the first kittypet CherrySilk met, there's another tom she's met since kithood, and this kittypet is just as intriguing as he was.

Is this gonna be another great friendship?

[jinnify]

Hi hello! Could u write up a lil something with Minho and a vball player s/o? Like hes there at every game, practice, and even drives to away games/tournaments- AND HE HELPS YOU PRACTICE OH LAWD- 😫

untitled — lee minho

pairing: leeknow x y/n genre: i dont even know probably fluff, maybe slice of life ? warnings: none word count: 0.6k now playing: lovers rock by tv girl author's note: gosh anonie im so sorry about how late & short & shit this is 😭 i'm definitely going to try and rewrite this later on bc this is not it but you've waited way too long for it.

— “HOW WAS IT?” Minho asked as he picked you up from your academy gym. “I’m sorry I couldn't make it today, sweetheart. I promise I’ll be there next time.” You pouted, reaching over the console of his car to hug him, “nine to thirteen, the other team could tell something was up, I guess.” You felt Minho squeeze you, “No worries, baby. We got another game this Wednesday, and I think this might be your best one.” You pulled back, “I need to get you banned from my practices. You’re starting to sound like Coach.”

“Baby! Wake up! I gotta get you to practice!” you heard Minho yell out as he burst into your shared room, holding a pair of pans he planned on smacking together if you didn’t wake up the first time he called. “Minho! Please, give me five more minutes!” You could hear a strange clanking noise as you rolled over, pulling Minho’s pillow over your head. “Winners don’t sleep in y/n! Winners are at practice showing off their ass for their boyfriend!” Before he knew it, you were running towards him, “wait, baby! I was kidding! I was just  kidding!”

Minho chuckled to himself as he looked over and pinched your cheeks. “Winners don't go to practice grumpy,” he cooed at you. “Minho, I swear if I hear the word ‘winner’ come out of your mouth one more time, I'm going to throw myself out of this car and walk home.”

“Okay,” click, “let’s not do that, actually.”

“Y’know, maybe we need to start bringing Soonie to my practices. Every time I see him before a game, we win,” you grumbled as you looked out the window. “Should I be feeling jealous of my cat right now? Because I feel jealous of my cat,” Minho pouted as he pulled into the gymnasium your team used to practice.

“Alright! Do your stretches! We start in 10 minutes!” your coach yelled as you walked through the side door, frantically tapping his watch at you. Minho immediately pulled you to the bleachers to help you switch your shoes as you put on your knee pads. “You see. You were holding up practice, yn!” Minho teases while he ties up your laces.

“Don’t say that. You know how I feel about being late,” you say as you lightly smack his shoulder. “I’m just kidding, baby,” he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your temple, “now let’s get started on stretches.”

You were thankful Minho had decided to stay for practice today. Your coach was as tough as ever because of your recent loss. Having Minho there as moral support was the only thing keeping you going. Seeing him pump his fist in the air as he cheered on your entire team warmed your heart.

“You look funny from the back,” you heard Minho chuckle as he walked up while you tried to catch your breath. “Wow, thank you, baby. Exactly what I need to hear after that god-awful practice,” you rolled your eyes as you stood back up. He stifled his laugh as you pushed past him to grab your water bottle. “Okay, I see you’re not in the mood. Are you ready to go home?”

“Actually, do you think we could practice together?”

Minho hesitated before reaching for your hand, immediately interlocking his fingers with yours, “I think we need to rest up instead. You’ve been at it for nearly six hours.” As much as you wanted to continue practicing, Minho was right. You could already feel the exhaustion setting in, and cuddling up next to your boyfriend sounded extra enticing right now. “Fine, but you owe me a session!” you remarked as you made your way towards your bag, ready to pack up all your things.

"How about a cuddle session? Does that count?"

© jinnify — reblogs appreciated

[carpenoctxrn]

Doctor. Doctor. (Spencer Reid x FemReader)

Chapter 1: The Invitation

Warning: Very horny reader. Slow burn. Alcohol Shot.

P.S I have Stranger things smut on my Wattpad @noctxrn

~ Y/N P.O.V ~

“Y/N! WAIT UP!” Said my friend Dr. Douglas, a.k.a Lisa Douglas.

Her light blue scrubs were crumbled matching the state that mine was in. At 2:29 in the morning I was finally getting out of work.

“Hey Lisa, what’s up?” I said as I stopped walking and stood behind the trunk of the car. I opened my car trunk using my key and began taking off the top of my scrub to wear the hoodie I had in there. The feeling of scrubs whilst I drove made me feel irritated, so comfortable thermal hoodies were the way to go for me.

“So, Luke wants to do dinner-” she paused as she waited for me to pull the hoodie over my head, “- with his work friends.” She finished as I was pulling my hair out of my hoodie.

“WHAT?” I whispered yelled at her as my eyes became wide and I raised my hand to pull down the trunk of the car.

