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[andypantsx3]

FILLING IN | BAKUGOU x READER ˖˚˳⊹

summary: A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent drops out, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki.  contents: The classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar Bakugou, soft dom Bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush, slight bondage, descriptions of afab genitalia, nipple sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, pet names used: angel and sweetheart, porn with surprise feelings, 18+, 8.2k words notes: This is my Bakugou x Reader commitment for @ficsforgaza, and I am sorry it is late enough to also count for Valentine's Day (but also Happy Valentine's Day!!) Additionally, a special thank you to my angel princess @ofmermaidstories for handing me the nerd + pornstar combo when I was worried about Bakugou's characterization. I think this is the only way I could have ever written a pornstar Bakugou that felt right to me. Love you, Mermie.

The studio was churning in chaos by the time you arrived.

The first sign that things weren’t right was Komori, one of your fellow production assistants, propped against the wall outside. Her cellphone was pressed against her ear, and she looked nervous, her foot tapping a thousand miles a minute. She had a thumbnail pressed to her mouth and was chewing steadily through the nail like a rabbit through a lettuce leaf.

You didn’t want to disturb her, so you buzzed inside the studio, only to find the hallways filled with an equally nervous energy. Yaoyorozu, one of the production managers, hovered in the doorway of a dressing room. She looked to be arguing with someone, her normally sweet expression pinched in profile. A small circle of people took up the hallway behind her, shifting apprehensively.

A shrill voice filtered out of the dressing room as you tried to wedge yourself by. “I said I’m not doing it. We’re getting married and we agreed I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Bibimi—” Yaoyorozu started.

“Effective immediately. Find someone else,” Bibimi’s voice replied.

You stopped in your tracks, blinking as you turned back to the doorway, peering over Sato’s shoulder.

Bibimi Kenranzaki was one of the studio’s top actresses, the very performer scheduled to shoot the production you were working on this afternoon. The shoot was a Valentine’s Day special, and had already been delayed at Bibimi’s request several times. If you’d understood Yaoyorozu’s previous concerns correctly, today was the last possible day to shoot it with enough time for it to make it through editing to post on Valentine’s.

This was not good.

“Bibimi, of course we would never force you to do something you did not consent to,” Yaoyorozu said patiently. “But you can see how having delayed this shoot many times already puts us in danger of not delivering on our commitments.”

You heard a dismissive snort issue from the room, and peered over one of Yaoyorozu’s slender shoulders. Bibimi lounged across one of the waiting room couches, arms crossed over her chest. An enormous diamond ring you’d never seen before glinted from one of her fingers, clearly the source of today’s change of heart.

Oh, production was not going to be happy.

You winced as you ducked out from behind Yaoyorozu, heading back down the hall to stuff your things into one of the vacant lockers. It was a struggle to fit everything in as today you’d come directly from a lecture—two textbooks the size and weight of cinderblocks choking up all the space in your bag. You would have thought that, considering that a wide swath of the production staff were college students—including several of the performers themselves—the studio would have had a better set up. But it was often a fight to the death to even find an open locker amongst the many other bookbags, and an equally Sisyphean struggle to get the door shut on the tiny cubbies.

Once you finally managed to finagle the door shut on your backpack, you made a beeline for the supply room. Typically, your first task of any shoot was acquisition of about a million pounds of baby wipes and lube, though you wondered if they would be needed today, given the scene with Bibimi you’d just witnessed.

You checked the film schedule posted in the staff entry to find the allotted set room. Then you made your way down the twisting maze halls carpeted with ancient olefin to the set for You Cumplete Me, the obnoxious working title Kaminari had come up with for this particular Valentine’s Day project.

The room was set up like some generic apartment, a large bed with a wire-framed headboard dominating the majority of the space. A cherry wood nightstand cluttered with fake knick knacks stood diligently at the bedside, and two fake windows with their curtains drawn shut overlooked the whole affair, red dressings fluttering slightly in the breeze from a fan.

Most of the production staff was already inside the room, the cameramen and director huddled together in the corner, whispering nervously. You spotted Mina, the wardrobe coordinator and makeup artist, fussing with her phone in the other corner, her various products and brushes spread out across a plastic folding table, looking put out.

“You know if we’re going to be able to sub anyone in for Bibimi?” you asked as you approached her, flopping down in one of the chairs set up at her makeshift dressing table. You arrayed your armful of lube and plastic packs of wipes at the corner so as not to disturb her arrangement.

Mina’s eyes flicked up to yours and she grinned, the upturn of her mouth accented with perfectly-applied hot pink lipstick.

“Komori’s called like ten other actresses so far and can’t get anyone,” Mina answered. “And Shiozaki and Kendo are in-studio but both just got off another shoot so we contractually can’t use them. I think Yaomomo is ready to start shaking people down.”

You winced. Yaoyorozu never lost her cool, but the pressure must be mounting. You knew marketing materials had already been put out on the studio’s website, specifically promising the return of the studio’s highest-grossing star—Bakugou Katsuki—opposite Bibimi.

While Bibimi might be the highest paid actress, Bakugou was the real draw of UA Productions. UA churned out projects that were largely targeted towards less traditional markets—largely women—porn that was often of higher production value, higher quality scripting, and careful coordination showcasing enthusiasm and consent. It also subsequently employed more than its fair share of beautiful men.

And Bakugou Katsuki crowned that pile of performers. Though foul-mouthed and often irascible, he was undeniably breathtaking to behold, both on screen and in person. He was the typical blend of tall, strong, and well-muscled that most UA actors were. But he moved with a singular precision and intention that drove fans wild, and came equipped with bed-rumpled blond hair, mile-long lashes, a surly, pouty mouth, and a facial symmetry that Euclid himself would have wept over.

He was also nearing the end of his doctoral and would not be filming for much longer, you were given to understand. So the studio stood to lose a significant amount of audience trust and money, should this production fall through.

As if on cue, Bakugou Katsuki himself stomped through the doorway. The expression on his face told you he was already well-aware of what was happening with Bibimi, and he was getting annoyed with the hold up. He set a direct line for you and Mina, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

Your ears promptly went hot, the way they always did when Bakugou was in your line of vision.

You’d unfortunately had something of a crush on him from the minute you’d become a production assistant at UA, your third year of college. Funds were tight and your masters program loomed large in front of you, its meager stipend like a slap in the face. You’d needed something else flexible, and you’d found UA through the friend of a friend—its proximity to the university, and ever changing schedule of ongoing productions offering the perfect amount of flexibility for your situation.

Bakugou had been there that first day as Yaoyorozu gave you the tour, too. He’d been tucked up on the couch of the waiting room as you passed through, blonde hair rumpled, someone’s lip gloss still smeared at the corner of his jaw. He looked like a soft, relaxed mess—clothes askew like he’d pulled them back on after a shoot and immediately migrated to the couch—though his scarlet eyes tracked intently across the page of an enormous engineering text spread across his thighs. His long fingers twirled a pen absently, tapping against a notebook peeking out from just under the textbook, headphones jammed over his ears.

He did not look up as you made your way inside, but your stomach had flared to life with a sudden flutter of butterflies. You were startled by the pretty set of his mouth, the long lashes that swept over his cheeks as he read, the flex of those long, beautiful fingers on his pen. You had never seen a person so perfect in real life, and the effect was dumbing.

“That’s Bakugou, one of our performers,” Yaoyorozu had told you, leading you through the room. She did not stop to introduce you. “He’s working on a PhD in chemical engineering, and performs once every couple of months for us. He’s—erm—not quite friendly, so we’ll skip the introduction today.”

You’d followed her, nodding obediently, leaving Bakugou behind. You’d dutifully concluded your tour and signed all the paperwork, and met several other members of the staff. It was only when you’d been released from your onboarding obligations that you saw Bakugou again, as you ran out into the parking lot to start your car.

It was raining out, a torrential downpour much worse than when you’d arrived that came down in thick, pelting sheets. Visibility was bad enough that you almost missed the tuft of blonde hair across the parking lot, ducking under the awning of the nearby bus stop.

You knew the route headed back towards your university, and subsequently your apartment, and it dawned on you that Bakugou’s would most likely be attaining his cited PhD at your same college. You felt your mouth twist, impressed. PhD tracks were notoriously difficult to attain at Musutafu University—no wonder Bakugou needed a job that was, for lack of better phrasing, quick and dirty. He probably was drowning in post-grad labs and dissertation materials.

The memory of those long fingers tapping at the edge of his text suddenly flickered again in your brain, and something possessed you as you started up your engine. Before you knew what you were doing, you had pulled your car around into the bus stop bay, leaning out to call out to him.

“Hey—Bakugou, right?” you said, watching as scarlet eyes found yours, narrowing suspiciously. His pretty mouth lifted in an immediate, reflexive snarl, and those broad shoulders squared off, like he was getting ready for trouble.

You cut in, quickly explaining yourself when you realized he had no context for the rando hanging out of their car window at him. “I’m Yaoyorozu’s new production staff. Just joined today. Are you headed towards Musutafu U and do you want a ride?”

A blonde eyebrow lifted. “You’re with UA?” he asked. His voice was a kind of low growl, not unlike the thunder suddenly echoing overhead, and the sound shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“I—yeah. Just signed the paperwork this afternoon.”

Several spatters of rain dampened your cheeks where you had your head poked out of the window, and Bakugou’s eyes tracked them closely as he leaned in. “Then let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You recoiled, horrified at the conclusion he’d immediately brought himself to. “No! That’s not what I—I didn’t mean like—! I just thought because it’s raining out, you might want—”

“I want you to fuck right off, is what I want,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. He made a show of leaning back against the glass wall of the bus stop, its interior papered over with moldering ads. It was a clear dismissal.

You blinked at him stupidly for a moment, mind reeling that your gesture had been received so poorly. But then you realized he hadn’t seen you, in your trek through the staff room during your afternoon tour. You’d only just seen him, and you hadn’t spoken to him besides. Despite your immediate interest in and respect for him, he knew nothing about you.

And he was a pornstar, come to think of it. He probably had had a fair number of creeps proposition him out of the blue. Enough that he was suspicious now, as you might have been, were you in his position.

Your cheeks heated, suddenly ashamed. You nodded, gritting your teeth as you ducked back inside your car.

“Right, fucking off, as requested,” you said, turning your blinker on to move back out into the road. “Sorry to scare you. See you, um—see you at work sometime.”

“Oi—I ain’t fuckin’ scared,” you heard him growl, but then you were turning back out into the street. You rolled your window back up as you sped up, resisting the urge to look back at Bakugou in the rearview.

What a humiliating first impression that had been.

You'd fretted about it for another week before your first official day at UA, and for several weeks more when you didn’t immediately run into Bakugou. When you’d finally met him properly, however, Bakugou acted like he’d never even seen you before in his life, and you somewhat gratefully followed his lead. He treated you like anyone else, with the same kind of universal severity he turned on the other production staff. You discovered very quickly that he was impatient, brusque, no-nonsense. He stalked onto every set with all the latent energy of a nuclear missile strike, and never softened until after the shoot was over.

His general attitude, and your humiliating first encounter should have been enough to turn you off of him. But the occasional glimpse of him after a shoot—rumpled, relaxed, open in a way he normally wasn’t, in the way that you'd first seen him—was unfortunately enough to keep those initial butterflies aflutter.

The fact that he was smart—and annoyingly adept in the bedroom, considering the number of reshoots his costars often needed after they accidently came too early—did not help matters.

“Where the fuck is Yaoyorozu?” he demanded of you and Mina, as he approached you in the set room now.

You met his scarlet gaze, holding very still under his regard.

“She was negotiating with Bibimi just now when I came in,” you told him, cheeks heating as his eyes flicked over you. He had a very direct way of evaluating people, and rarely missed a detail. You hoped your makeup wasn’t smudged from where you’d had your head propped up in your hand, valiantly resisting falling asleep in your earlier lecture.

“Bibimi’s a waste of fuckin’ time,” Bakugou growled.

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t very well act opposite his own hand, so someone was going to have to fill in.

“Well Mina says we’re not having luck finding anyone else either so Bibimi is your best bet,” you told him.

Bakugou looked down his perfect nose at you. “Anyone in this damn studio could do better than she does.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Bibimi was popular with a variety of audiences for her exaggeratedly dollish features—you doubted just anyone could fill in for her and look as good. You said as much to Bakugou, and he scoffed.

“‘S not about looking good, it’s about showing that you’re feeling good,” he said plainly, igniting a wave of fire across your cheeks. The flames worsened when he crossed his arms over his chest and you had occasion to notice he was in nothing but a workout tank, his bare biceps flexing enticingly in the studio lighting.

You were thankfully spared from having to form a coherent response by Yaoyorozu stepping into the room. She was tailed by Komori, and wore a troubled expression. She waved an elegant hand that encompassed both your camp in the corner and the directors on the other side of the room.

“Bibimi is unfortunately out. And we cannot use Shiozaki or Kendo. I am afraid we may have to call off the shoot this afternoon,” she said.

“So get someone else in,” Bakugou said, with his usual brisk directness. He turned to face her. You caught the whiff of something light and clean on him as he did so, laundry detergent and recently-applied shampoo.

Yaoyorozu fixed him with an expectant look. “We’ve unfortunately worked our way through the roster of available performers. Unless you know someone else?”

Bakugou stared back at her evenly, arching a blonde brow. “There’re a bunch of extras already here, aren’t there?”

A little shock went through you. Extras. As in the…people in the room right now? Did he really mean the production staff?

Yaoyorozu blinked, apparently taken aback. Then her gaze slid thoughtfully between Komori, Mina, and you. Another little thrill raced through you, like you’d suddenly missed a step. Surely they both could not actually be considering that.

“I’m a hoe but I’m a loyal hoe,” Mina said from next to you, immediately putting up a rosy palm. “Eiji is my one and only, sorry babes.”

Yaoyorozu nodded. “Of course, I would not expect you to violate any commitments you already had to a significant other.”

“I am also seeing someone,” Komori volunteered, a shy little blush sweeping across her cheeks. You smiled a bit at her obvious regard for whoever it was—until you sensed a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly turning to you.

Your stomach dropped—less of a missed step then and more of a sudden push off a cliff.

Worst of all was the pair of scarlet eyes suddenly burning with undue regard in your direction. You stared straight at Yaoyorozu, unable to meet Bakugou’s gaze. You still felt like you might burn up under his scrutiny, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I—uh—” you said dumbly, floundering for the right set of words to explain yourself. “Uhh.”

“You seeing anybody?” Bakugou prodded, prompting a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks.

“Well—no—”

“You clean?” he asked.

Your face burned hotter. “Yes, if you must know—-but uh—”

“Then what?” he prompted.

“Is it that easy for you? To just switch partners like that?” you asked. You weren’t exactly a blushing virgin but you still had only slept with partners you had cared for. Bakugou had worked with you for years and never signaled anything beyond dismissal and semi-professionalism—so it wasn’t like he had that same level of interest in you, despite your enormous crush on him. How could he just switch, just like that?

Bakugou uncrossed his arms to settle his hands on slim hips instead, and he gave you another evaluating once over. “Something the matter with you?” he asked. You noticed he did not ask if you thought something was the matter with him. You wondered if your crush on him was that apparent.

“No,” you said defensively. “Just—I don’t know that I’d be any good on camera.”

“You’ve been in videos before,” Mina pointed out, tugging playfully on your belt loop. “You were in Bibimi’s Christmas special a couple years ago.”

“That was different,” you said, staring at her. “I was her evil coworker who sent her running into Tetsutetsu’s muscular arms. I didn’t have to get naked.”

“We can give you time to get prepared,” Yaoyorozu promised kindly. “If you wanted to um, clean up or trim—”

“It’s not that!” you said quickly, waving your arms. Your ears burned. “I just mean I would be shy.”

Bakugou watched you silently for another long moment, his full mouth pursed in thought. His gaze dragged down your body and then back up to your face, and you felt it like a physical touch.

“Then if you forgot you were on camera?” he asked, a rasp in his tone.

You blinked at him dumbly. “If I—forgot?”

“If I made you forget,” he said, flashing a sharp smirk. The arrogance looked so good on him, zinging through your veins like an electric current. Your cheeks and ears flared even hotter, until you thought you might actually be emitting smoke from them.

You tried to form words but seemed to have trouble shaping the proper ones with your tongue, making a series of choking noises before you managed. “There is no way you could—you’re not that good.”

Something hot flared to life behind Bakugou’s eyes, and his smirk curled even sharper. “We’ll see about that.”

“What if Bakugou helps you get over your nerves, and we just try it and see how you do.” Yaoyorozu prompted gently. “Is that something you would be willing to do? Of course we won’t pressure you.”

Your gaze jerked back to her as you startled. For just a second you’d sort of forgotten there was anyone in the room but Bakugou.

“I sort of doubt—but if you really need—I mean I could—try…” you fumbled out.

Yaoyorozu nodded gratefully, looking pleased again. “Alright, then let’s at least try it. Mina please find proper costuming and help get Y/N ready. I will draw up a short contract with the same terms we promise all our on camera talent for you to look over when you’re done.”

You nodded, a little dazed. Had you really just agreed to—?

But then Mina was laughing, grabbing you by the elbow and drawing you out of the room. She marched you towards the back of the studio building where she’d amassed a respectable wardrobe, racks upon racks of clothes. “Alright, this is going to be so fun! I love dressing new talent! It’s always fun to work out what’s going to work with your coloring and style on screen.”

The mention of you doing anything on screen had all the blood draining from your veins, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She kept up a stream of happy, easy chatter as she pecked around in the racks like a chicken hunting a grasshopper. Eventually she emerged with a robe in a deep pink, slippery and silky and glistening faintly under the overheads.

“Okay so you’re supposed to be a loving couple celebrating your anniversary and looking for ways to spice things up,” she said. “So you’ll be waiting for him to come home, looking delicious in this little slip of a thing. He can unwrap you like a V-Day present!”

Her callback to the plot of the shoot suddenly made you realize there were way more things involved in the project than just being pawed at on screen—and you did not know any of Bibimi’s lines. How the hell were you supposed to deliver any kind of performance?

“Don’t worry about it, I assure you the gears are already churning in Momo’s big brain,” Mina said when you asked as much. She peeled you out of your sweater and jeans, and ushered you into the robe. Cheeks burning, you let her look you over to make sure you were properly groomed for the camera.

Then before you could get cold feet, she bundled you up and shepherded you back into the set room and set to work on you with her various pots of paint and ointments. She worked a couple things into your hair, applied something glossy and sticky to your mouth, and adjusted the fit of your robe to her liking until she pronounced you ready.

Yaoyorozu was already leaning over you by the time Mina released you, laying out a packet of sheets in front of you. She detailed the terms to you in the professional, clipped tone you’d heard her conduct business in before, and soon enough you were penning in your own name in a shaky hand. The strokes looked almost foreign on the page, and you felt a little more than lightheaded thinking about what you’d just signed yourself into.

“So—what am I supposed to do about Bibimi’s lines?” you asked, your voice coming out kind of dry and crackly.

“We’re going to improvise,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugou will guide you. Try to respond as best you can to what he says, along the framework of being a couple celebrating their anniversary. It’s most important to capture your intimacy, however, so we can always come back and reshoot any dialog as needed after. You can call him Katsuki, there are no aliases for this shoot.”

You nodded, feeling even more nervous now that all the prerequisites had been completed.

That left Komori waiting for you. She was apparently assuming the duties you’d abandoned by becoming the star of this absurd alternate dimension. She led you over to what had been meant to be Bibimi’s starting mark on the bed and helped you spread your pink robe out enticingly. You almost laughed as you helped her, feeling foolish and distinctly unsexy for the deliberateness of it all.

There was nothing less romantic than half a dozen other people in the room with you, cameras and hot lights trained on you like you were an escaped convict under a helicopter floodlight. You got the impression that it was going to be a monumental task to work up the nerve to even loosen the tie on your robe, nevermind remove it.

Except then Bakugou walked in.

He’d changed, sometime in the half hour or so Mina had had you in her clutches. He prowled into the room in a dark charcoal suit, the consummate businessman home from his generic businessman job.

He looked unfairly good in it too—the close cut of it highlighted how his broad shoulders slashed inwards into a trim waist, and his pants showcased the flex of a strong, hard thigh. He’d acquired a chunky wristwatch in a dark metal, and it glinted dully under the overhead lights.

He looked sleek and dangerous, even though you’d just seen him stomping around in sweatpants not thirty minutes prior. You felt your breath escape you in a whoosh, your heartbeat kicking up as he prowled closer.

“I’m home, angel,” he said, a smoky rasp curling on the end of his voice. Despite the pet name, he sounded enough like his usual self that you almost answered him in turn.

You vaguely remembered you were obliged to playact with him, and you summoned up your nerve. “Hi, Katsuki,” you said. You hoped your voice did not sound too shaky. “Happy Anniversary.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes dipped down to your robe, fastening to the spot where it gaped open suggestively over one thigh. Your skin buzzed like a hive of bees was trapped beneath it.

“This my present?” he asked, stalking closer. He snagged the tie of your robe in his long fingers, toying with it speculatively.

“It should be easy to open,” you joked, then almost cringed.

Sexy. You were supposed to be sexy, not goofy as hell. And what happened when he really did try to open it?

A small amount of panic crept up your spine again, seeping into your veins. You did not feel ready to be naked before all of the eyes in this room, nevermind the roving gaze of the internet. What had you been thinking, signing up for this?

Your hand came up defensively to tug the robe tie back out of Bakugou’s hand, only for it to be captured too. Bakugou tugged you up and to him, and your face broke out in another sweeping wave of flame as you felt the hard planes of him against you. He was so warm, and smelled so good up close and you could not even begin to know what to do or where to put your hands—

Before you could ask him what the heck he was doing, however, he brought your captured hand to his mouth. You almost leapt out of your skin when you felt the gentle press of his lips on the inside of your wrist, the careful flicker of a tongue. Those scarlet eyes slid over you knowingly, near enough that you could see tiny flecks of deep purple in them.

His other hand came up to take your chin, his thumb stroking over the side of your jaw. The feeling made you shiver slightly, and it must have been clearly visible because the corner of Bakugou's mouth lifted into a smirk against your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every inch of your skin thrilling with the feeling of your longtime crush doing something this to you.

“Think I’m gonna enjoying opening you alright,” Bakugou intoned.

You struggled to remember what he was talking about, giving up almost immediately as his mouth trailed along the inside of your arm. It traced up and up and up, until he was hovering dangerously close to your face. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up to his.

And then he bent his head, and crushed his mouth to yours.

Immediately, everything else disappeared.

Kissing Bakugou was three thousand zillion times hotter than you could have ever even imagined. You’d sort of imagined that with an attitude like his, he would be all power and impatience. And the power was there, but leashed, somehow. His mouth was hot and shockingly sweet on yours, and his fingers cupped your face to his, holding you there like he planned to kiss you for hours yet.

Your head was spinning by the time he let your mouth free, and the dip of his blonde lashes as he looked you over was extraordinarily self-satisfied.

His hand on your chin went to your robe instead, pulling the collar wide so that he could lower his mouth inside instead, kissing over your throat. You seized fistfuls of his suit, clinging to him, as he mapped a hot path across your shoulder and collarbone, one of his hands coming up to up your chest.

You heard yourself let out a soft hiss as his thumb pressed over your nipple through the silky fabric. Bakugou sucked a careful bruise into the side of your neck as he did it again, letting out a barely audible snort when you jerked in his hold, unconsciously arching into his hand.

“So sensitive for me, angel,” he drawled as his other hand came up to carefully pinch your other nipple.

You heard yourself make a small, choked off noise like a whine, and you could feel Bakugou’s lips pull into an answering smirk against your throat. You didn’t think you had been quite this responsive to a partner before—but something about the careful, purposeful way he was touching you had your blood running quicker in your veins.

Bakugou’s thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you groan. He teased you again and again as his mouth traced higher on your neck.

Within minutes you were panting, a slow, syrupy pleasure dripping down into your core.

Bakugou tugged your robe wider, then bent his head. You felt the tickle of his hair against your collarbone, softer than you would have thought, as his mouth closed over the point of one nipple. The draw of his mouth had you arching up into him immediately, pleasure zinging through your veins.

“Oh my god,” you said, seizing a fistful of that blonde hair.

Bakugou’s tongue teased at the nipple, and you writhed in his hold. Then he did the same to your other one, and you thought you might die. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you already wanted to crawl out of your skin with impatience.

“Katsuki—please,” you heard yourself say, almost distantly. “Katsuki—oh!”

“Please what, angel?” he said into the skin of your chest, before laying his mouth back over your nipple and giving a sweet suck.

“Oh my god—please!” you said, stupidly. Not an answer to his question but you’d forgotten how to string words together, your brain-to-mouth connection running on autopilot.

“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” Bakugou said, and you heard the relish in it. Your face burned, and you yanked his hair a little more firmly. He just groaned, and then sucked you a little harder.

“Touch me! Please—Katsuki,” you panted out, hips flexing unconsciously with the pull of your nipple.

“Thought this was my gift, angel. I can’t enjoy it how I want?” he asked.

You considered his words muzzily, having no idea what he was talking about. Gift? What gift was he talking about?

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes flicked up to yours, and something in your expression must have told him you had no idea what he was on about. His mouth pulled up into a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned up to kiss you again.

You flattened yourself out against his chest, all but velcroing yourself to him. You wanted to feel every inch of that hard body against you, wanted to climb as far into him as you could. Something gratifyingly hard pressed against your stomach as you kissed him, and he grunted, locking you to him with a muscled arm across your back.

“Want me to touch you, angel?” he asked.

You nodded. A smile played across his lips.

“Get on the bed for me then, sweetheart.”

It took a minute for you to process but then you were scrambling to obey, scrabbling your way onto the bed, turning and watching as Bakugou stepped nearer.

He shed his jacket as he approached, yanking off his tie too and flinging it somewhere behind him. Then he crawled over you, his fingers seizing the ties of your robe as he did. He pulled it open gently, then yanked a little harder until the silk tie slid free.

His eyes picked over it speculatively, then flashed back up to you. A look of intent interest settled over his features.

“You ever been tied up before, angel?” he asked.

You shook your head, even as it swam with the implication. Your skin prickled, somehow growing even hotter. He didn’t mean to…?

“You gonna let me?” he asked.

You rather thought you would let him do anything he wanted with you. The question was barely out of his mouth before you were nodding hurriedly. A shocked laugh punched out of him, and he gathered up your wrists, scooting you backwards until they pressed against the headboard.

He looped the silk around your wrists, gathering it into a series of complicated knots. He moved with a purpose and precision, his movements sure and practiced. You tested the give of the ties when he sat back on his haunches, finding that they held firm, even when you put a little more muscle into it.

Bakugou’s gaze blazed over you, hot like coals. His eyes traced over your body, spread out under him now, your silk robe pooling at either side of you in a pink puddle.

He bent his head and kissed you again, until you were fuzzy with the feeling once more. Then he worked his way downwards, softly biting your shoulder, licking over one nipple, pressing deep kisses into your belly and then indent of your left hip.

A shock of pleasure raced through you when you realized where he was going with this, and you let out an involuntarily little gasp as he hooked your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“Katsuki,” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to follow it up with. Bakugou didn’t wait for you to finish, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe up the cleft of you.

Immediately you arched, thighs flexing under his hands. Your face heated when he laughed again, but any embarrassment was instantly forgotten when he licked over you again, slower and more deliberate this time.

“Oh my god,” you said again, biting off into a groan when his tongue dipped deeper between your folds, flicking up over your clit.

“Yeah, angel?” Bakugou asked, his voice a heady rasp. “You like that?” He layered another open mouthed kiss over you, slow and thorough, until you were arching up into his mouth again.

It would have been evident to anyone on earth how much you liked it from the noises you made, the way you kicked and squirmed with the movement of his mouth. He sucked your clit gently into his mouth, then laved over it firmly as he pressed his fingers to you, the pads of his index and middle slowly sinking into you.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he gave another slow suck, the feeling almost too much. His fingers pressed deeper into you, easily slipping in with how comically wet you were for him. The gentle suction of his mouth made everything a million times better, everything a million times worse, as he carefully curled his fingers within you. He seemed to immediately find a spot within you that felt like he was touching your clit from the other side too, and the feeling was immediately far too much.

“Holy shit,” you heard yourself say, cutting off into an honest to god whine when his tongue swirled around your clit, just as he teased a finger along you from the inside too. “Katsuki—oh! Katsuki please! Please oh my god oh my god.”

Bakugou’s ministrations grew a fraction firmer, and you heard him groan too as he kissed you messily.

“So fucking hot for me, sweetheart. So sweet,” he said, then sucked again, a tiny bit harder this time. His fingers stroked you from the inside, a firm, deliberate rhythm that had you turning your face and muffling a keen into the meat of your arm.

Your hips flexed against his face, wild and uncontrolled, wanting less, more, not enough, too much, oh my god—

“Katsuki!” you cried, as you suddenly hit the crest of your pleasure. Your wrists pulled against their bonds, and the feeling of helpless restraint suddenly made everything feel a thousand times more intense. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, so that even the air of the room seemed too harsh on your skin. You screamed as you rode out your pleasure against Bakugou’s face.

He worked you through it diligently, licking and sucking until you collapsed back to the mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“Good, angel?” Bakugou asked.

You nodded breathlessly, turning your face to his when he crawled up your body to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on him was both embarrassing and thrilling, but Bakugou didn’t give you much leeway to consider it, kissing you into a stupid, pliant little puddle against the mattress.

You could feel him hard and hot against your hip as he did so, but he didn’t make any move to get inside you yet. Instead, his hands moved over you, slowly teasing you from satiation back into want. His fingers played with your nipples again, pinching them softly and rolling them. It felt like he'd rigged up some kind of wire, leading from your nipples right to your core, that lit the pilot flame of your interest again.

A couple minutes of diligent teasing, and easy, unhurried kisses had you wiggling under him again soon enough. It was only then, when you realized you were unconsciously rocking your hips against Bakugou’s, that he finally sat back to shuck off his shirt and pants.

He was so unfairly beautiful, bared in the bright light of the room. You’d known he was gorgeous, of course, but up close he was something else entirely. He was chiseled with thick muscle, his chest and arms hard and glowing faintly with perspiration. The light and the shadows of the room played over the divots of his muscles with a deliberate care, like he was a painting instead of a man, highlighting him in loving shades. A set of perfect abs trailed down into the hard jut of hip bones over his pelvis, and his cock was just as upsettingly gorgeous as the rest of him. It was thick and full and flush with his arousal, and he wasted no time crawling back between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice had gone even more gravelly than usual, and it plucked at your core like a string.

“Please, Katsuki,” you said, your voice embarrassingly breathy. You couldn’t help yourself though, couldn’t be ashamed with the easy way your thighs fell apart for him. Your ankles hooked across his back, trying to pull him closer still.

He groaned and surged up over you to grab a condom off the nightstand. He quickly rolled it onto himself in one practiced movement, before immediately pressing himself into you.

He sank in mortifyingly easily, you already half out of your mind with want. He didn’t seem to mind, though—you heard the soft, sibilant hiss of his own pleasure as he filled you, and your robe tugged the skin of your shoulder as he fisted a hand in it, just beside your head.

“Been dying to fuck you, angel,” he said. “Thinking about how hot and tight and sweet you would be for me. Been thinking about it nonstop.”

You made a vague noise of agreement, moving your hips with his as he drew back and pressed inside of you again. The slide of him inside you was mind-numbingly good, the pressure against your stomach as he pressed back in almost sparking stars in your vision. The flex of his abs between your thighs as he found his pace was almost immediately too much for you, and you had to turn your face away. You tilted your face up to his, watching him as he watched you.

Bakugou seemed to read your expression easily, finding the angle and pace you liked incredibly quickly. He slid an arm under the small of your back to angle your hips up into him, yanking you up like you were nothing, and the show of easy strength had your toes flexing and curling against his back.

He kissed you again, catching the sounds of your pleasure in his mouth as he rocked into you. You moved against him, hips bucking, delirious with the feeling of him. Eventually he freed his arm from under you, pressing his thumb to your slit again with deadly precision.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned into his mouth, legs tightening on him as he played with your clit. The almost-too-gentle sensation of his thumb on your clit, coupled with the relentless drive of him inside you had your vision sparking and greying at the edges. His face swam in front of yours, and all of your limbs began to feel shivery, almost too weak to lift yourself into him the way you needed, to rock against him and find relief from the friction.

Bakugou continued to tease at you, carefully pinching and petting. His hips drove into you tirelessly, slapping the bottoms of your thighs, as you strained in your silk bonds, wanting to grab him, pull him even harder into you.