“Is it getting serious?” I asked as my back leaned on the trunk of the car and I bent down on the ground to pick up my purse at the foot of my leg.

“Maybe? Kinda-” she said confused as she tried to figure out the answer she felt was right.

“Awwww…it's adorable that he wants you to meet his friends,” I said “..in a way in law enforcement the people that they work with become family, sooooo I guess maybe scout out a brother-in-law for me.” I said teasing her.

“You are not helping,” groaned Lisa as she put her hands on top of her face.

“My intention was not to help,” I said as I took my hair out of the professional pony-tail it was in and let it fall down on my back in a weird shape.

“You’re heartless demeanour makes me wonder if you’re a cardiologist so you could feel other’s heartbeat,” Lisa exasperated as she eyed me with a glint of annoyance in her eyes but also pride with her retort.

“Didn’t you say Luke was a profiler? As in he catches serial killers by psychoanalysing them and creating patterns from that?” I asked rhetorically. 

“Yes,” she said and I began to grin, “He is not rubbing off on me,” she whined as my mouth resembled that of a Cheshire cat.

“Whatever you say, Dr. Douglas.” I whispered.

“Anyways, I wanted you to come with me. Sort of like moral support.” Lisa asked as she had a pleading puppy face.

“Wouldn’t that be weird?” I asked a very obvious question. A stranger at a party with other strangers would just make everything strange.

“No, not really. You know Phil right?” she asked and I nodded yes in response. “Well I asked him to make you his date for my sake and he said yes.” 

“Oh,” I said now feeling weird that Phil is okay with the idea of taking me on a date, “He doesn’t like me like that, right?” I questioned as I felt the back of neck hair standing due to anxiety.

“No he doesn't. He just considers you a good friend and he understood my predicament and decided to be a generous friend,” she said to calm the obvious nerves that had accumulated in my stomach.

“Okay,” I sighed out. “Is there a dress code?” I asked.

“It's a cocktail party at Agent Rossi’s house, so formal cocktail but not too much. They are celebrating bringing down a cult for context,” she said as she began fishing for something in her bag. 

“Here,” she said as she handed me a piece of paper that had words written in a hast. “It’s the date, time and address of the huge mansion where this event is being held.” 

“So should I be subtly looking for a sugar daddy?” I asked Lisa with a grin on my face as this felt amusing to me. 

“No no, Rossi has a more mature taste,” she said in a matter fact voice, “although if you play your cards right you could possibly steal a dance from him.” 

“So.. sexy yet modest black dress matched with diamonds,” I thought out loud.

“Yes, very classical and convenient for when you inevitably decide to go to the club and get shitfaced drunk.” Summed up Lisa at my obvious plan. 

“Well, I guess I will see you in a day’s time,” I said as I approached Lisa in a hug and patted her back whilst saying “ so forget I exist for the next 18 hours,” with a smile on my face.

“Bye Y/N. See you tomorrow,” waved Lisa as she began walking towards the car that was parked a few feet in the front.

Getting into the driver’s seat of my burgundy 2015 dodge hellcat, I started the engine and felt my body begin to tingle. I was excited to sleep after being awake for 22 hours due to the strenuous nature of my work. My work was a good twenty minutes away from the apartment I lived in. 

Deciding to call my father who lived in Sacramento, California, I knew he was just returning home from out of state. I called his cell once, twice, and a third time but I still didn’t get an answer. Unfortunately I rolled my eyes as I knew what was happening. His wife was probably around which meant that he couldn’t talk to me. 

Pulling out of the car parking lot I saw that Lisa’s car had already left. For some reason the excitement of falling asleep was filled with despair of being alone. All by myself. I could have called my mother but a brutal fight when I was 18 had severed our relationship. We hardly talked, she hardly acknowledged my existence and I did the same to her. 

Taking a deep breath I felt the familiar gurgles of my stomach, signalling that it was hungry. Whenever I got sad or real about my life, I got severely hungry. It was my comfort and it was my coping mechanism. 

Pizza!

Stuffed Crust Pizza!

Calzones!

Cheese and BREAD!

The only thoughts that were running in my sad and hungry head. Deciding to look up a 24-hour pizza joint I asked Siri to do just that. But only a pub that was open till 5am was my only option. Deciding on a BBQ chicken flatbread and garlic knots along with their mozzarella + 5 cheese stuffed calzones with chicken and pineapple. The person taking my order said that it would take them 20 minutes and I was already 10 minutes into my drive. 

Not wanting to wait in my car for 10 minutes I decided to stop by a McDonalds to grab some ice-cream, one large coke with no ice, and a hot chocolate with caramel. Looking at the time on the screen of the car's dashboard, it read 2:59am which meant that I had another 6-7 minutes give or take. 