“Katsuki, please please please,” you heard yourself begging. You felt him smile against your mouth, tasted his reply more than heard it.

“You want me to let you cum, angel?” he asked, doing something with his fingers that made your breath catch in your lungs.

“Unhh, yes—please!” you cried, desperation coming over you in a white haze.

You had never—never—been so desperate for anything in your entire life. You didn’t know how Bakugou was doing it, why his touch felt like so much more than anything else you’d ever felt in your life. If he didn’t let you cum you were certain you were going to die, right here and right now.

“You gonna scream for me, sweetheart?” Bakugou asked, his voice raspier than you’d ever heard it. He grit the words out, like he too was on the edge of his own climax, barely staving it off.

“Anything, I will do anything,” you babbled senselessly. “Yes—going to scream for you—Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s gaze was hotter than you’d ever seen it, scarlet eyes clouded with pleasure, glowing like banked coals. “Then you can come for me, angel. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” you cried in answer, your feet planting themselves on the bed to jut your hips up hard. Bakugou’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, then, firm and merciless, and he fucked into you harder, his pace growing faster, furious.

Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, snapping your spine into alignment, locking all your limbs up as if in rigor mortis.

“Katsuki!” you wailed as you writhed against him, clenching and fluttering around him as you sobbed.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him say, and his hips stuttered. You realized he was coming too, fucking into you sloppily and disjointedly as he rode out his own pleasure. You arched and spasmed with him, clawing uselessly at the silk that bound you, twisting in blissful agony.

When you finally came back to yourself you found yourself slumped on the bed, Bakugou’s weight pinning you down into the mattress. His chest was slicked to yours with sweat, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of it against you as he caught his breath.

“That good, angel?” he asked, his voice heady with satisfaction.

You nodded, absently turning your face back up to his for a kiss. He granted it, kissing you almost possessively. He looked soft and rumpled, just the way you'd always liked him, and something in you purred with satisfaction at finally getting to have him like this for you.

Gradually, you became aware of other sounds in the room as you came down from your high. Quiet murmuring and the sounds of shuffling met your ears, the shutter click of a camera lens slicing through the atmosphere like a knife.

A sudden shock raced through you when you realized you and Bakugou were not alone—and you were on the set of a porn film, half a dozen eyes glued to you just over one of Bakugou’s thick shoulders.

A porn film. You had been shooting a porn film!

“And cut!” you heard the director’s voice ring out, like a bucket of water dumped over your head.

You tensed up beneath Bakugou, mind racing. Holy shit, he had actually managed to make you forget, exactly the way he'd promised.

You could tell Bakugou was thinking the same thing as he went to untie you, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Told you, angel,” he said, flashing something of a feral grin. You hated how good the self-conceit looked on him.

You went to draw your wrists back to yourself as he let them free. But Bakugou caught them instead, carefully massaging the skin there as if to make sure things were circulating properly. It was a startling note of unexpected care, as was the way he drew your robe closed around you again against the sudden chill of the room.

You found yourself saying wonderingly, “Wow. It was just that easy for you to switch partners like that.”

The thought somehow stung, even though you’d known going into this what you were getting yourself into. Somehow, the latent care and intention with which Bakugou had fucked you had addled your brain, made you think your connection had been something more. He had felt like he had feelings, beyond those mimed for the camera.

But here was evidence to the contrary, plain and simple. There literally was a camera.

Except then Bakugou looked down at you, a frown marring his pouty mouth. “Well yeah. ‘Course it was gonna be that easy when it’s you we’re talking about.”

You blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Uh. When it’s—me?”

A crease came in between Bakugou’s blonde brows. “I said it, didn’t I? While we were fucking? Wanted to fuck you for a long time. Of course it was easy.”

Your stomach dropped, like a rug had just been yanked out from beneath you. “You—have? What? Since when?” you demanded.

Bakugou leveled you with an unimpressed stare. “Since the second time we met,” he said, and your mind flashed back to the way he’d seemed not to recognize you, that second time you'd spoken to him. “Once I realized you did work for UA and weren’t actually a little fucking creep trying to lure me into your car.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline. “Then—? For years? You cannot be serious. You never acted like we were anything other than coworkers!”

Bakugou scoffed. “We fucking were coworkers. And I told you, I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You blinked again, startled by the level of professionalism couched in the crassess of his statement. It made sense, you supposed, for a pornstar of Bakugou’s caliber to have put boundaries like that in place. Probably everyone in the world would just be dying for a shot at him.

“Wow,” you said, almost to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, wondered how it was going to be possible to behave professionally with Bakugou at all going forward. It was probably obvious to him how big your crush on him was, given that he’d known all along he could make you forget you were on camera. Given the way you reacted to him embarrassingly easily.

Except then Bakugou leaned forward, putting his face startlingly close to yours. “Emphasis on were, since this is my last shoot,” he said.

You stared at him, wondering if you were interpreting the implication correctly. There was no way he meant—?

“Uhhhh, meaning what, exactly?” you prompted, heart beating just a little bit quicker despite yourself.

Bakugou’s mouth turned up into a gorgeous smirk, and he ducked his head even closer, voice going softer.

“Meaning you’re going to get dressed and I’m going to take us to get something to eat,” he said, fingers playing at the edge of your robe. “And then you’re going to give me that ride home in your car after all. And we are going to do this all over again.”

Flames erupted across your face, sweeping across your cheeks. And you were up out of the bed before you even realized what you were doing, catching yourself on the bedside table as you stumbled.

Bakugou’s laugh chased out of the set room as you raced towards the wardrobe again. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, this time.

Not when your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. You smothered a smile as you ran down the hallway.

Much like Bakugou had just done to you—it looked like your hopes and dreams were finally lining themselves up and filling themselves in.

[vyxated]

Sims 2 UI Changelog [28 July 2024 - Lovestruck Update]

⚠️ Before downloading this new update, please remove old versions and clear any caches!

Main Mod Page & Patreon post

+ Updated for the Lovestruck EP patch and the follow-up emergency patches. Now requires the latest UI Cheats Extension v1.42.1.

+ Added recolor for the new Cupid's Corner panel and its phone icon 💘

+ Updated CAS and Game Options files to include the new UI additions (Romantic Boundaries, Copy button, and Safe for Streaming UI).

+ Updated several Live Mode and Build Mode UIs. Simology panel and entering build/buy mode in Penthouses should work fine.

+ Updated thumbnails during picker menu to have better visibility between selected and non-selected thumbnails.

+ Added recolors for the new eyelash category and rounded pool & fountain thumbnails.

+ Added recolors for the headline effects (thought bubbles, sim info when hovering over sims). Also recolors the light edit UI from TMEX's Better Build Buy mod.

+ Updated phone icons to get some of their color scheme back 📱

// Mod Compatibility Info

Files that conflict with TMEX searchable menu mods have now been moved to the Additional Files folder for you to keep/delete as needed. Those mods include: Better Inventory, Searchable Pose Player, Searchable Restaurant Menu, and Smarter Save Menu.

[hellishjoel]

playing hooky

9.2k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter l Next Chapter

summary: Frankie calls in sick for his shift. You simply must investigate. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), mentions of reader previously being on her period, smoking w33d, getting h!gh, swearing, pet names (angel, princess, etc.), handjob if you squint, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v, h!gh sex, aftercare, tangled feelings/messy emotions, sitcom vibes

A/N: tune in next time for a special halloween episode of Table for Two! 

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.” 

You purse your lips as you scribble another drawing on your order pad. You’re sitting at one of the empty barstools at the counter, one leg lazily swinging back and forth while the other is brought up under you. 

“You’re gonna get hip dysplasia.” Carla, your sarcastic manager, hums as she passes you. She playfully smacks you with her own order pad before she settles down beside you, a loud and tired sigh leaving her ruby-red lips. She rolls her swollen ankles, a side effect of being on her feet all day. A side effect of being alive. 

Your eyes lightly screw together, eyebrows knitting in curiosity. “I thought only animals get hip dysplasia.” You trail off and watch her sit with slight confusion. She parts her lips and takes a breath before her face contorts in thought. 

Finally, Carla reemerged with a new confidence. “No, baby, because my cousin- my second cousin,” she illustrates all of this with her hands. “They were born with it! I swear, look it up.”

You stifle a giggle before you both hover over your phone in search of the truth via Google. That��s when you clock the time. 

Your head swivels to the wall clock and confirms it’s half an hour past five in the evening. “No Frankie tonight?” You ask, eyes still attentive to your phone as you attempt to try and hide any obvious interest or concern. Where the hell was he?

Carla eyed you up and down. Since when did you start caring if Frankie showed up for his shifts or not? She decides not to press it, clearing her throat as she moves off her barstool once she hears the doorbell chime, a new customer sauntering in. 

“Just said he was under the weather. And we don’t need another sick line cook, that’s for damn sure. Everyone would be coughin’ and sneezin’ over their undercooked bacon and runny, nasty eggs.” She said with a little umph at the end for distaste. 

You sigh and nibble on your thumbnail. 

Frankie was a bit of an ass, but he made the shifts go by faster. Yes, even before you started fooling around, he was entertaining. 

Let’s see, there was the night he tried to see how many coffee cups he could stack and if he could make a tower to the ceiling - he tried this multiple times, and each attempt left glazed ceramic shards everywhere, to which Carla made him sweep up.

There was another time the diner needed supplies, and Rudy, the owner’s son, sent you and Frankie on an errand run. He pushed you in the cart through nearly the entire store, in search of toilet paper and paper towels, dish soap, and other amenities. Frankie bought you a Redbull at the end of it. 

Now, more recently, Frankie fucking pavloved you! Like a damn dog! Every time you worked a shift, you got ferociously horny. You had gotten so used to clocking in, working for a bit, then getting your needs met. And now that you had finished serving time being on your period, you were needy for what you missed while you were surfing the crimson wave. 

Your foot, more anxiously now, taps against the metal stand of the barstool you were sitting on, huffing in annoyance hearing that Frankie was ill. The pit in your stomach was already coiling, searching for a release that just wouldn’t be satisfied tonight. Or would it?

You’re not in the back kitchen as much as everyone else, but as the end of your shift wound down and it was nearly ten o’clock, you decided to piece together a panini and a side of fries for Frankie. You thought about how he learned you weren’t feeling good just last week, and he knew how far a simple meal went to make you feel better. Maybe you could do the same for him. And that was it. You swear there were no ulterior motives. Just a nice coworker bringing a bite to eat. 

You yank your phone from your uniform. Your fingerprints smear your phone screen with grease from the fries. 

text me your address if you’re still up

frankie (work) Huh?

You have to will yourself not to roll your eyes. 

read the first message again and ask me if you’re still confused

frankie (work) Okay sassy pants 194 Rivercrest Apartments #501

His stupid reply leaves a broken, twitchy smile on the right side of your mouth. Stupid asshole. 

Once the restaurant closes, your clunky car takes you across town to Frankie’s apartment. Your gleamy, tired vision catches the streaks from passing cars and street lamps. You pull into a visitor parking spot and let out a disgruntled sigh as you sit in silence, waiting in your idling car.

A weird part of you is nervous. Overthinking. Was this taking it too far, helping him out while he’s sick? 

You push aside any nerves and force yourself out of the car, a death grip on the doggy bag of food you had packed him. The evening Texas air tickles your bare legs, trying to adjust your uniform under your jacket after it got smushed around in the car. You buzz his number before you hear the entrance’s lock click, allowing you in. 

Glancing around for an elevator is hopeless. The entrance leads you straight to a set of stairs,  and you clench your jaw in annoyance. God dammit. You were not a woman who prayed to the cardio gods. 

Your lungs feel strained, and your feet ache, desperate to sit down after your shift and the mild hike up to Frankie’s apartment. You rap your knuckles against his door in disdain, lips parted with a few light pants for breath as you wait. The door had a few random dents and marks, obvious trails of someone moving items in and out of the apartment over time. The numbers on his door were crooked, the paint chipped. Did he have to live in such a sketchy place? It looked like the birthplace of tetanus. 

There were a few heavy footsteps on the other side before the door jangled open. And a very healthy, Frankie opened the door. Your face fell, and your eyebrows furrowed. A heavy whiff of weed smacked you in the face, and you swore it nearly gave you a contact high, even from the hallway. 

Frankie was all too happy to see you here. You drove all the way to his apartment just to see him. His face was dripping in a smirky grin. He barely fit through the door frame, his large broad shoulders and tall stature filled the entire rectangular entrance. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against his door. He was perfectly fucking fine. 

“Hey, princess. Surprised to see you-”

Your lips purse and your eyes screw tight as you smack him with his bag of food. “What the hell-” smack, “is wrong with you! Fuckin-” smack, “asshole!” 

He’s slow to defend himself at first, letting you exhaust your hits as you fist the brown paper bag in annoyance. Finally on the last hit, he swipes the bag from your hand and sighs. He’s trying to dial down his stupid smirk, but it ends up turning into this stomach-twisting, sweet smile. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and chew on the inside of your cheek. “Carla told me you were sick.” 

“I am sick.” Frankie playfully defended, standing straight and shrugging his shoulders with a half-innocent smile. “Sick.. and tired of working.” He laughs at his own joke, and you bite back a smile. Such a fucking dork. 

You’re at a weird standoff outside of his apartment. It’s like he’s holding your invitation to enter over your head, and out of your reach. He wants you to ask. You want him to ask. You’re both so goddamn stubborn. You cross your arms and stand straight, eyeing him down. 

Frankie rolls his eyes, his smile breaking into a larger one as he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. “So fuckin’ difficult.” You hide your smile as your face lightly glides against his chest, unintentionally inhaling his scent. By the looks of his hair, he was fresh from a shower. 

Frankie closes the door behind you, and his front brushes against your back as you stand in the tiny entrance hallway to his apartment. Music was playing deeper inside. 

His hands gently settle themselves on your arms, slowly coasting his warmth up and down your goosebump-covered skin. You inhale slowly, your back lightly resting back against his front. He was so easy to sink into. But then you remember how he bailed on work today, and you jut your elbow into his gut. He lets out a puff of air at the force you hit him with. 

“You’re such an ass ditching work. Ditching Carla.” You say as you step away from him and invite yourself further in, exiting the dark hallway and working your way further into the apartment. “We had to make do-it-all Paul step into the kitchen. Do you know how terrifying that is? Such a dick, Frankie.” 

“And you’re so sweet for bringin’ me food.” You hear him rifle through the paper bag, digging out his packaged food, and seeing him smile at the contents. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.” He brushes past you and towards the kitchen while you stand in the living room. 

You didn’t concern yourself much with Frankie up until recent events, it was odd to see his evil lair. Okay, he wasn’t evil, but you know what I mean. You take in as many important details as you can while you slowly peel off your jacket and toss it on his couch. 

It’s quaint, really. He has no other furniture in the living room besides a couch, which you feel is by design. It sits perfectly opposite his mounted flatscreen. The walls are plain beige but are decorated with band and movie posters. You admire one that was purposely framed, unlike the others, with signatures. You didn’t recognize the band, but by their look, they seemed like an 80s rocker group. 

Below his flatscreen was an impressive vinyl collection, a record spins, and you recognize it as the melody you initially heard upon entering. It was serene, jazzy almost. 

“This is what you listen to when you’re alone?” You tease, kneeling down and flicking through a few album covers to see his taste. It was expansive, to say the least. There were only a fair few that you recognized. TOTO, ABBA, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Metallica, a little Van Halen, and a whole lot of The Beatles. 

Frankie sucks the salt from the fries off his fingers, seeing he’s already munched on half his panini. “It’s something I listen to when I’m stoned.” He half-jokes, a slight smile on his face. So that’s what he’s been up to. 

“You called in so you could lay around your apartment and get high all day?” Your tone is playfully judging, but he gives you a proud nod, not a care in the world behind those slightly glazed eyes. 

“I didn’t really lay around all day.” His tone is softer since you’re both so close. He’s standing just to the right of where you’re kneeling down, your head could lay against his thigh if you wanted. “I was trying out some new recipes and shit.” He mutters as he points a thumb behind him and to the kitchen. You glance up and notice his pretty curls in the light. You don’t often see him without his hat or his bandana. Come to think of it, you don’t really see him outside of his yellow-stained apron. 