Still feeling too tired to just sit in my car I decided to throw my hair in a bun that just so happened to be messy. Touching up on my lip with a lip-balm and my cheeks with some blush, I stepped out of my car. Making sure to grab my phone and my car keys.

Walking inside the pub I saw that some people were playing pool, darts, or watching a rerun of some football game. The bartender was a middle-aged blonde woman with tattoo’s. The nametag read that she is the manager and her name is Boyce.

“What can I get for you hun?” She said as she was counting the money a man had just given her.

“I’ll take a scotch” I said “neat, please” I added as I sat down on the bar stool. 

“You’re not going to operate heavy machinery right?” She said as she cocked eyebrow up, whilst pouring me the whiskey in a clean glass. 

“Not for more than 5 minutes,” I said with the kindest voice and an innocent look gracing my tired face. 

“Oh, you live close to here?” She said amused, as she passed me my drink.

“Yea it’s a 15 minute walk here from my apartments,” I said as I threw my head back and downed the burning and horrid liquid. 

“Oh fuck” I said my face contorting in distaste as I slammed the glass back down.

“I forgot this wasn’t tequila,” I said my face still contorted from the shock and taste of the malt substance.

“You’re a funny thing, aren’t you?” She said as she stopped her work to take a moment to appreciate my foolishness. 

“Only when I’ve had five hours sleep and it was close to 26 hours ago” I said as I slowly coughed, not wanting to seem like a bigger tool. 

“I have an order, it might be ready by now,” I said as I stared at the empty glass. Pondering at the idea of food and sleep.

“Sure, flatbread, calzones, and garlic knots?” She asked as she read something from the screen in front of her.

“Yes that’s it, plus the shot of scotch” I reminded Boyce. 

“Yea a shot was right,” She said as she began ringing me up.

“$68.98 will be your total, sweetie” she said as she turned around to pick up my food to hand it to me. I handed her an even $80 and said the rest was her tip. She chuckled and said the drink was getting to me and I just smiled and whispered a bye as I headed out.

I felt a small hue of pink forming on my cheeks. A sign for how much impact social interactions have on my introverted, tired, and fairly one-shot of scotch self. My knees and thighs were warm against the bag of food. 

In a few seconds I was inside the car, the roar of the engine coming back to life once again. I put the food on the passenger seat beside me and began pulling out of the parking lot to head towards the direction of my apartment that was two traffic lights and one left turn away.

As I was driving towards the gated apartment that I resided in I saw the clock that read 3:15am. Feeling even more tired at the realisation of the long hours that I had just pulled, I pressed the play icon on the cold screen of my very hot car. 

Cash Cash on my dick, I like Givenchy 

All those fake hoes told me no but now they chasin’ me 

Cash Cash on my dick, I like Givenchy

Got this shit on lock like penitentiary,

The dirty lyrics of Bow by Reyn Hartley filled the air inside my car. The subtle rumble from his voice that added bass to my speakers made the song come to life. Even though the lyrics were degrading women and boasting about men, I couldn’t help the way I felt about the song.

Actually that’s a lie. 

I love how in my head I personify myself as a woman who transcends into a men’s person so I can relate to this song. Be the purpose of this music. Be the reason for a feeling. 

As the song came to an end my apartment came into view. Going into my designated parking spot labelled 7. As I was about to get out of my car I decided to gather my things around the car to limit the amount of time I have to spend outside of my car gathering my needed belongings in the cold. 

Let’s see. 

One hand will carry the food and the hot chocolate. 

The other hand will carry soda and my purse and my keys. 

Perfect!

With that thought I began gathering the respective items to it’s the correct hand. I began opening my car doors to exit the frozen tundra my car had become in the three minutes it was parked.

The brisk walk to my apartment door was quiet. That’s what happens at 3:30am in the morning. 

Not a soul nor a body.

Just a mind fueled with thoughts conspired by the darkness of the sky and the light showered by the moon. 

In this moment nothing was perfect but everything was so serene it felt like a painting.

I was struggling a bit to open my door, but I quickly placed my drink and my food on the floor so I could open the door much more easily. 

With a sigh of relief I felt happier knowing my home was open and I quickly basked in the comfort of minimal clothing and delicious food. Grabbing my things from the floor I quickly walked inside my apartment. The familiar smell of vanilla and sex indulged my senses. 

Squirt does smell like sex

My thoughts pointed out to me. Living as a single female on the other side of the country had its challenges. Not having the comfort of a home cooked meal was one of the challenges. 

The other was love life. Although this depends on your own view. For some people finding people to hangout with is difficult. And it was the same for me until I came to a realisation.

I didn’t want friendship. I am nice, I help people out when they are in a difficult spot, and I am always polite to everyone. I have “friends”. 

Friends I didn’t want but had. 

What I wanted was skin igniting, drunk on eachother, hardcore sex. I did get hardcore sex from the men in Washington. I just didn’t get that feeling that comes with just needing to have them inside you. Being in the same room as them makes your cheeks turn red and your breath heavy, just as how you would’ve looked when you were cumming on their cock deep inside. 