Your eyes slowly took Frankie in, seeing him casually for the first time outside of work was startling. He was big. Tall and broad, with squishy thighs and a soft tummy, strong arms, and defined biceps. He was comfortably relaxing in a pair of black basketball shorts that landed just above his knees, eyeing a few tattoos by the hem. On his upper half was a tattered, well-loved Lakers shirt with a small tear at the shoulder, which has since been sewn closed. He had a little bracelet on, one of those leather brown ones that twisted around his wrist, accompanied by a spherical, multicolor beaded one. 

Your eyes linger for a hair too long, and now he’s already smirking at you. “Like what you see, princess?” God, that stupid fucking nickname needed a break. Heat shoots up your spine nonetheless, and you have trouble staring daggers at him like you usually would. 

You huff a breath through your nose and stand up on your feet, raising your eyebrow at him. “What do you mean you trying new recipes? You can actually cook?” It sounds rude and sarcastic, but you thought Frankie just goofed around at work and cooked for the cash, not as a hobby. You slowly make your way past him, eyeing his kitchen in the process. 

There are recipe books, honest to god recipe books. Big ones, small ones. Different categories of food outlined on the covers and spines. And his kitchen was a chaotic mess, with multiple cutting boards of varying sizes across his already limited counter space. There were bright-colored vegetables cut up and diced, the scraps having been tossed in a spare plastic bag sitting on the sidelines. There was an open bottle of soy sauce and another for sesame oil, a little tin of cornstarch, and diced chicken sizzling in oil on a frying pan. 

You take a few steps in further, your sneakers landing on linoleum as you really smell what’s simmering in a large skillet. Mushrooms, bell peppers, green onions, broccoli, and peas are cooking in a thick sauce, coating them amidst freshly minced garlic onion.  Your lips part as you inhale, and you can’t believe it. You don’t even know what it is, but it smells heavenly.

You finally have to ask, because hunger is carving a hole in your stomach. “What are you making?”

Frankie parks his hands on his hips and looks at you with knitted eyebrows. “What? You’ve never had stir fry before?” 

You purse your lips and reach for the spatula, looking to Frankie for reassurance, to which he nods his head. Go for it. 

You smile as the vegetables sizzle once you push them around on the pan, relishing in the attention as you allow the other less glazed vegetables to catch some heat from the burner. Frankie hums, like he’s debating something, like he’s learned something from his little experimentation. He reaches past you, his front brushing against your shoulders as he reaches around you and adds a little brownish-amber liquid to the pan. It sizzles, splashes, and dances across the different vegetables, which makes you grin. 

You were never big into cooking, especially since you started working at Tommy’s Diner. You’ve seen enough grease to last a lifetime. You were fine settling in on the couch with a bowl of cereal and a glass of cheap wine. You saved making extravagant dishes for when you had a date over, and even then, that was risky. 

But there was something about Frankie actually knowing how to cook cuisine that you liked. “I didn’t know you knew how to make dishes besides burgers and fries.” 

He sneers and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling the entire time and lets you continue slowly shifting the vegetables around, watching as the glaze sizzles. “I didn’t know you cared enough about me to visit me at my apartment. We’re both a bit surprised tonight.” This was your worst nightmare. 

“I only came here under the impression that you were sick-”

“So you came to my aid?”

“Psh,” You huff, “You wish. But no.” You insist more forcefully, setting the spatula down and turning to face Frankie, who is all too close to you. You lose a lot of your angry traction as his hand finds your hip, feeling his fingers flip to the stovetop’s burner switch to a lower setting. 

His hands navigate you away from the oven, your back flushed against his counter now. His eyes trail you, grazing over your body as his hips now plant you in one spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat, your still resisting hands planting against his chest. You can feel his cock twitch against your thigh. 

You can’t explain why your fingers twitch and start to clutch his shirt, pulling him a little closer. Stupid Frankie with his goading smirk, bringing his forehead down against yours. It was so hot in his kitchen, in the middle of summer. You feel a bead of sweat sprout behind your ear and lightly glide down your neck as you flutter your eyes closed. It wasn’t often you felt your power to resist him rendered useless, but tonight you felt like he had a quite literal home-field advantage. 

“You want me to stop?” He asks, voice low and lust-drenched. His leg parts purposely between yours, jutting them open and spreading what was his. 

Your throat is closed off, the lack of air draining from your busy head. “I..” Your words fall off, distracted by something scampering through the living room.

“Do you have a cat?” Your eyes light up as you slink past Frankie. He found your stray of attention a bit adorable, despite being given a slight case of blue balls. 

You carefully padded out of the kitchen and into the living room, using the excuse to slip off your sneakers at the entrance. The small orange cat had curled up onto Frankie’s couch by your tossed jacket from earlier, forming a perfect circle amongst all of its tangerine fluff. Its eyes were closed serenely, absent of a new presence. It was fucking adorable, in short. 

Frankie was still flummoxed in the kitchen, adding the cooked chicken into the stir fry before turning the burner off and putting his masterpiece aside. “That’s Leo.” He announces, Frankie’s voice carrying annoyance that he lost a sure thing in the kitchen. Now you were cooing over his cat. 

He settles two bowls on the counter and adds the stir fry to each, a few splashes of the sauce splattering around the rim of the bowl. With two forks randomly stabbed into the piles of food, he walks one of them out to you. “Could have eaten this whole thing by myself.”

You smile, taking the offering and humming as you flop on the couch, the orange tabby finally peeking its eyes open. “I don’t doubt that, so thanks for sharing.” You recognize how he had eaten the panini and fries, and he was still excited over the stir fry. Poor guy probably had the munchies like crazy. 

With the kitty taking up one of Frankie’s couch cushions, he’s forced on the end with you in the middle. He sets his food aside on a spare side table and reaches for a small pipe, your breath pausing at the sight. “You want a hit?” He asks.

His face glows orange as he flicks on the lighter, spreading the flame over the green, now black, substance in the tiny bowl. He inhales, and you watch in mystification as he takes in the smoke filtering through. Your heart thumps harder in your chest, the right side of your mouth twitching up in a sly smirk. 

Let’s smoke weed with Frankie Morales tonight. 

He lets out a labored breath, the smoke flying loosely in the air and creating hazy grey circles that flood the ceiling before disappearing altogether. The stench fills the small apartment rather quickly. 

“I get really weird dreams after I smoke.” You whisper, biting down on your lower lip as you glance down at the pipe he’s holding, a small glow still coming from the weed. 

“It’s still lit if you want some.” His voice is low from smoking, and you have to clench your thighs closer together. Damn this stupid uniform, you wished you would have brought a change of clothes so you’d at least be comfy eating stir fry, petting his cat, and getting stoned with him. 

He raises the piece in an offering, and you look to him for one last look of reassurance. It’s polite to be offered free weed, especially since he’s the one who paid for it. He gives you a nod and looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. Are you crazy? If you want it, take it. 

So you do. And you smoke it. And you pat yourself on the back to do so without coughing. It’s a small hit, but you don’t need much, your brain already feels like it’s as light as a cloud, dancing in slow motion. You giggle by accident. 

Frankie lets out a sputter of laughter, watching you get high with him is a bit comical. “Princess knows how to smoke. Kudos.” 

You let out a puff of laughter through your nose and grab your warm bowl of stir fry, stabbing into a green pepper. “Shut up, Frankie.” 

He ends up putting on a show you both agree on, something comical that makes you both laugh your high asses off. You eat the stir fry and almost forget Frankie is the one who made it. It was delicious, you ate everything down the the finely chopped green onions. 

You both shared another hit, and you felt like you were loosening up. Any need to hold onto control slipped through your fingers. Any issues you had been dealing with drifted away. And you realized how stupidly happy you were to be beside Frankie. Trying to do anything of actual initiative went out the window after your second hit. You both found yourselves on the floor of Frankie's room, sat side by side, heads resting on the edge of his bed as you both stared up at the ceiling and spoke gibberish. 

“Aliens?” He asks, your thighs brushing. 

“Of course.” You hum, slowly blinking in a gentle haze. “Ghosts?”

He sighs and takes a long time to answer, which apparently offends you because you snap your head up and look at him in disbelief. 

“You can’t be serious. If you believe in aliens, you have to believe in ghosts.” You argue as you stare at his fan. 

He lets out a throaty groan, closes his eyes, and runs his hands down his face. His curls are pretty. They haven’t been run through a million times yet or smothered by a bandana or hat. 

“I think… I do believe in ghosts. I just don’t want them to bother me.” He says, a weak smile on his face. 

“What? Like you’re afraid to be haunted?” Your head lays back on the bed but rolls over, watching his profile while he continues to look up absentmindedly at the ceiling. 

He’s silent for far too long. Finally, he rolls his head over to face you, your noses lightly brushing. He’s so close that looking at him feels a bit cross-eyed. 

“Wait- what? Sorry.” He finally says with a broken, short laugh. 

“Can you focus?” You ask teasingly, pushing your hand up against his cheek and making him stop staring at you. 

You take the soft silence as an opportunity to rest your hand lightly on his thigh. He does the same, except he feels the warmth of your skin and the material of your uniform. Goosebumps form shortly after, and you smile shyly up at the ceiling. 

“Have you…” You start to say but trailed off, bashfulness overcoming you. 

“Have I what?” He asks. You both blink slowly as a car’s lights flash through his window only for a few seconds, lighting up the dim room before it is filled with darkness again. The moon and an orange lava lamp was the only source of glow. 

You distractedly look away from him, admiring a tapestry on his wall and his soft comforter. “Have you had sex with someone high?” 

He shrugs and slowly smiles before gently nodding his head against the edge of his bed. “Yeah. Have you?” His head rolls over to look at you again. You feel his warm gaze, but you just keep your eyes locked on his ceiling fan. 

Warmth and a subtle shyness flush across your chest, your thighs nearly trembling in excitement. “No.” You whisper. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he watches you for a few moments. 

“Want to, though.” You finish, feeling a knot slowly grow in your stomach. 

Frankie’s eyes flick to your long lashes, then down to warmth creeping up your neck. “Yeah?” He asks.

You gently nod, too, eyes still too shy to meet his own. “Yeah-” 

He doesn’t let you get out one more syllable. His large hand comes up and meets your cheek, guiding your head to meet his gaze.

Frankie kisses you deeply but at a slow pace. And you’re feeling a desperate hunger to have him. You eagerly cup his cheeks in return and swing a leg over his lap, intensifying the kiss as your hands glide down the landscape of his clothed chest, bunching up his shirt in the process. You feel like a horny jackrabbit, but it’s really all his fault. You can feel his half-hard cock as you grind the center of your pelvis over his own, whimpering into his mouth desperately.

“Take care of me,” you whisper, and it ends up sounding a little more like a desperate, whiney plea. 

Frankie’s lips part against your own, feeling the neediness of your touches. His hazy vision peers open, breaking your kiss for a moment. 

“Hold on, baby,” He sits up a little bit against the bed, his eyes scanning yours with a certain deepness. 

You pause, your chest heaving lightly as you regain your breath. “Frankie, come on, don’t make me beg.” You say as you lean in once more, but he catches your face and pauses your movements. You feel like a deer in headlights, static tingling in your ears as you feel a sudden rush for embarrassment. Why wasn’t he just as excited? Or eager? Or desperate? Were you the problem?

Suddenly, your eyes were dashing around for an escape. Then he speaks your name. Soft, gentle, careful. Hear him out. You swallow your pride and stay seated over his lap. 

“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.” 

You can’t help but let an awkward chuckle escape between you, eyes having a hard time meeting his. You playfully scoff and smack his shoulder lightly to regain a sense of control. “Shut up, Frankie.”

His head cocks, and he looks at you with that stupid fucking smirk. “You don’t know how to take it slow, do you?” 

His words antagonize you, and your eyes light with fire. A defensive fire, because he was right. 

Slow meant feelings, slow meant experiencing, slow meant bonding. You weren’t slow. Sex was supposed to be fast, hot, desperate, counting down the seconds until a sweet escape, racing to an orgasm, chasing it like a fever dream. You weren’t good at slow. 

You hate that Frankie has learned this about you. Giving up the upper hand wasn’t in your caliber. And you find yourself frowning as you look down at him once his smirk washes away. He’s looking at you like he cares. Even with you both stoned, brain’s hazy and light, he sees through all that and looks at you like he gives a damn. 

He lightly shrugs his shoulders and softens the hold he has on your face, his thumb gently stroking along your cheekbone. “Can show you.” 

Hesitancy screams across your blank face, but he reads you better than anyone else. He speaks your name, more genuinely explaining his offer. “Let me teach you.” 

You let out a gentle sigh, slowly giving in to temptation. Because having him at all was better than not. So you take it slow. Frankie teaches you zen. Teaches you how to melt. 

One of his hands falls from your cheek and lands on your waist, gently stroking your hip in a soothing slow circle. It feels like heaven. 

His brown orbs dip close, and you let him take the lead. He kisses you tenderly, soft. His tongue lines your lower lip once he’s ready to lightly increase the intensity, begging your mouth for permission to part. If it was any other night, your tongue would be down his throat, and you’d be a grinding, sloppy mess in his lap. Let him teach you.

You take a deep breath in as your tongues tangle. 

It almost makes you giggle again, because it feels stupid, but you sort of like it. 

His stubble brushes your face, and you fight to release a moan. Frankie’s hand on your hip shuffles to your lower back, and you feel him add pressure. Your chest meets his, and you let yourself melt into him. His strong torso easily keeps you both up. Your heavy breaths hit the room, and you force yourself to pull away for air, despite how much you enjoy making out with him. He grins at the sight of satisfying you. 

Frankie pushes a stray hair that’s fallen out from your loose ponytail behind your ear, smiling as his hands move to the back of your uniform. This will be the first time he actually undresses you properly, not just shoving the material up past your ass so he has access to your pussy. 

“You know how to work the zipper?” You playfully ask as you settle your head on his shoulder, taking the slower moments to breathe and relax. 

He stuffs down a chuckle and nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think so. Am I doing it right?” He asks as he guides the zipper down your back, feeling your flesh exposed to the rest of his room. 

You purse your lips and slowly sit up in his lap, watching him take in a deep inhale as your centers brush lightly. You hide your coy smile as his eyes light with excitement, but he’s made a point to be slow with you. You guide the sleeves of your uniform down to your hips, exposing your breasts to him. Giggles leave your mouth as you wiggle out the last bit of your dress, Frankie is more than happy to help you. 

“I’m feeling a little alone here.” Your voice is soft, tugging at his shirt before you push it up just past his pecs. Your high ass got a little distracted, staring at the hair sprinkled in dark trails across his torso, feeling him struggle in his shirt as he laughed. 

“Focus, princess,” his arms tangle with his shirt before he tosses it off, especially since you started slacking. You shyly smile and flutter your eyes down to his warm body as your hands explore the landscape for the first time. You had yet to undress each other like this, you sort of liked it, especially with this whole slow and steady thing going for you both. 

Frankie leans back against the bed, admiring the sight before him. You feel a little awkward, goosebumps rushing up your arms as you shyly smile and playfully push his face away. “Stop staring, perv. You’ve never seen a pair of tits before?”

He’s quick. “Not a pair that nice.” 

You smile and crack out a laugh, knowing sex has never felt this casual before. No pressure. Good vibes. And it’s not just because of the weed. It’s because it’s Frankie. And he looks at you like you put the sun in the sky and you could do no wrong. But then he starts staring at your tits, and you realize he’s just another guy. 

His hands caress your waist, thumbs dipping into the curves and appreciating the way they run up you like beautiful rivers. You decide to do the same. Your hands slip lower, letting his happy trail guide you to his black mesh basketball shorts. His rough and calloused hands cup your tits, taking them in his palms and giving you a tentative squeeze. He’s figuring you out, what you like, what makes you squirm and whine. As soon as he pinches your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, a broken gasp is elicited from your mouth. 

“Shit,” you curse breathily. Everything was a bit heightened right now, including your sensitivity. It felt like a million little strums were being played, making your spine shiver and your head grow foggy. And you were determined to make him feel the same way. 

You bite down on your lower lip, fishing your hand into his shorts and fisting a hand around his already hardening cock. A smirk tangles on your lips as he lets out an earthy grunt, low to the ground and heaven to your ears. 

You start a bit fast, eager to please, wanting to see him tremble for your touch.

His lips meet yours in a distracting manner, rocking your steady pace. “Slow.” He murmurs against your lips, and you gently nod, a shy smile spreading from embarrassment.