Many of the men that I hook up in the bar tend to be muscular with tattoo and roughhousing type of men. The men who look like the description of a gangster erotica novel. 

Growing up I exposed myself to Nikita Gil’s poetry about bad boys. The morally grey character in a perfect world who will ruin the reality for your own sake. I assumed that maybe if the muscle and the tattoo fits, so will the sex.

But it didn't. The sex wasn’t bad, but they couldn’t make my body convulse like I could with my finger on my clit and a vibertor inside my hole.

Deciding to quickly change out of the clothes I am wearing, I headed into my room to grab my black and white chequered pyjama pants along with an oversized navy blue sweatshirt that I thrifted. It had a logo of the local police department's soccer group and I felt it would let any potential kidnappers/ killers/ muggers/ rapists get the idea I have a connection to the local police department. 

Turning on the T.V I played the current series I was watching, well more like rewatching. Supernatural.

In this series Castiel had joined the dynamic duo of brothers and was helping them on a case. Walking towards the kitchen that was conveniently in the same space as my living room, I began opening the food and bringing it out to my coffee table. Grabbing my drinks last I sat down on my couch and took a sip of the coke and bit out of the calzone.

It tasted so delicious. The taste of the shredded chicken mixed with the sweetness of the pineapple and the spiciness of the jalapeno was such a treat to my tastebuds. The cheesy texture added more of a chew to the bite. 

After eating half the calzone I took some bite of the BBQ flatbread and realised it tasted perfect but my stomach was after the calzone. So I decided to finish my soda, my calzone, and treat myself to some garlic knots and a delicious cup of hot caramel chocolate from McD’s. 

Looking at the sleek golden clock hanging on top of the T.V, it read 4:30am. The tiredness washed over my body. Deciding to just sleep on my couch I set an alarm for 2pm, and began to doze off to the sounds coming from my screen. I grabbed the chunky crochet blanket off the ledge of my couch and draped it over my sleeping body.

Chapter 2

[granatkoroleva]

𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐊𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚’𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐜’𝐬

This rec list is created for @stuckybingo

Card # R40101 | Square filled - B4 | AU: Lawyer

Title ⊳ Innocent Until

Author ⊳ L1av

Pairing ⊳ James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating ⊳Explicit

Word Count ⊳138K

Major Tags ⊳ Lawyer!Bucky, BDSM, Kink, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Secret Relationship

Summary ⊳ Bucky Barnes made a name for himself as the attorney who could get anyone off, but he still lives by the saying, "Innocent until proven guilty." Steve Rogers finds himself on trial for multiple homicides but he swears he was only trying to protect a girl. Bucky's been in this business long enough to know when someone's innocent, and Steve is innocent. Steve already feels like a monster and Bucky's worried this guy's going to lay himself on the sword come his trial. So Bucky offers up another course for punishment:

Turns out, chains and whips really excite Steve.

Commentary ⊳ The moral dilemma of a taboo relationship between attorney and client is pushed to the limits in this emotional whirlwind. It explores the start of a complicated relationship based on trust that, with tensions and compatibility so off the fucking charts, it left me screaming and crying for a happy outcome—and for Steve to be proven innocent.

Read it here

Title ⊳ A Hard Case of You

Author ⊳ @chiyume

Pairing ⊳ James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating ⊳ Explicit

Word Count ⊳21K

Major Tags ⊳Mechanic!Steve, Lawyer!Bucky, Strangers To Lovers, First Meetings, Homophobic Language, Happy Ending

Summary ⊳ James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, seasoned lawyer at Shield Legal Services, New York City office, is in a bad mood.

He’s driving down the I-90 from Buffalo in his sleek black company car, AC running on cool to keep the air from growing stuffy. He’s got his jaw set in that particular way he knows will cause him a major headache in a few hours, but right now the last thing on his mind is his own future discomfort.

In which Bucky's car breaks down when he's already feeling his worst, and he's forced to seek help from whatever's nearby. Luckily, Rogers' Auto Repair isn't too far away, and everyone seems very enthusiastic about recommending the place. But when Bucky gets there, he has a hard time seeing the professional the whole town's been speaking of so fondly...

Commentary ⊳ Bucky being stranded with only mechanic Steve who can help. Ahhhhhhh. Two idiots and the fun use of tropes.

Read it here

Title ⊳ Sweet Sugar

Author ⊳ this_wayward_life

Pairing ⊳ James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating ⊳ Explicit

Word Count ⊳ 8K

Major Tags ⊳ Lawyer!Bucky, Student!Steve, Age Difference, Sugar Daddy Bucky Barnes, Meet-Cute

Summary ⊳ This is not Bucky's scene.