“Slow.” You whisper, your lips brushing his. Your ego trips on the power you have over him, fisting him, his heavy length weighing in your hand. You couldn’t even fully wrap your fingers around him, he was all just… girth. Your body ached for him, needy for the feeling only he could satisfy by being inside of you. His tip trickles with precum, and a low moan drips off his tongue like honey. It fuels you. 

“Spit on my cock, princess.” He grunts out, his face leaning in to capture one of your nipples in your mouth. You squeak lightly in excitement before doing just as he asks of you. 

You angle your head over your centers, letting a long line of saliva puddle down onto him. It meets the strokes of your hand, and Frankie’s jaw twitches as he squeezes your breasts involuntarily harder.  You let out a long whine as your nipples form peaks between his fingers, feeling your heart thrum against your chest. 

Frankie likes how you look on top. Back arched, chest pushed up, messy hair falling loose, eyes lit with an eagerness and curiosity for him to teach you the method of going slow. Admiration mixed with respect. He feels like he’s dreaming. 

All he can imagine is you like this, bodies in sync, riding his cock. Tight walls milking his cock for everything he has. His skin becomes riddled with goosebumps, thinking about your nails digging into his chest, your tits rocking up and down, how he would tumble out moans of your name and squeeze your hips with adoration. Yeah, he’d like to see that one day. 

He’s not sure how much longer he can last with merely your hand on him. 

“C’mere, baby.” 

A gasp of surprise jumps from your throat before you can stop it, Frankie managing to stand up off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist for security. His strength, how easily he lifts you and shuffles you around like a ragdoll spurs white hot heat in your stomach. You were going to fuck him good if you ever got past the going slow part. 

His smirky mouth meets yours in a hot kiss, one heavier than before. Like he’s needy for you. Your eyes melt closed as your fingers wind into the pretty curls that were formed at the nape of his neck. Your back meets his mattress and blankets, your fingers dance along the pattern, your high mind hypnotized seeing Frankie on top of you. 

His body rests between your parted legs. You whimper into his mouth, feeling his hardened cock resting against your core. 

“Take my fucking panties off,” you beg more than you mean to. 

Frankie tries not to sneer. His teeth capture your lower lip, and you mewl out a moan before he lets you go. 

“To hell with going slow.” 

You hastily nod, feeling his fingers grip your panties at either side of your hips before he shuffles them down. You whine with how the sticky center stays latched to your core, he gently peels it loose with a hellish smirk. 

Frankie’s heart thrums against his chest and echoes into his ears. Hearing you desperate for his touch was heaven, he felt undeserving to have such an angel vying for his attention. “So wet f’me, barely touched you, princess.” 

He discards your panties to the side, off on the floor with the rest of the clothing you both have shed. You’re completely naked together, makes you a little nervous. 

Frankie promised to speed up, but you’re finding harmony in the way his soft lips trail down your body, leaving wet prints between the valley of your breasts to the soft skin of your stomach. Your breaths come out heavier, thighs shaking as he drops back down to kneel at the edge of the bed. His hands grip your thighs and yank you impatiently closer to his eager mouth. You whimper as your body is shuffled closer, your fists that were clutching the sheets being torn away. 

You giggle as your thighs shake around his head, feeling those perfect kisses move between the warmth of your legs. 

“Fuck,” you finally let out, excitement seeping through your bones. Frankie’s stubble drags across the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and again, you feel that heightened sensitivity that makes your stomach roll. 

Frankie decides that dragging out the teasing is enough. He wanted to taste you, every mile, every inch, every centimeter. 

Your core glistens in his eyeline, begging to be touched, kissed, fucked. He can’t help but dive in. His dopey brown eyes meet yours as his face disappears lower and lower before he’s past the valley of your tits, and all you can see when you crane your neck are those mocha brown eyes. 

His tongue tastes you, and divides your folds, as he laps up your juices. 

The feeling is exhilarating, like the rise and fall of a roller coaster. 

A gasp riddles its way up through your throat, concaves your chest, and your pupils blow wide in excitement. Frankie enjoys your taste but aims to pleasure. His mouth latches onto your sensitive clit and suckles, his tongue intervening every few swipes to flick across your clit. Rise. 

His large hands grip the outside of your thighs, pinning your lower half to his mattress, and lapping over you in a heated race to the finish line. Your face contorts in pleasure, fingers drifting down your stomach before you wind them in Frankie’s hair. He growls against your pussy, you’ve never felt your blood pump faster. Fall. 

“Fucking- Christ,” you push out, gripping his hair strands tighter and making him grunt hot heat against your core. “Feels so fucking good- oh my god,”

He pulls away for a breath and sucks a love bite into the sensitive flesh of your thigh until it swells pink and purple. One of his hands on your outer thighs wraps around the shell of your body, playing with your clit. He slowly shakes his head as he looks at you. You wonder if he shares your hazy vision. The pleasure makes you feel like you’re seeing double. 

“Christ isn’t making you feel good,” his words make you whimper, “I am.”

You quickly nod, but you realize your body can’t move quickly under the influence. You’re just hazily bobbing your head, your hand in his hair dropping to his strong bicep. 

“Frankie, I need you,” you plead as you gently sit up on your elbows and cup his cheek, wiping your glistening slick off his pretty bottom lip. “Need you inside of me.” You whisper, a desperate look splashed across your face. 

You hated how much power he had over you. He almost just made you cum from playing with your clit. You need him biblically, fully, flesh and blood, blood to bone. It was carnal, primal. 

He doesn’t need much further convincing. Frankie preferred to pull an orgasm from going down on you, but he listened to your needs and what you wanted. 

His lips meet yours in a hungry kiss, working you further up the bed and letting you collapse into his pillows. Your eyes catch the sight of a dream catcher while his tongue tangles with yours. You flush at the taste of your own arousal. That’s when you realize his hand is still between your thighs and working soothing circles into your clit. 

You whimper as he adds a tad bit more pressure, and you feel the white-hot heat of adrenaline making your stomach pool even more excitement into your tummy. 

“Frankie,” you whisper softly, and his forehead rests over yours while he guides his shaft to your center. 

He lines his tip up and down between your folds, your jaw dropping as he sickeningly uses your slick to lube himself. He lets his entire shaft rest against your sex, and he does slow thrusts back and forth, lining his entire cock with you. Holy fuck. A shiver was sent up your spine, goosebumps parading across your body. 

Your chest swelled for him. 

“What do you say?” He asks in a taunt, knowing how weak you are. 

You huff and move your hands up his arms and hang them loosely around his shoulders. He complies in moving in closer. 

“Please.” You finally admit between gritted teeth, which makes him grin. 

“Alright, princess,” his forehead now rests against your temple, cocking his chin down to get a better angle of your centers. He guides his tip to your entrance, slow and patient, before he notches himself inside of you. 

Your eyelashes flutter, and you watch as his eyes clench closed. He likes to act all tough like he wouldn’t fold for you, but you know he would time and time again without having to say more than a simple please. 

Both of you share unsteady breaths. It feels like a dam is giving way inside your chest. 

Frankie thinks how he has never been inside a tighter pussy, squeezing the last bits of air from his lungs. 

Your walls pulsate around the intrusion, but your dripping core and his wet tongue from earlier allowed him to slowly push in, inch by inch. 

You swallow a lump in your throat. You don’t realize your eyes are closed, and you're gripping him around the neck to keep him close until he sponges a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Alright?” He forces out. It’s like you’re choking him, and it makes you twitch up a smile. 

“Mhm,” you muster up, feeling his chest rumble lightly with laughter. 

“Baby,” he whispers, and your chest surges at the pet name. “Can’t breathe.” Oh, shit. You damn near had him in a headlock.

You loosen your grip around his neck, shyly smiling as your desperate hands look for something to ground you. 

Frankie stays flushed inside you but shifts to be more centered over your body, gently resting his forehead just above yours. 

“C’mere,” he whispers before he takes your hands. You decide not to question why he interlocks your fingers. But it feels safe, and you’re still high, so you’ll blame any poor decision-making on that. 

“Fuck me,” you finally grit out, desperate for him to just fucking, “Move.” 

Your whine is met by him reeling back his hips, only for him to plow right back into you at an unforgiving rate. A gasp ripples through your throat, and you feel like screaming. Your entire goddamn body was on fire with the way his girth parted your walls, splitting you open. You let out a string of whimpery moans, and your eyes glared desperate daggers into him. 

“S’what you wanted, right?” He grunts out, jaw tight, pretty curls falling limply in front of his eyes and crowding his forehead. “You wanna be fucked hard, is that it?” He can barely speak authoritatively, you’re squeezing him like your last lifeline. 

But he’s right. Tears cloud your vision, and you weakly nod as desperate puffs of air leave your pretty parted lips. “Yes,” you squeak out, relaxing your hips so Frankie falls into you more. 

“Feels so fucking good, can’t-” An eager cry leaves your lips as he pulls himself out, just to thrust right back in and rocking you further up his bed. Your chin tips to the ceiling as you curse every god, man, woman, whoever the hell created Frankie Morales. 

“Can’t what, princess?” His tone is lower, sinister even as your walls twitch around him but only gush out more arousal for his cock to slide in and out of you. 

You find it hard to string together syllables. So he squeezes your hands that you’re holding for dear life. He stills inside of you until you answer. 

“Shit,” you whimper. 

“Can’t what, angel?” He probes again, cocky asshole waiting for his answer. 

You whimper and peek open your eyes. The right side of his face is highlighted silver from the moon, your hazy vision thinks he looks like an angel. His hand wanders between your centers and finds your throbbing clit, making you cry out the answer. Your face crumbles as you own up to what you need to say. 

“Fuck! Fuck, Frankie! Can’t go without your dick,” you pant out as he subtly rocks into you at a good pace upon your confession. “Can’t even go- can’t even go a week without it,” you admit in defeat. 

That stupid, cocky smirk of his graces his parted lips. It’s crooked and perfect, and he’s fucking you like your life depends on it. Because it does, you think. 

His thighs clap against your ass, pounding you into the bed, drilling you into place, suffocating the air from your lungs.

Your vision goes hazy, seeing white, then rainbow, then stars. They cloud your vision, and you’re not sure if you’re still high off the weed anymore. Or just high off Frankie. 

You whimper strings of his name tangled with profanity, he’s still filling you to the brim. It once seethed hot with pain, but now your stomach is contorting in pleasure. It’s like he knows exactly how to crack your vault, penetrating your walls, unlocking something deep inside of you that no one else manages to know the code. 

His messy fingers continue to circle your clit, and you know your end is coming. 

Frankie’s grunting with every thrust, moaning a symphony of your name every chance he gets. He likes holding your hand, resting his sweaty forehead against your own, listening to you beg for his cock, for your finish. It’s the only thing he wants to give you. He’d be at your every beck and call if you let him. He wouldn’t mind if the only thing he ever got was a fraction of your praise. 

Frankie’s thighs clap against your ass, the sound echoes around his bedroom. If his neighbors didn’t know his name, they did now. 

“Fuck! Frankie!” You cry out, feeling every inch of his cock massage your insides. His tip kisses your cervix, and your jaw drops. Nothing more comes out of your mouth, so your blown-out eyes do all the talking. 

I’m so fucking close.

“I know, baby, feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts as his balls slap against you. “Feels good having my fat fucking cock inside you, huh?” 

You shake under him, your thighs clench around his hips, and you pray to the gods for making Frankie. You take back what you thought before, you need him. 

You don’t care that he’s a little older, that he’s an asshole, that he eggs you on. 

Because in the shelter of his bedroom, locked in your embrace, he swallows your name and persuades you into pleasure, time and time again. 

Your clit tingles, and your walls furiously clench around him. Finally, your mouth finds words to try and elaborate on what you’ve been holding inside. 

“Fucking- shit! Fuck me harder, right there- fuck me, Frankie! God- I’m coming!” You cry out as his pants fill your space, fanning across your face. He fucks you harder and faster as you near your orgasm, wanting to help you reach it. And he gets you there.

Your back arches, and he groans lowly as he stills inside of you. It’s almost beautiful the way you cum in unison. 

Your hands hold his tighter, and he reciprocates by squeezing gently. I’m right here, I’m here, baby. 

You’re not sure how long you lay there, still. Your hips get a little achy. He feels you twitch and knows it's time to let you go. 

A gentle whimper leaves you as he pulls out. You feel a bit empty, a little cold.

His sweet laughter makes you peek open your eyes. He’s trying to move out from around you, but you haven’t let go of his hands. 

You shyly let go, and both of you squeeze your hands to flex the knotted muscles and stiff knuckles. You close your legs and lightly curl up. He doesn’t come to rest, he gently pats your outer thigh once or twice before he disappears to his bathroom. 

You think he couldn’t have been gone for more than thirty seconds, but he comes back in a fresh pair of boxers and his basketball shorts, his tanned torso still exposed for your viewing. 

“Frankie,” he pauses like a deer in headlights as he stands up from grabbing your panties. “I’m gonna… spill.” You finally pitch out, a bit embarrassed. 

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He circles back to the bathroom and grabs a towel and a wet washcloth. 

“Sorry, my brain is all-” he starts to say, but you quickly shake your head. 

“I know me too. S’okay.” You whisper with a smile as you weakly sit up on your elbows. The record playing in the living room had stopped. He shimmies the towel under your hips before he aids you with a clean washcloth. 

Feels too domestic, so you take over, much to his annoyance. You wrap yourself in the towel once you’re done, and sit up to retrieve your uniform. You dread putting it on. 

“Can I take the towel for the way home? My underwear is still too..” you trail off. Soaking wet was the words you would have used. 

Frankie’s face screws up in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“You’re going home?” 

Now your expressions match. “Yeah?” It sounds more like a guess than a statement. “What else would I do?”

Frankie shifts back and forth on his feet before he sits down beside you on the bed. “Dunno. Stay here.” 

You take in a hesitant breath, and he feels it. “You shouldn’t drive home, you know. You’re stoned. And tired. Don’t need you falling asleep at the wheel or some shit.” 

You frown. Staying here does sound nice. Thinking about going down those five flights of stairs with your jelly legs sounds like a walk to hell. 

But there’s a certain rule about sleeping over. One you don’t want to cross. You and Frankie are just fooling around. Nothing more. 

“I don’t know, Frankie.” You say with a small frown, tightening the towel around you even more. His sullen look deepens at your words. He doesn’t want to overly convince you. If you want to go, he doesn’t want to stand in your way. 

You chew on your bottom lip and weigh your options. You don’t want to go down the stairs. You’re tired as fuck, and you don’t want to get pulled over or something else. And you really don’t want to put your uniform back on. And you want to stop trying to put issues in your own way when you really just want to stick around. But the decision is made for you. 

“Stay.” 

Your eyes meet his. He’s more certain now, going after what he wants. 

“Stay the night, it won’t kill you. I’ll get you something more comfortable to wear, and you can just…” he trails off and shrugs. 

“Stay?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. He nods. 

You sigh loudly but inevitably smile as you point to his closet. “I need a shirt. Please.” 

A big smile glides across his face, and you can’t believe you’re the one who put it there. 

“Alright, princess, whatever you say.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up, his back to you as he fishes through his closet and smells a few shirts to see how clean they are. 

You roll your eyes and sigh as you fall back into his pillows. 

You change into something clean, you hope it’s clean, and end up curling into a protective ball under his covers. 

His cat, Leo, circles up by your feet, and you coo, gently stroking the pretty fur along his back. Frankie retrieves two glasses filled with water and hands you one. You instantly take a few gulps before your hand gently strokes down the shirt he’s put you in. It swims a bit on you, but you like it. The hem hangs at your thighs. 

“Can you get in here?” You ask impatiently. “M’getting chilly.” You whisper with a coy smile. 

Frankie blows out a few candles in his living room and finishes putting away any leftover stir fry. 

Your high has worn off, and now you’re just a sleepy little thing. A long shift plus getting railed would be your new nighttime sleep aid. 

Now that the apartment is drenched in darkness, he pulls back the covers and moves in beside you. Cuddling was not an option. He spoons you, yanking you halfway across the bed and out of your little ball. His warm flesh meets your back, and you hum at the feeling. He was a furnace. His head settles above yours, you feel the stubble gently poke at your hair. Your eyes are already closed as his arm wraps around your waist, an affirming hand settling on your tummy. He must need skin-to-skin contact because his hand slips under the shirt he’s put on you and settles on the warm skin by your belly button.  