Truthfully, most social situations aren't his scene, but particularly this one. He's closer to forty than thirty-five these days, and spending time in an overcrowded bar whose population tends to fall towards the early twenties side of the age scale is not something he particularly enjoys. If it was up to Bucky, he'd be spending his Friday night either in his office catching up on the Martinelli case or half-asleep on the couch, re-watching Criminal Minds and snuggling with his cat.

But, since Bucky sold his soul over to the Devil in sophomore year of law school when he made friends with one Natasha Romanoff, he's here, stuffed into a shirt that is a bit too tight around his midsection and jeans that he can barely sit down in.

Commentary ⊳ College jock Steve pursuing grumpy Bucky, and Bucky accidentally acquires a sugar baby. Also—BOTTOM DADDY BUCKY makes me feral.

Read it here

Rec Masterlist

Header created by @rookthorne

[xamaxenta]

Marcoace modern au where Marco’s new in town and desperately needed a date for his new job’s new year gala/party or whatever and its mandatory he attends with a date/partner/spouse

So against his better judgement he follows Thatch’s advice to stand on the side of the road with a sign stating his name, his job and that he needs a date ASAP, please call x number

And it’s pretty mortifying, just standing there, with Thatch (who did show up as moral support) trying to wingman various people into going with him but to no avail

Until a young man approaches and asks if he’s serious and Marco sighs like unfortunately. Yes.

Ace shifts on his feet and thinks about how this year his holidays are going to be quieter seeing as Luffy’s staying in his uni dorms for the winter holidays instead of coming home and Sabo has to visit his family due to legal shit this year bc sorting inheritance and he’s feeling petty

So he asks what’s the dress code ? And Marco shrugs like formal? Theme is winter colours I suppose and Ace thinks it over a little long and then pulls out his phone to save Marco’s number

Thatch is beside himself lurking behind Marco like 👀, Marco kicks him in the shins surreptitiously

Glad that he’s sorted out the date issue, Marco and Ace end up texting frequently, and its super cute, Ace currently works as a freelance accountant whilst enrolling in online classes to get a teaching degree (kindergarten teacher Ace strikes again hehe), he likes cats, spicy food, documentaries and going on long hikes

Marco didn’t expect to catch feelings this fast, especially considering they’ve only met once in person and texted there after. He’s a little nervous as the gala date grows closers and asks Ace if he still wants to go and Ace sends him a voice message, the first one ever where he jokingly reprimands Marco like hey! No take backsies, you asked for this I’ promised you and besides I’m down for free fancy hors d’oeuvres lol

So they set a time to meet up so they can go together, Ace doesn’t have a car, a motorcycle yes but Marco isn’t keen on arriving cold and windswept so he offers to drive seeing as alcohol isn’t really his thing

And when he arrives to pick Ace up, he hadn’t been expecting much, considering he’s really just wearing a nice suit himself but Ace waits for him in a very daring white ensemble, perfectly tailored to fit and contrasts with his hair prettily, bc supermodel Ace is always necessary for modern aus too thanks ❤️

Speechless, Marco just looks him over and Ace smiles and tells him this is the only good suit he actually owns, (Sabos tailor is goated in this au, Sabo also forced Ace to get one good suit bc its for life bro) Ace shyly asks is it alright and Marco kinda struggles to say much bc ha pretty man

But he reassures him of course, if anything he feels underdressed now and then flusters when Ace flickers his eyes up and down his body, clearly, obviously checking him out

And the entire social event with Ace turns out to be so much better than he expected, dare he say fun, Ace being more extroverted than him talks for the both of them, happily chats and sustains conversations with Marco’s colleagues and their wives or husbands etc, they even win something together during the bingo hour and when the dance floor opens up, Marco, notoriously known within his own family for having two left feet allows Ace to drag him out, unable to resist his smile and lets him lead them around the dancefloor to dated festive music and it must be the wine Marco said he wouldnt have (but he did, its fine hes still sober) but as the night wears on, Ace becomes beautifully disheveled, in the sense that he’s slightly flushed from the champagne, his hair that was initially styled now mussed from how hes run his hands through his hair

It only feels natural to kiss him beneath faux crystal and snow

[generic-lab-assistant]

Now do all of the even numbers.

You’re really makin me work today huh

Let’s go then

2.

Ralph likes hot chocolate, but, once again, he mainly drinks that sweet, sweet Pibb

Pam likes tea and coffee, she’s not a big fan of hot chocolate, even in her human form

6.

Ralph rarely ever reads, he likes to watch stuff instead- and his favourite movies are NoTLD (ofc it is), The Birds, Psycho, & Friday The 13th. He wasn’t really a big fan of Texas Chain Saw Massacre (Pam was though!)

Pam likes to read old poetry books for comfort, even though half the time she feels like she doesn’t completely understand it, she’s comforted by the words.

14.

Ralph & Pam both are really easy to please, just be nice or within their standards for someone they’d like.

20.

Ralph’s comfort item is that fucking Winchester, sometimes he snuggles with it when he’s drunk.

Pam doesn’t really consider anything her comfort item, but sometimes she’ll sit in the barn and hold one of the random non-sentient/able to be human animals like you’d hold a cat to comfort yourself.

22.

Ralph usually snacks often, and he has a mini fridge stocked with stuff in his room too. He still eats normal meals during the day though.

Pam can go a decent amount of time before eating, but the hungrier she gets the more pissed she’ll be. She usually eats 1-3 big meals/animals in a day and take a nap afterwards if she feels like it.

24.

Ralph can play basketball decently, but his aim is awful and he can never make a basket, he’s also very good at chopping wood

Pam has very sharp teeth and a very strong jaw (even as a human), as a gator she can also deathroll a mf- as a human she can play the trumpet really well

26.

Ralph had a pet dog, Gage, who got hit by a car when he was a wee child

Pam is basically an animal person, she can just go back and forth as she pleases. Damn that tasty well goop.

28.

Ralph would be on Twitter, broadcasting his elaborate bullshit ideas and getting into arguments. He would probably also have lots of other apps but never make accounts for them and forget he downloaded them.

Pam would probably have Instagram and Facebook (she’s like 40 leave her be), she’d avoid any apps that someone like Cooper, Linda, or Billy would use because she considers them a little moody and/or ‘crazy’ and she doesn’t wanna be like that

30.

Ralph, oddly enough, is better in chaotic situations- because he himself is a chaotic dude.

Pam is better in linear situations, she needs time to think and plan and figure out where her morals lie in the moment

32.

Ralph would wear a polo and jeans, he’s not one to dress fancy unless he REALLY has to

Pam would wear something that would definitely be considered a little inappropriate for the situation, but she would rock it anyways because shes Pam

34.

Ralph can drive and is actually decent at it, but he will scream and honk the horn at people if they annoy him

Pam cannot drive but she will definitely pretend like she can

36.

Ralph could always try to kill again- not really a president, but if someone made him snap really bad then wuh woh

Pam’s past alligator lovers have been a fine mix of murderers (20 sank in a lake, 0 found), arsonists (don’t ask how a gator commits arson, they just do), thieves (again, don’t ask), and sad post-divorxe gators. All of various gator genders.

38.

Ralph flops down onto his bed and immediately takes a big ole nap, if he’s feeling up to it he’ll watch a movie, but after a long day he’ll usually just let his radio play

Pam (gator) gets into the pond and sinks to the bottom and stays there for awhile; Pam (human) skinnydips in the pond Maxine-style for a good while

40.

Ralph attempts to track down the mugger to kill them, but because he’s not a master of doxxing people he just ends up failing unless he’s able to catch up to the thief

Pam comforts them as best she can, and tries to make them feel better

42.

Ralph forgets he has a birthday most of the time, he just ends up treating it like a normal day because that’s what his parents did a majority of his life

Pam usually celebrates her birthday by putting a party hat on a bird and then eating it, but when she was a younger gator she would go to epic gator parties to celebrate

44.

I haven’t read a HP book since I was in middle school and I don’t plan to ever again (I wore black for a month cause I was sad and kids called me ‘Snape’. Never again)

46.

Ralph has like a little idea of religion, but he’s mainly fueled by zombie-based superstition.

Pam is fairly agnostic, most gators don’t have a strong sense of faith in any god aside from one that is a very large gator

48.

Ralph is a bit easy to annoy or anger, but it depends on what exactly you say to him, but making him cry is fairly easy if you know where to hit (hint: his beliefs and/or face marks)

Pam isn’t easy to make cry, something really really bad would have to happen for her to start crying, she can easily get angered or annoyed (especially if she’s physically hurt), but she rarely expresses it unless she feels like it

50.

Ralph sleeps really heavy, and aside from the occasional zombie killing fantasy dream he doesn’t really have any (but if he has what he thinks is a ‘premonition’ he will go batshit), but he enjoys staying up late

Pam goes to sleep for short periods of time, usually in water, and is a very light sleeper since she can nearly feel anything that might be happening around her. Sometimes she has dreams, but usually they’re really weird so she never talks about them.

[dvsconocvdo]

BASICS

FULL NAME: Harumi Matsui ALIAS: Haru BIRTHDAY: November 9, 1991 AGE: 32 GENDER & PRONOUNS: Butch/Nonbinary, they/he/she (any is fine) HOMETOWN: San Francisco, California SPECIES: Human (good ol' human). OCCUPATION: Computer Engineer at K-Labs. NEIGHBORHOOD: Sunny Harbor (currently living in the Emerald Hotel) SEXUALITY: lesbian

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: relaxed, down-to-earth, patient, analytical NEGATIVE: inexpressive, self-centered, apathetic, distant MORAL ALIGNMENT: true neutral DESCRIPTION: TBA

SUMMARY

Ken's Younger Sibling (regardless of what Pace says, Haru is the youngest one. Suck my left toe)

Grew up in San Diego with their two older brothers (Sibling WC in LunarCoveHQ please give us an eldest brother thank you)

Left California when they were 17 after leaving their childhood home and running away with their aunt.