You let out a short little laugh. “You do this with all the girls you sleep with?” 

“No.” He quickly says, and your eyes peek open. 

“No?” You ask curiously. 

“No. Just all my coworkers I sleep with.” You roll your eyes and reach around to slap the back of your hand against his hip, forcing out a chuckle from him. 

“M’kidding.” He somehow pulls you closer. Your head rests comfortably on his bicep, the cold tip of your nose warmed by his flesh. 

Questions pour out of your stupid brain. Were you the only one he was sleeping with? If you weren’t, who else was there? Was this normal to him, cuddling after a friends-with-benefits situation? Did Frankie want something more? 

You sigh and close your eyes, attempting to shut off your brain as your finger lazily draws shape on his forearm. 

He murmurs a goodnight against the shell of your ear. You blame how happy and comfortable you are right now on his cat. And it somewhat makes you feel better. You never pictured falling asleep beside your coworker, let alone Frankie Morales. 

Sleep eventually overcomes you. You dream of Frankie sitting in a bowl of stir fry like a hot tub. 

---

here's my masterlist!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

[grapehyasynth]

Wilmon- “We’re more than just roommates…”

Hope ur still taking. Prompts!

Thank you! I had an idea for this and then @enjoythesilentworld posted this about jealous roommates in denial, which inspired me! With their permission I'm placing this in that universe.

"We're more than just roommates, you know," Wille says, following Emil's gaze across the party to where Simon is giggling over the foosball table, fighting Rosh for the ball.

"Oh yeah?" Emil asks, distractedly, his beer bottle hovering near his lips, half-forgotten as he watches Simon. Wille understands, and empathizes, but that's the extent of his warm feeling towards this guy who's been flirting with Simon all night.

"Yeah. Just in case there was any confusion. Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea." He swirls his own drink, tosses the rest of it back, sets it down sharply. "Simon's not available."

An hour later, maybe more, Simon finds him in one of the dark crowded hallways of this maze of a house.

"You have to stop telling people we're together!" Simon shouts, his hand circling Wille's wrist to draw him closer so they can hear each other over the music. His thumb presses into the meat of Wille's palm and Wille's fingers curl instinctively around it. "We're roommates."

"We're not just roommates," Wille insists stubbornly.

"It was one time--"

"Three times." They've had variations on this argument before.

"And unless you want to put your money where your mouth is, it's only going to stay one time."

That effectively shoves Wille's snarky response back down his throat. Simon's thumbnail is digging into Wille's palm, and in the dim hallway he can't tell if Simon's hooded eyes are looking down at his lips.

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

MASSIVE Stickbug Wiki Update!

HI I HAVE'T TOUCHED THE WIKI IN LIKE A MONTH BUT PRESENTING... (Art done by @tatos-stick-pile)

THREE NEW PAGES OF CONTENT!

I finished up Chapter 4 of the Story page, going over this AU's version of Animation vs. Minecraft, featuring both art from me AND Tato throughout the page, AND Green and Green Screen both have full character pages going over their entire history, trivia, and art galleries!

Links Below, I hope y'all enjoy this update!

NOTE: I do not know how to code for mobile access yet, so the site looks awful on mobile.

Chapter 4 (Wiki) || Green || Green Screen || Chapter 4 (Ao3)

Minor Revisions Below the Cut:

Added a hovering effect when you hover over the character thumbnails on the Character Page

Adjusted the Credits section as well as added icons for Alan and Bug Fables

Added more art in Purple's Gallery

[jasperygrace]

January 2025 Mid Monthly Report

Hello hello, everyone! After a year long absence, I’m happy to welcome back the Mid Monthly Report!

To those new to the blog, the Mid Monthly Report is a monthly status report posted around the middle of the month that details stuff I’ve been working on and the going ons in my life. I’ve been doing these reports since July of 2020, but had to break last year because of Life™. Now that I have things (relatively) under control again, I’ve decided to bring it back.

I’ve got some fun stuff to share with you all this month, so without further ado, let us begin!

Project Progress

Mark your calendars everyone, because I have an exciting announcement:

An Immortal Laid to Rest — Log 1: Janahad will be available to read May 17th, 2025.

Log 1 will feature six chapters in total and will release on a weekly basis starting with the first two chapters. It will be completely free to read on my website. I am so excited to finally be able to share this with all of you after four+ years working on it. It really is a dream come true for me.

There’s still some work I need to get done before then. I have 1/4 of the major illustrations completed and I’d like to get one more round of editing completed. Website wise, I should have everything set up, just one or two minor things I need to add to really spruce it up.

Regardless, I hope you’ll look forward to the Log 1’s release!

Change Log

Here are some updates to the website:

Compressed most images featured on the home page and Pro:Des subsite into .jpg files. Buttons in the gallery portal and Pro:Des gallery have been reduced in size as well. This should help with page loading when initially accessed.

Fixed “Go To Gallery” button on the Pro:Des subsite to be centered on Firefox.

Removed hover effect for Pro:Des gallery thumbnails on the Pro:Des subsite.

Known Issues

Backdrop-filter is not working on Firefox. Effects removed for the time being.

Black border appear on Home Page and Gallery pages when viewed on Firefox mobile browsers. These visual errors do not appear on Chrome nor Samsung mobile browsers.

Things to be Added

Original and Fanart galleries

World of Asheva subsite

Bug Report submission form

Goals

Here are my goals for January into February

Finish 2 of 3 remaining illustrations.

Write 2 chapters

Edit 2 chapters

And that’s all I’ve got for this month! Thank you for reading, and I hope you will support me in my future endeavors!

[farmergirlimagines]

Chapter 68 : Name and Badge Number

Masterlist ~ Through Static and Shock

>>>Thank you for reading! Please comment and let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates of this story. I post a new chapter each Monday, Wednesday and Friday!

 See you all next update!

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

Jonathan sat slumped at one of the desks, his hands hanging between his knees, knuckles still raw and slightly swollen from the fight. His jacket was off, his hair a mess, and there was dried blood crusted into the corner of his mouth. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He hadn’t, really.

Joyce hovered nearby, pacing behind him, biting at the skin around her thumbnail until it bled. Every few steps, she looked like she might sit down, or scream, or cry—but she did none of those things.

Finally, she exhaled, long and sharp. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

Jonathan didn’t move.

Joyce crossed her arms, digging her fingers into her sleeves. “I keep replaying everything in my head. The fights. The quiet. The way you and Joanna were always off somewhere, whispering. Lying.”

“Mom—” he started, but her voice cut over his.

“You lied to me, Jonathan.”

“I didn’t know how to explain it,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“You didn’t even try.”

That one landed. He flinched.

Joyce’s voice wavered. “You knew Will was alive. You knew. And you let me bury a casket filled with stuffing and cement.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?” she snapped. “The truth? From hope?”

He looked up at her then. Eyes dark and glassy. “From the pain if I was wrong.”

She didn’t have a response for that.

The quiet between them stretched until it became unbearable.

And then Joyce softened—just slightly. “He’s your brother, Jonathan. You think I wouldn’t risk everything to find him?”

Jonathan looked away. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. Because I know you would.”

Joyce blinked, her anger suddenly folding inward. It didn’t disappear—it just… broke in half. “We’re Byers. We do everything the hard way. But we do it together.”

He nodded, slowly. It wasn’t a promise. Just understanding.

Across the room, Nancy Wheeler sat perched on the edge of a plastic chair that whined every time she shifted—so she stayed still, rigid, like movement might make something inside her shatter. Her legs were crossed tightly at the ankles, her hands folded in her lap, thumbs spinning each other in nervous loops.

She wasn’t listening to Joyce and Jonathan. She was trying not to listen. Her eyes kept flicking toward Hopper’s office. The door was still closed. Joanna hadn’t come out. Not yet.

Nancy’s throat tightened.

Flo appeared beside her, quietly, carrying a small box. She didn’t say anything at first—just set the box on the table in front of Nancy with a soft thunk.

“Your personal effects,” she said.

Nancy blinked, startled. “Oh. Thanks.”

Flo didn’t move away.

Nancy glanced up. “You don’t have to hover.”

“I’m not,” Flo said, deadpan. “I’m just observant.”

Nancy exhaled, a tight breath escaping her nose. She opened the box slowly.

Inside were Joanna’s belongings… her earrings, her wallet, her folded jacket. And on top—creased, worn, slightly bent—was a small photo.

She paused. Four girls. Donna. Barb. Joanna. And her.

They were sitting on a cracked sidewalk outside the old dance studio on Cherry Street, legs tangled, shoelaces untied, smiles like they had no idea what was coming. Donna was eating a push-pop. Barb had her socks rolled halfway down her ankles. Joanna was mid-eye-roll. And Nancy was leaning into her, grinning.

Her fingers hovered over the picture like it might break if she touched it too hard.

Flo’s voice softened. “She’s not just angry, you know.”

Nancy’s jaw tensed. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m aware.”

“She’s scared. And so are you.”

Nancy swallowed hard and stood abruptly, pushing the chair back too fast. It let out a piercing squeal against the floor. Jonathan looked up. Joyce turned her head. But Nancy didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“You know what’s funny?” she said, half to herself. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Staying with Jonathan. Following the rules. Being who everyone expected me to be.”

Her grip on the photo tightened.

“But none of that saved Barb. Or Donna. Or Joanna from almost throwing herself at….into danger while I stood there doing nothing.”

Flo stayed silent. She didn’t need to speak yet.

Nancy’s voice cracked. “She won’t even look at me anymore.”

“That’s because she cares,” Flo said. “Not because she doesn’t.”

Nancy closed her eyes. Just for a second. Long enough to get herself under control.

Flo added, more gently this time, “You care about Joanna.”

Nancy’s breath hitched. “I—of course I do.”

Flo tilted her head, just slightly. “No. I mean, you care about her.”

The words hit like a whispered slap. Nancy didn’t answer. She didn’t deny it. She turned her face away, blinking quickly, still holding the photo. But her thumb—trembling—rested right over Joanna’s smile.

Joanna stepped around Hopper’s office, her shoulders stiff, her expression unreadable—but not hard. Not anymore. Something in her had settled. Hardened, yes, but focused.

Hopper’s eyes followed her, jaw tight, hands on his hips, as if the conversation they’d just had was still echoing in his head. His eyes scanned the room like he was already planning the next five moves.

He opened his mouth to speak.

He didn’t get the chance.

The office door slammed open with the weight of a storm.

“Jim!” Joyce Byers’ voice cracked like lightning, cutting across the room

She was moving fast—faster than the desk cops could react, her coat flying off one shoulder, her purse banging against her hip. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were locked on the photo in her hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

Jonathan and Nancy came in right behind her. Nancy looked pale but determined, jaw set tight. Jonathan’s expression was somewhere between dread and resolution.

Joanna turned just as Joyce crossed the room, her boots slapping against the floor.

But then the doors slammed open like a bullet through glass.

“Jim!” Joyce’s voice cracked across the room.

She didn’t pause. She stormed forward, half-running, a photograph clutched in one hand, her purse bouncing against her hip with every step. Her mouth was tight with urgency, with anger. Her hand trembled.

Jonathan followed just behind her, expression unreadable, but his steps were sure. Nancy was at his side, arms folded, her face drawn—like the weight of the moment was folding her in half.

Joyce reached Hopper and shoved the photo into his chest.

“You need to see this. Now.”

Hopper caught it—surprised—and looked down.

It was a printed still. Polaroid stock, slightly curled at the corners. At first glance it looked like any photo from any high school party in Hawkins.

But then he looked closer.

It was the backyard of Steve Harrington’s house. The pool glowed pale blue, water still, almost serene. Barb was sitting on the diving board, hunched slightly, arms around her knees. Donna paced along the concrete edge nearby, barefoot, her arms crossed. She looked nervous. Tense. Like she was about to walk away from something she didn’t want to be part of.

But it was the background that made Hopper’s breath catch in his throat.

In the shadow of the trees—just barely visible—was a thing.

Humanoid. Too tall. Its head bent forward like a vulture, its limbs stretched too far, skin stretched tight like wax over wire. Its face was just starting to open, like petals peeling back—grotesque and floral and wrong.

Creeping toward them.

Frozen in time, halfway to hell.

Joanna stepped up beside him, her voice low and furious. “That’s it. That’s the thing from the woods. From the Upside Down.”

Nancy’s arms tightened across her chest.

Jonathan spoke, guilt bleeding through every word. “The camera was in my bag. It must’ve gone off by accident. I didn’t even know we had this until we went through our stuff this morning.”

Hopper didn’t look away from the photo. “And this was the night they disappeared.”

Joyce’s voice cracked. “Yes.”

Joanna was staring at the photo like she could burn a hole through it. “They were right there. That close. And no one saw it.”

Nancy’s voice was barely audible. “I was in the house.”

Joanna turned sharply, eyes flashing, but she didn’t say anything. The silence was louder than a scream.

Hopper straightened, finally tearing his eyes from the image.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I told you,” Joanna snapped. “I told you what it was, and where it took them, and no one believed me until a goddamn photograph showed up.”

“I believe you,” Hopper said, steady now. “All of it.”

Joanna didn’t respond.

She didn’t need to.

The silence between them said enough—thick with vindication, exhaustion, and the deep, bitter sting of being right too late.

Joyce pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes glued to the photo. Her fingers trembled against her lips, but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. Not from the image of her niece and Barb caught mid-moment—one pacing, one still, and the horror creeping out of the trees behind them. One confirmed dead. The other missing, maybe dying. Maybe worse.

Her voice cracked when she spoke. “You said… blood draws it?”

Joanna nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Jonathan stepped in beside her, his voice unsure but firm. “We think so. That night, Barb cut her hand. Donna had just gotten her ears pierced. There was blood.”

Joanna’s voice turned sharp, her words clipped like she was biting down on them before they could cut too deep. “That’s how it found them.”

Jonathan hesitated. “We don’t know for sure. It’s still just a hunch—”

Joanna spun toward him, jaw clenched, fury flashing in her eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t we don’t know this now. We do know. I know. That’s how it got Barb. That’s how it got Donna. I’ve seen it hunt.”

Her voice cracked with something deeper. Something desperate.

“We need to hurt it. Donna’s not safe. Every second we wait, she’s closer to dying.”

Joyce blinked, trying to process the weight of what was being said.

“How... how do you know that?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Before Joanna could answer, Nancy cut in quietly—too quickly. “It’s just a theory.”

Joanna’s eyes snapped to her. Her entire posture shifted—rigid, cold, a wall snapping into place. “No, it’s not.”

She stepped forward, her voice rising, raw and full of fire. “El helped me. She found Donna through the radio. We talked. Donna told me. Directly. That she was hurt. That she was with Will. That they’re still alive.”

She looked around the room, at Joyce, at Jonathan, at Nancy.

“I told you that two days ago,” Joanna said, her voice shaking now, not with fear, but with fury. “And none of you believed me.”

Joyce’s face changed—subtly but unmistakably. Her mouth parted like she wanted to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes flicked to her kids. And for a moment, all Joanna saw was disappointment.

That’s what cut deepest.

Jonathan stepped forward, voice low. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Joyce turned to him slowly, blinking back emotion. “Sorry? You’re sorry?”

Her voice hitched, sharp and furious.

“That is not good enough, Jonathan.”

“I know.”

“It’s not even close. It’s not even in the ballpark.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Jonathan said. “I just—”

Joanna whipped around to face him, her eyes wide, chest heaving. “What the fuck? Since when?”

Joyce turned toward her now, realizing—slowly—what that meant.

“You weren’t going to tell me?” she asked, her voice strained.

Joanna looked at her mother, jaw trembling. “I was going to tell you… when I brought Will back.”

The words hit the room like a depth charge.

Joyce reeled back like she’d been slapped.

“And what if this thing took you too?” she demanded. “You’d risk your life? Your brother’s life? Nancy’s?”

Joanna’s chin lifted.

“I’ll do whatever I have to do to save them. Both of them. And if you can’t handle that—if you can’t stand that—then step off.”

Joyce flinched. Her voice shook with grief. “This is not yours to fix alone.”

Joanna’s face twisted—not in anger, but something like betrayal.

“I’m not alone,” she said quietly. “You’re just mad because I didn’t come to you.”

Joyce’s voice broke completely. “Because you act like you’re all alone out there in the world, but you’re not! You’re not alone, Joanna! You never were!”

The words rang out and fell heavy. No one moved.

Nancy looked away. Jonathan stared at the floor.