Incredibly repressed person. Like truly, doesn't get enough physical affection or even words of affirmation. Truly desperately desires love and closeness and intimacy, but refuses to let anyone in.

Kind of sporty. Loves basketball, playing and watching games. Huge, and I mean HUGE Lakers fan. Enjoys running, and working out also. (Lowkey kind of buff)

Big puzzle nerd. Just loves staying indoors with their three cats, making puzzles, and fighting the cats as they hide pieces under the furniture.

That being said, adopted three (3) cats. Two were a bonded pair, and the youngest one was a "failed" foster who Haru got too attached to. One cat is a Russian Blue named Hoshi, the other bonded cat is a brown and black tabby named Yoshi, and the youngest is a black cat named Mochi (ty pace and pip for names).

Lived in Delaware for like 10+ years, and studied computer engineering. Lived with their aunt until like four years ago (2020). Then moved to Massachusetts and that's when things got real bad for them.

addiction tw // Their aunt is their parent figure. Matsui Sayuri means the absolute world to Haru. They talk often, and Sayuri was actually the first person to have an intervention with Haru when they were struggling with substance abuse. Haru is sober now. For them that looks like not drinking alcohol and not doing hard drugs, they do smoke cigarettes, but are wary about how many per day. They still struggle with their addiction, and will probably be joining a group in town to like have more support. (On a lighter note, their cats love playing with their little chips for being sober).

Struggles with their identity pretty hard, no gender identity or anything like that. They're pretty confident about that, but rather they just feel like they don't know themself, or that what they do know is not good and they don't appreciate it. Haru just feels like a shell of a person most of the time, so they try to find things that feel good for a little bit to cope. Just a mess, the one thing they do know is how much they enjoy working on cars hence their dream of owning an auto shop or becoming a mechanic. Has a TON of cars and a few bikes. Most of their cars are in storage in Massachusetts, but they brought a bike and a car with them to LC.

Knows how to do card tricks, but will not show off to just anyone, so very few people know this. But it's very likely to catch them fidgeting with cards. (Funny tid bit, in honor of growing up in a house of cards, they have a tattoo of three court jesters in reference to their brothers and them and a king and queen in reference to their parents).

Extremely carefree and self centered. Doesn't care about a lot of things, truly an unbothered icon. They will find out about the supernatural for the first time when talking to Ken (after uh years of not seeing him) and they'll be unbothered by it. Truly shrugging things off to cope. They'll panic in private and no one will know about it, thank you very much. You could fool them pretty easy about supernatural stuff, but they aren't asking, they will simmer in ignorance until they join the Coalition (which will be soon).

Has a vast knife collection, and always carried at least two. Doesn't really care about the laws on knives. To be honest, they don't care about a lot of laws. They are mere suggestions, nothing more. (which makes Ken being their older brother quite funny lol)

I don't know? I'll add more as I develop them and I remember things, for now this seems good.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Neighbors! Currently Haru is staying at the Emerald Hotel, so come one come all.

Are you having car problems? Haru can help. They won't be super nice or chatty about it, but they'll help mostly because working on cars is fun for them, not because they want to help lol

Please call Haru "Ken's sibling" and watch as their face morphs into utter disgust. For years, their parents compared Haru and their brothers, pitting them against one another, so the mere idea of just their whole being just being "Ken's sibling" is fully triggering.

I would say childhood friends except the Matsui's didn't really have friends? Just the Morrell's and that... crashed and burned. So like, people who Haru knew when they were in California. Their parents were well-off, so they got around.

In that same lane, people Haru has met through their travels? Haru is probably my character who has traveled the most. They have gone to a ton of states, probably went to Toronto, CA at least once, has traveled western Europe extensively, has also been to Japan on multiple occasions.

Flings that have crashed and burned? Haru is probably the last person you'd want to date because they are considerate enough as a partner, but completely lack emotional intelligence, so things just... fall apart so easily. Or flings that will crash and burn. Or flings in general. (Daphne for flings in general)

Coworkers at K-Labs! (Altan and Dhruv)

Don’t get along over a misunderstanding but both refuse to talk about it or acknowledge it.

Honestly, I think forced proximity plots will probably work best because Haru is not going out of their way to talk to people. They didn't come here to make friends.

[crimsun-n-clover]

i went non verbal for a bit today.

i went to band practice with the metal band and couldn’t catch my breath enough to sing, so i kept missing cues or cutting off lines early. i was shaking and dizzy, trying to keep the three chords of the easy song we were playing in order. i was shaking, barely there mentally.

after that, i got in the car with mom, and she asked me how it was. i said it was bad, but that was my fault. i kept stuttering through everything i said, and talking got harder and harder. i just stopped altogether because it hurts in a way i can’t explain. it’s a tough strain, but i don’t know what part of me is straining.

i can talk a little better now, but i feel useless.

yesterday i went to a waterpark with my family. it was fun and all, but a total sensory nightmare. i woke up with sharp pain all over and feeling like i just had a panic attack. because of that, all my bottled up stuff was too hard to hold back. i’m reliving stuff i pushed out of my head. i don’t have the energy to stop it, and as it keeps happening, i lose all energy at all and can’t stop it for a long time.

i might be this way for a month now. who fuckin knows.

i wonder if there’s an alternate universe where i’m happy right now.

i doubt it, seeing as i’m fundamentally fucked up, and that’s how my entire personality and perspective was built.

if i wasn’t autistic, anxious, depressed, adhd, fighting suicidal ideation, and a lesbian, i wouldn’t be me. i wouldn’t be the creative, punk, protective person i am. i wouldn’t have such strong opinions and strict morals. i wouldn’t have bad coping mechanisms. i just wouldn’t be me at all.

i don’t think there is a world right now where i’m happy. maybe i’m playing dnd every day, am in a long term relationship, playing as a character in rocky horror locally, touring with my band, whatever. all things that i would love. i’d still be pretty messed up.

and i think there’s probably more universes where i’m in prison, dead, or addicted to more severe substances than the ones i’m already on. seeing as i’ve been tap dancing on thin ice my whole life, other versions of me probably already fell through.

i wanna be put in a washing machine. spun around until all the filth comes out.

thrown against the walls and coming out better, even if i’m a bit rougher. i’m already pretty rough. i don’t wanna be a scratchy jacket that you push to the back of your closet because you don’t want to get rid of it, but you can’t stand to wear it all the same.

i know i mean something to a lot of people. i have a family (even if they don’t know me at all), close friends, kiddos i gotta look after, a cat who loves me more than anyone else, a car that my parents will scrap the second i stop defending her, a bunch of half finished projects that wouldn’t be finished ever if i was gone, all that.

i just don’t mean anything to myself. i’m trapped in this body and this brain, and it’s like i’m being punished for existing. it wasn’t my choice. my parents didn’t abort me (conservative assholes) and now they’re stuck with a mean burden who believes the exact opposite of everything they do. i’m a burden to myself. i don’t understand how other people love me

i know they do. i won’t deny that. but i can’t stand myself. and i know that’s probably because i tend to stay in a lot of pain in some way or another. i can’t love me. i’m better than a lot of people, i know, but i don’t like being in this state. i like my creativity and my tastes and my stances, but the rest of me is eating me alive.

i’ll be a hollow fucking shell before i’m 30, if i make it that far. the weird meds i’m on, my stupid behavior, and my willingness to put everyone before myself suggest i might not make it all that far. chaotic good is a genuine, faithful, and loving alignment, but any character like me probably went after some immoral piece of shit boss who was just a bit too powerful. killing us and snubbing out all the love we try to share in whatever indirect way we can.

you know, i always hate saying the word love. it’s so destructive. it implies that whoever is on the receiving end should love you also, and i never want to ask that of anyone.

i never told sugar. it scared me. i couldn’t say that i loved her, because i meant it in a different way than i meant it with everyone else. it was too big and scary to confront. i felt wrong for catching feelings over a friend, so i just didn’t let it show at all. i didn’t want to make her feel like she had to feel the same.

i love my friends, but it’s weird to tell them. it makes me uncomfortable, because they don’t know some of the bad shit about me. they don’t love all of me, and i don’t want them to have to say it back. it makes my skin crawl to the point that i can’t say “i love you too.” it’s just “same here, ya crazy bastard.”

i can tell the kiddos sometimes. i take care of them and they look up to me. they deserve to have a role model tell them that they’re loved. i may be a bad role model, but i’m one fuckin loving bad role model. if you see something in me that you want to be, that makes me think that you might not be completely okay, or maybe you’re repressed and don’t know how to be unapologetically yourself yet. i worry about them. they should be encouraged to be who they are at their core, so might as well try and tell them that they’re already enough and should just keep being more and more authentic.

i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i’m stimming so hard that it hurts. i keep seeing things moving out of the corner of my eye. i can’t stay still or focus. i’m dizzy every time i move. i can barely get words out.

i don’t like anyone seeing this blog, but if someone does, please explain to me that i’m not about to die. i don’t know why i feel like this and i’m at the point where i want to call a hospital just to be sedated and tested for stuff. i won’t feel anything or think anything, and maybe they’ll be able to stop everything from hurting as much.

i just started crying because i got tangled in my blanket. fucking christ i’m at a low. goodnight tumblr