Joanna said nothing. But her lip trembled. Her hands, at her sides, curled slowly into fists.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

Joanna stepped forward. “That’s the thing I saw. That’s the thing from the woods. The Upside Down. That’s what took Donna. And Will. And Barb.”

Nancy glanced at her—sharp, conflicted.

Joyce turned on Hopper. “You believe them? This isn’t some animal or some sicko in a mask—this is real.”

“I believe you,” Hopper said immediately. “I believe all of you.”

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?” Joanna said.

The silence after Joanna’s last words was thick enough to choke on.

Joyce had tears in her eyes, but she blinked them back with fury. “You were ready to go into that thing alone. Without telling anyone. What if something happened to you? What if Jonathan never pulled you back?”

Joanna didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Because she knew. She knew what she’d risked. She just didn’t regret it.

Before the tension could boil over again—

The front doors slammed open for the second time that day.

“I want an apology, right now!” a shrill voice rang out, cutting through the room like glass shattering.

Everyone turned.

Mrs. Walsh stormed inside in full pearls-and-hellfire mode, dragging her son Troy behind her like a ragdoll with a cast on his arm and a mouth full of bitter resentment. Her lipstick was flawless. Her tone? Nuclear.

“An apology for what, exactly?” Officer Callahan said, clearly already over it.

“For humiliating my son,” she snapped. “For treating him like garbage when he came in here with a perfectly reasonable complaint!”

Nancy muttered under her breath. “Oh no.”

Joanna folded her arms and stared.

Mrs. Walsh’s eyes blazed as she looked around. “Where is the chief? I demand to speak with him. Right now.”

“Ma’am, you need to calm down,” Callahan said, lifting a palm.

That was the wrong move.

“What is your name, deputy?” she demanded.

“Well, I’m an officer—”

“Name. And badge number. Now.”

Behind her, Troy stood sullenly, eyes scanning the room until they landed—on Joanna. His face twisted.

Right as Hopper emerged from his office, his voice gravelled and irritated. “What the hell is going on out here?”

Mrs. Walsh practically beamed, pointing dramatically at Callahan. “These men are humiliating my son.”

Callahan held his hands up. “Whoa, whoa—”

“There was a fight,” Powell offered weakly.

“My son was attacked by a psychotic child,” Mrs. Walsh said, her voice growing shriller by the syllable.

Powell scratched the back of his head. “It was a little girl, Chief. A little one.”

“That tone!” she gasped. “Do you hear that tone? Mocking a victim!”

Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just… take her statement. We’ll look into it.”

But then Troy stepped forward. “She’s a freak, Chief. From out of town. Shaved head. Real creepy. Says she’s a Byers’ cousin or something.”

Joanna’s stomach turned, but she said nothing. It had been her idea to say El was her cousin, back when they snuck her into the school. A lie that now felt too close to truth.

Hopper’s gaze sharpened. “What did you say about her hair?”

Troy blinked. “It’s gone. Shaved. She doesn’t even look like a girl.”

Hopper stepped in closer. “And what else?”

Mrs. Walsh folded her arms. “Tell the man, Troy.”

Troy swallowed, clearly enjoying the attention. “She can make you do stuff. Crazy stuff.”

“Like what?”

Troy hesitated. “Like fly. Or... piss yourself.”

A stunned pause.

Powell blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“She made me!” Troy shouted. “She did something to my head. I couldn’t move. Then—then it happened. She’s a psycho!”

Joanna unfolded her arms and stepped forward, voice like a blade dipped in ice.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, eyes locked on Mrs. Walsh. “Are we all pretending your son’s some poor little victim now?”

Mrs. Walsh spun toward her, lips parted in outrage. “Excuse me?”

Joanna didn’t blink. “Your son’s a bully. Everyone in this town knows it. He’s been tormenting kids half his size since fifth grade. Mike, Dustin, Lucas, Will—they all have scars because he thinks being cruel makes him powerful.”

Her gaze flicked to Troy. “So forgive me if I don’t buy the tragic victim act now that someone finally fought back.”

Mrs. Walsh’s face turned scarlet. “That girl assaulted my son!”

Joanna’s voice stayed cool. “No. She defended herself. Something your kid’s never had to learn, because you shield him from every consequence like it’s your job.”

Troy looked like he wanted to melt into the tile.

Before the tension could crack open any further, Hopper stepped in.

“Enough,” he said—not angry, but focused, eyes narrowed.

He turned to Troy. “Was she alone?”

Troy blinked, startled. “No. She’s always with those other losers. Wheeler. Henderson. That Sinclair kid. She was at the school, at the assembly.”

Hopper leaned in. “And her hair?”

“Shaved,” Troy muttered. “Weird. She barely even talks.”

Hopper’s face hardened. “And you said… she can do things?”

Troy hesitated. “Yeah. She can mess with your head. I—I couldn’t move. I was stuck. And then—” he flushed, “—she made me… pee myself.”

Officer Powell coughed awkwardly.

Callahan blinked like he was trying not to laugh.

But Hopper didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned slowly to Joanna. “That the girl?”

Joanna held his stare. “You already know she is.”

“She hangs around with those losers,” Troy muttered. “Henderson. Wheeler. That Sinclair kid. She was at the school. For the assembly.”

Joanna said nothing. Then Hopper looked at Joanna. “You said she’s your cousin,” he said carefully.

Joanna met his gaze. “It was a cover.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know.” A beat. “But I’ll find her.”

Hopper stared at her for a long moment. Then nodded. “Then we move fast.”

[clarepreed]

Cheating Death

Story Content and Summary - 8,111 words. Larissa receives pictures and video of Mitchell having an affair with another woman and the stress has a deleterious effect on her health. Depicted sexual acts, masturbation, seizure, drowning, on-site resuscitation, angst, hurt/comfort.

Previous installment: Saving Mitchell.

--

Larissa 

Larissa leaned against the inside of the elevator, fanning herself with her hand as sweat trickled down her face. Her other hand quickly tapped out a message on her phone: 

Done with my run, almost home! ❤

️A few seconds later, Mitchell messaged her back:

Be home in thirty, forty-five minutes ❤️ Everything still OK with the medication change?

Larissa’s neurologist had recently lowered the dosage on her seizure medication, citing Larissa’s complaints about energy levels.

Everything is fine! I had a great run!

Excellent! 😘

Larissa smiled, exiting the elevator as the doors opened on her floor.

Once inside their condo, Larissa kicked off her shoes and made a beeline for the kitchen to retrieve a protein bar and a glass of water. Then she sat at their dining table, pulling that day’s newspaper over to her side of the table. Her phone dinged; another message.

She was expecting the text to be from Mitchell; instead, it was from an unknown number. Taking a bite of her protein bar, she tapped on the notification.

Your husband is lying to you.

Larissa raised an eyebrow and swallowed. “Oh? What’s this?”

Another text: I’m his mistress. I have proof.

Larissa snorted. “Right, and you only want half a million dollars to give me that proof. Not my first rodeo…”

A third text, this time a link. Larissa studied it. As far as she could tell, it was a standard Google Drive folder link, so after some hesitation, she tapped on it.

The folder loaded, filling with several thumbnails portraying graphic sexual activity. Larissa blinked down at her phone in surprise, her thumb hovering over the thumbnails. One appeared to be a video, the rest images. She registered a young woman with long, black hair and a man in his late forties or early fifties with blonde hair and silvery facial hair. 

Something about his face made her squint at the thumbnails, and she tapped the video.

Loud, obnoxious music blared from her phone. The man and woman were having sex, though the music covered any noises they might have made. The man threw his head back, and an intimately familiar face came into view. Larissa felt her stomach sink. She tapped back to the folder, and the music stopped. Her heart pounded and her breath came in gasps 

That… can’t be him.

Larissa forced herself to take a deep breath. A chunk of protein bar dropped onto the tabletop; she realized she’d squeezed the open package in her fist, obliterating the bar. She dropped the package, took another deep breath, and then tapped one of the picture thumbnails.

The picture loaded, and a small sound tore its way from her throat. 

The man was Mitchell. Not Mitchell from his younger days; her Mitchell. Recent enough to have facial hair. She vaguely registered his hands on the woman’s hips, but her eyes kept coming back to his face. She rotated the phone so that the image enlarged, filling the screen.

He’s not having a very good time with her, she thought, her own memories of their sex life crowding her mind. Then she let out a short, ugly laugh. Good.

Her phone hit the table, and Larissa buried her face in her hands.

Impossible! 

Anything is possible.

Why? Why didn’t he just tell me he needed something I couldn’t give him? We’re supposedly so fucking open with each other… He could have asked for an open relationship!

He knew I didn’t want that, though.

When the fuck did he have time to… to fuck her?

Is he even selling the company? Or is he with her right now?

She remembered the paperwork she’d already had to sign as his wife. Okay, so the sale is real. But did he really need to see Mark this morning?

Does Mark know? Has he met her? God, she looks so young! Early twenties under that make up…

Bastard.

Her chest hurt, and she felt dirty. The feeling was beyond needing to shower off the sweat from her run. She needed to scrape the filth off.

Larissa straightened up, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily and pushed back her chair. Her blood pounded in her ears as she stood and stalked her way through the condo, through their bedroom and into the bathroom. She stopped the bathtub drain and then turned on the water as hot as it would go.

More tears trickled down her cheeks, blurring her vision. She rubbed the back of her wrist across her eyes, then walked back into their bedroom. All but tearing the rings from her fingers, she dropped them onto the small tray she kept on the dresser for that purpose. Then she headed toward the dining table for her phone, stripping her shirt off as she walked.

She dropped the sweaty top on the floor, then grasped the bottom hem of her sports bra, ripping it off over her head. Her breasts swung free, the abrupt loss of support almost painful. Next to the table, she peeled off her leggings, socks, and underwear, dropping them in a smelly pile next to her chair. She scooped her phone up off the table and then spun back toward the bedroom, her braid whipping around as she turned her head.

The bathroom had filled with steam, though the air was still cool and the tiles under her feet were chilly. She didn’t bother laying out a bath mat or turning on the towel warmer. The tub was only halfway filled, but she sat her phone on the side of the tub and then climbed in.

The water was too hot, but she forced herself to tolerate the pain. A hiss escaped her clenched teeth and her heart rate increased. Larissa made herself breathe through it, reaching for her bodywash and shower pouf with shaking hands. 

Her skin turned red from the heat and from her scrubbing with the pouf. She washed her entire body twice aside from her face, which she washed only with water as her face soap was beside the sink. The hot water burned her nostrils and her eyelids, but she splashed it across her face anyway, rinsing away the tears that kept flowing.

To Larissa’s surprise, the longer she sat in the tub, the more the heat from the bathwater centered between her thighs. The water was above her breasts now, scalding her nipples as they stood erect. She turned off the water and leaned back against the side of the tub.

I need to get out of the tub. He’ll be here soon. Do I even want to be here when he gets home?

Her thighs rubbed together, and her hands floated up to her nipples. Undeniably aroused, though she couldn’t have said why.

Closing her eyes, Larissa leaned her head back and slipped one of her hands between her thighs. She could almost feel him touching her, his hands on her breasts, sliding down her stomach and cupping her mound. His fingers inside of her and teasing her anus. His mouth on her clit. She could smell him, feel his hair against her skin as she palmed his head, holding his mouth against her. 

In reality, it was her own hands on her body, working between her thighs as she spread her legs wide. She dipped two fingers inside, pumping them in and out as she circled her clit with the fingertips of her other hand. The tension built quickly, coming at her like an out-of-control freight train. Larissa moaned, thrusting her hips toward her hands. Hot water sloshed over the lip of the tub, splashed into her face. 

Her breath came faster and faster until the bathroom was filled with the sound of her gasps. Larissa added a third finger, her body writhing and splashing in the water, her mouth open. She rubbed her fingertips across her clit, hard and fast. Her legs and hips worked beneath the water, thrusting and humping until her back bowed and she let out a cry of both pleasure and pain, her orgasm knifing through her body and buzzing all of her nerve endings.

She went limp, hands floating in the water, head lolling. Her breath continued to come harsh and irregular, and as soon as the orgasm faded, her tears resumed streaming down her cheeks. She was too hot, and her skin felt sore and prickly. 

“Mitchell…” Larissa covered her face with her wet hands, rocking back and forth. Then, her hands dropped from her face, splashing into the water. Her eyes rolled, and she fell back against the side of the tub with a thunk. She let out a huff of air and then her body began to spasm rhythmically, arms and legs beating against the sides of the tub and water splashing everywhere.

As she convulsed, her body slid down in the tub until she was completely submerged, bubbles frothing out from between her lips and rising to the surface. The water churned above her. She continued to convulse, head connecting with the tub, limbs jerking, mouth releasing clusters of bubbles until she finally grew still. The water settled. Larissa lay at the bottom of the tub, staring up at the surface, the water giving her skin a bluish cast.

Mitchell

Mitchell unlocked the door and stepped inside their condo, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door. 

“I’m home!” he called out, not immediately spotting Larissa. What he did spot, however, was unusual for his tidy wife: protein bar trash and crumbs all over the table, and her clothing scattered in a trail toward the bedroom. Mitchell raised his eyebrows. “Larissa?”

The apartment was eerily silent. Mitchell sat his phone on the table and swept the worst of the crumbs off into his hand before dumping them into the trash.

Then he headed toward the bedroom, wondering if she’d laid down for a nap.

Their bed was made, and Larissa was again nowhere to be seen. He stood in the middle of the room, a strange feeling sweeping over him.

Plop! A single drop of water landing in a larger pool.

The bathtub.

“Larissa!” Mitchell called out, his tone sharp. He strode toward the bathroom door, which was pushed closed but not latched. He shoved it open, and a wall of moisture hit him.

He didn’t immediately see her. The tub was full, and it took him a few precious seconds to realize he was looking at her knees, jutting above the still surface of the bathwater. Mitchell made a noise deep in his throat and took two steps forward, enough to see into the tub.

Larissa laid pale beneath the water, eyelids and lips parted, light eyes staring up at the surface. Mitchell ran the last steps to the tub, barking his shin on the side. He screamed incoherently and lunged for her limp body.

Grabbing her under the arms, Mitchell heaved her upper body out of the water. The water was almost hot, and her body still felt warm to the touch. Her head sagged back, braid dragging through the bathwater. Water ran from her nose and mouth. “FUCK! NO, LARISSA!”

Mitchell swung one leg over the side of the tub and stepped inside, sloshing water everywhere. He laid her back against the side of the tub, one hand gripping her jaw and pushing it up while the other pinched her nose. Her full lips sagged open, and he opened his mouth wide to seal over them.

He blew hard enough to make her chest rise despite the water, though when he broke the seal, her exhale was pure liquid. He forced another desperate breath into her, and when he gasped in his own breath, their lips parted with a popping sound. He breathed into her three more times, and each time she remained unresponsive, water trickling from the corners of her mouth.

“No, baby, come on!” Mitchell released her head and worked his hands under her arms, her limbs flopping limply as he manipulated her. He hauled her up higher and wrapped his arms around her chest. Then he heaved them both backward, a small wave of water lapping over the side of the tub and onto the floor as he dragged her limp, unresponsive body from the tub.

Mitchell laid her flat with haste, cradling her head as he rested it on the wet tile. He tipped her head to the side so that any expelled water could run out. Then he reached into his back pocket for his phone before remembering he’d left it on the table. He started to rise, only to spot Larissa’s phone resting on the lip of the tub 

Pressing the heel of his right hand to the lower part of her sternum, Mitchell began pumping her chest one-handed. He leaned sideways, reaching for the phone with his left hand. He snatched it from the side of the tub and dropped it on the tile with a clatter. . Larissa made involuntary gurgling noises as he thrust with his right hand.

“…ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…”

Mitchell typed in Larissa’s PIN, prepared to tap on the dialer as soon as the screen unlocked. 

“…seventeen, eighteen… what?” He didn’t stop pumping her heart, but his voice trailed off. At first, his brain interpreted the image as porn. A raven-haired woman with large breasts astride a naked man. Not what he expected to see, but no big deal. 

What was a big deal was that Mitchell recognized the man. The man was Mitchell. His current-day self, silvering facial hair and all.

What?

Mitchell in the photograph gripped the woman’s hips, his mouth open. His eyes were turned toward the camera.

“Hungh…” A moderate amount of water erupted from Larissa’s mouth, and he quickly turned his attention fully to the task at hand. 

No time!

Mitchell swiped the image away with a huff. Seconds later, a ringing phone line filled the air, and he pressed both hands to Larissa’s silent chest.

“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Mitchell turned Larissa’s face to the ceiling and drew a deep breath. Her blue lips were feeling cold now. When he exhaled into her, her chest rose, but he could hear water in her lungs; gurgling, almost buzzing. The second breath forced a wave of mucus and foam from her nose.

“…9-1-1, what’s your location and the nature of your emergency!”

“One, two, three…” He could hear the water sloshing in her stomach as he compressed her sternum, as he gave the operator their location. Larissa’s chin nodded in time with his thrusts. Her lips looked lavender. “My wife… drowned… in the tub! I’ve started CPR! Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…”

“Your wife isn’t breathing?”

“No! Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

“Do you know how long she was in the water?”

“No…” His voice cracked, and he blinked back tears. “…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

Come on, baby! he thought, trying to be careful with her neck as he reopened her airway. Take a breath!

Her cheeks expanded, followed by her chest, her breasts swelling. Another breath and then his hands crashed against the center of her chest and he rolled his shoulders over his hands.

“One, two, three…” Larissa’s heavy breasts wobbled as he pumped her chest. Her nipples had hardened in the cool bathroom air. Each time he forced her sternum down toward her heart, her shoulders heaved and her stomach popped up, her soft belly rippling from the force. The vibrations traveled to her legs, making her thighs quiver and her feet rock. “…nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…”

“Do you know what may have caused her to drown?” the operator asked.

“No, I… I can’t be certain…” His eyes landed on her beautiful face. Pale and discolored, she looked to be absent from her body. Her light-colored eyes saw nothing. Her mouth sagged slightly toward the floor. Water droplets spurted out with each compression. “Heart trouble, fainting, a seizure… I don’t know! Her doctor recently reduced her seizure medication, but I just don’t know!”

Agitated and distraught, Mitchell was too rough with her head as he jerked it upright and pressed his mouth hard against hers. Once, twice. The only sound was the huff of air between them and the pop of his lips leaving her skin 

I’m so sorry, baby. You have to wake up. Wake up and breathe! Please!

“I do have an ambulance on the way, sir.”

“One, two, three, four…” Her ribcage crackled beneath his hands, and he’d seen how red her skin had become before he pressed his hands over the mark. His fingers dug into her soft breast as he thrust his hands into her chest, forcing her ribcage to dip and bob. He could hear his hands on her chest, the squelch of her damp skin and a quiet thumping sound. A sucking noise emitted from her open mouth with each recoil. “…twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

FUCKING BREATHE!

Two more breaths sank into her unresponsive body. Mitchell pumped her chest hard and fast, fear and anguish driving his control from his mind. He didn’t want to hear any more abortive gulps or inanimate squelches; he wanted to hear her take a breath.

“…nine, ten, eleven—” Larissa’s abdomen convulsed and her throat bulged. Water burbled up from her open mouth. “Larissa?”

Mitchell grabbed her shoulder and her hip, rolling her otherwise limp body onto her side. She made a gagging noise, but nothing else came out. Mitchell moved one of his hands to her neck, fingers pressing hard into her carotid artery.

A pulse beat there, erratic.

“Larissa! Take a breath!” Mitchell slid his hand from her hip to her abdomen, the heel finding her navel and sliding up. He pressed hard, pushing toward her diaphragm. Larissa’s body heaved, and he heard more water splash on the tiles. Another maverick abdominal thrust, and she vomited up the water and bits of breakfast, gagging and retching.

Mitchell glimpsed her face and was shocked to see that her eyes were still dead, unfocused as her head lolled. Mitchell ran his finger between her teeth, trying to keep her airway clear.

“I need you to BREATHE, LARISSA!” He’d long since tuned out the operator, had no idea if they were trying to speak to him. Mitchell lowered Larissa to her back and reopened her airway with a quick hand beneath her neck. Sealing off her nostrils with a pinch, he covered her open mouth and gave her a deep breath.

His eyes shifted to her naked, discolored chest. Her breasts rose and fell, then rose again as he gave her another breath.

Mitchell breathed several seconds apart, over and over again. He shifted his fingers back to her neck and was relieved to feel her heart still beating.

“Come on, Larissa. Breathe!” Mitchell squeezed her shoulder between breaths, pinching hard into her muscle. She just laid there, eyes unblinking, heart weakly beating. Another breath, and then he dug his knuckles into her bruised sternum, dragging them up and down the bone.

This got him a response. Her chest muscles twitched, and she made a small noise. Even more of a relief was her eyes, which slipped closed. Mitchell took her pulse again and let out his own held breath as he felt her blood move beneath his fingers. He grasped her face with both hands. “Larissa?”

His relief was short-lived as seconds passed and she didn’t take a breath. He ground his knuckles into her chest again, but this time, he couldn’t see any effect.

“Dammit!” Mitchell quickly tipped her head back, pinched her nose, and covered her mouth with his. He gave her a breath, then another. He settled into a rhythm of forcing her to breathe, letting her exhale, then giving her another breath. He returned the fingers of his left hand to her pulse, terrified she would slip away before the ambulance arrived.

Then, his efforts were rewarded. As he was about to give her another breath, she inhaled. The small movement was quickly followed by a weak, wet cough. Then she heaved a deeper breath. Mitchell took her face in his hands again, his thumbs stroking her damp cheeks 

“Larissa, can you hear me?” Mitchell leaned over her, his eyes glued to her pale, freckled face. He could hear a hitch with each inhale, followed by a cough. Her lips were white now instead of blue. She didn’t open her eyes, but she grimaced and began to shiver.

Mitchell rolled her onto her side again, this time toward him so he could see her wan face. He bent her knee and tucked her hand under her chin, propping her up. Then he stretched back toward the door and yanked her robe off the hook. Draping it over her naked body, he tucked it in around her.

“Larissa.” Mitchell leaned close and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Open your eyes, baby.”

She curled toward him, whimpering and reaching for him with shaking hands. The sound made Mitchell’s heart ache.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, brushing strands of damp hair from her face. “I’m here.”

Finally, her eyes peeled open. She looked up at him, visibly disoriented. 

“Oh, thank God!” Mitchell choked out, overcome with relief. He took her face in his hands again and kissed all over her forehead and her cheeks.. “Holy shit!”

A coughing fit took her, and he reached around and rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. “God, baby. I love you!”

“Mitch…ell…” Larissa wheezed. She looked up at him, frowning and confused.

“You had an accident in the bath. Do you have any idea what happened?” Mitchell watched her slowly shake her head. He couldn’t be sure, not with the obvious after effects of drowning, but he had to wonder if she’d had a seizure. 

Larissa sniffled, looking bleary-eyed around the bathroom. “I… had an accident?”

“I found you in the tub, baby. I don’t know what happened.” Mitchell heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, I love you…”

 The strangest look passed over her face. She stared up at him, her features briefly going slack before seeming to close off. Her eyes looked like black pits despite the light color of her irises. “My… phone…” she wheezed.

“Oh, shit!” Mitchell found her phone, laying in a centimeter of water. The 9-1-1 call was still connected. He took the phone off speaker and pressed it to his ear. “Hey, I’m sorry. She’s breathing again! And conscious… Are they? Larissa, I have to let the paramedics in. I’ll be right back…”

Mitchell scrambled to his feet, nearly slipping in the water as he hurried out of the bathroom. Soon enough, the paramedics were in their condo, and he had disconnected the call, leading the medics to Larissa.

Still conscious, she’d curled into a tight ball, seemingly oblivious to the physical pain he knew she had to be in. Or perhaps not; she was crying.

“Ma’am?” one medic said. “My name is Mike, and this is Carla. We’re here to help. Do you know what happened to you?”

Larissa didn’t respond, though he could hear her weeping. 

“I’m starting to think she had a seizure in the bath,” Mitchell said, kneeling by her head. “She has epilepsy. I wasn’t here… Thank fuck I came home no later than I did.”

Mitchell reached toward Larissa, pressing his hand to her back. He intended to soothe her, but she twisted away from him, sobbing harder. Her sobs were broken only by coughs and gasps for air. Mitchell jerked his hand away in surprise. “Baby? Are you in a lot of pain?”

“D-don’t touch… me…” she gasped. Her voice was raw and wheezing. “Don’t… fucking… touch m-me… I know!”

Mike the medic stepped between them, looking down at Mitchell. “Sir, why don’t you go have a seat in the bedroom while we check out your wife?” The man’s tone was firm, brooking no argument.

Mitchell gaped at them both in surprise for several seconds before his mouth shut with a click and shocking pornographic images filled his mind.

Her phone! That picture!

He still had her phone in his hand, so he climbed stiffly to his feet. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me, Larissa.” She didn’t reply, so he walked away, glancing once over his shoulder at her prone form.

In the bedroom, Mitchell sat heavily on their bed. He unlocked Larissa’s phone and swiped back to the previous app, Google Drive.

The picture popped up, an accusation in and of itself. The woman’s lewd pose. Mitchell’s face.

“How?” he whispered.

He didn’t recognize the woman, but more importantly, he did not remember having sex with her. He didn’t have any unaccounted for time, and there’d been no alcohol-fueled blackouts since long before he’d met Larissa. In fact, the last time Mitchell had gotten blackout drunk, he was twenty-seven. The man in the picture was certainly not twenty-seven.

Mitchell swept his thumb to the left and another picture loaded. This time, the woman was sucking his cock. Mitchell’s face was in profile. He recognized his nose. 

There were five pictures and a video. Mitchell peered into the bathroom. The medics had coaxed Larissa onto her back and were taking her vitals. He felt suddenly empty, his fear, confusion, and dread draining out of him.

Mitchell stood and walked out of the bedroom, headed for the table where he’d left his phone. He sat in Larissa’s chair and tapped the “play” symbol.

Obnoxious music blasted from Larissa’s phone, music better suited to a comedy skit about porn than an actual porn video. Mitchell quickly thumbed the volume down to a tolerable level and stared in disconnected, distant horror at the phone screen.

Mitchell from the video laid on his back, his hips thrusting up toward the unfamiliar woman, his hands gripping her thighs. She was twisting her nipples, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Video Mitchell stared up at her with a dead look on his face, as though she bored him despite the vigorous activity going on from the waist down.

Present day Mitchell backed out to the Drive folder holding all of this evidence against him, then found the share settings. 

‘Anyone with the link can view?’ Fuck. He copied the link and sent the folder to his own phone, staring down at Larissa’s for several more seconds. Then he closed the app, locked her screen, and slipped her phone into his back pocket. On his phone, he downloaded the pictures and video, afraid they would be deleted before he could have someone look at them. The Chief Technology Officer, perhaps? Head of Security? 

Mark. It has to start with Mark. 

He dialed Mark’s number reluctantly.

“Miss me already?” His brother-in-law said as soon as the call connected.

“Mark…” Mitchell’s voice cracked.

“Woah.” Mark’s tone shifted. “What’s wrong?”

Mitchell felt his insides tremble. “Larissa had an accident at home. She’s okay, I think, but I need you to meet me at the hospital.”

“Of course! Jeez… Samuel and I will leave now.”

“Mark, before you go…” Mitchell cleared his throat. “I’m going to send you a Drive link.”

“…okay? Mitchell, I don’t—”

“It has pictures and videos of me, old ass current me, having sex with a strange woman.”

The call went silent for several seconds and then Mark growled out: “You absolute fucking bastard! What the actual hell, Mitchell?”

“What’s going on?” he heard Samuel say.

“Larissa had an accident, and your piece of shit brother cheated on—”

“It’s not me! I swear to God! I don’t know how… it fucking looks like my twin, but Mark, I did not do this!” Mitchell heard the pleading in his own voice, and his face flushed hot with shame. “I did not do this! It’s not me, it just looks like me!”

“Did Larissa see these pictures?”

“Yes.” Mitchell ground the heel of his hand into his eyes. He was getting a headache. “I think it might be why she had the accident. I don’t know. I think she had a seizure.”

“Mitchell, I’ve got you on speaker with Samuel. Aside from the pictures, what actually happened?”

“I came home, and she’d drowned in the tub, Mark.”

“You’re fucking kidding me!” he heard Samuel exclaim.

“I know! If it was a seizure, I don’t know if it was stress… she’d obviously been looking at the pictures before her episode.” Mitchell drew a shuddering breath. “I got her breathing again, and the paramedics are with her now. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Samuel said. “Not trying to piss you off, but this is the worst thing you—”

“Mark, I’m going to send you the link now. I need you to get IT and security on it. It’s not what it looks like. It can’t be. It’s impossible.” Mitchell could hear movement from the bedroom, so he quickly copied the Drive link and texted it to Mark. “I think they’re going to take her out to the ambulance. I sent you the link, Mark. I need you to help me.”

“Alright, Mitchell. I’ve got it. We will see you in a bit, okay?” Mark sighed. “I love you, so I’m going to humor you. But if you did this…”

“I didn’t. Mark, I have to go.” The paramedics were wheeling the gurney out of the bedroom. They’d put Larissa on oxygen and covered her with a blanket from their bedroom.

“Alright. Good luck, Mitchell,” Mark said.

“Fuck luck! You’d better be right!” If Samuel had anything else to say, Mitchell didn’t hear it because he hung up his phone. 

“My… phone…” Larissa wheezed as they wheeled her past him “Purse...” 

She’d pulled the oxygen mask from her face to speak, and one paramedic reached over to help her put it back on.

“I can bring them with me, Lari—”

“No!” 

He understood that well enough through the mask. His heart in his throat and misery making his head hang, Mitchell pulled her phone out of his pocket. He found her purse in a chair and dropped the phone inside. One of the medics took Larissa’s purse from him and sat it between her legs.

“Larissa.” Mitchell drew himself up to his full height. “Mark is coming to the hospital, okay?”

She didn’t respond, sagging back on the gurney with her eyes closed.

Mitchell grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door, following the gurney out of their condo. He knew he couldn’t ride with her to the hospital. Knew they wouldn’t even let him in the elevator. It was obvious from how the paramedics refused to acknowledge him he was persona non grata. He wondered what they thought he’d done.

He stood in the hall, watching as they wheeled the gurney inside the elevator. Larissa had stopped crying, but she laid stoney-faced on the gurney, unwilling to look at him.

Just before the doors closed, Mitchell called out: “I love you!”

Downstairs, Mitchell sat in the driver’s seat of their SUV, uncontrollably shaking. The vehicle pinged at him; he’d put the keys in the ignition but hadn’t buckled up. He felt lightheaded, and his head was pounding. He also felt cold and was only just coming to the realization that his clothes were wet. Driving anywhere felt like an impossible task. Mitchell leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the steering wheel.

I can’t drive like this, he thought, opening the door. Mitchell pulled the keys from the ignition and climbed down out of the SUV. I’ll have to walk.

Mark

“Stop watching that,” Mark exclaimed as that ridiculous vintage porno music filled the inside of their SUV yet again. “That’s your brother. It’s weird.”

Samuel flapped a hand in his direction. “There’s something about it, Mark. It’s… off.”

“Of course it’s off!” Mitchell stopped at the light and flipped on his turn signal. “It’s your brother who just blew up his life.”

“No, listen!” The music suddenly stopped and Samuel continued speaking. “I think I know what this is! So, do you remember when I was watching all of those Keanu Reeves videos online?”

“Yeah. He was silently ironing, shit like that. Also weird.”

“I mean, I thought it was calming somehow. He’s cool. And there he is just peacefully doing chores. Only it wasn’t him, Mark.” Samuel’s voice cracked with excitement. “It was some guy who only looked like Keanu Reeves if you squinted and someone punched you in the eye.”

Mark turned into the hospital entrance, headed for the parking deck. “That makes no sense.”

“It’s called a deepfake. They use software or AI or something. I think whoever made this didn’t want to take the time to put his voice in there, so they just replaced the audio track with that fucking song.”

Mark pulled into a space and turned to stare at his husband. “This is an actual thing?”

“Yeah! Look…” Samuel opened YouTube on his phone. “Jordan Peele made a PSA about fake news with Obama’s likeness. But that was five years ago… it’s even more difficult to tell it’s fake now.”

Mark stared down at the video, watching until the point where Jordan Peele revealed himself to be the person speaking rather than Barack Obama, despite the former President’s lips moving in time with the words. He turned the ignition off and shook his head. “If that’s true, how do we convince Larissa?”

“I don’t know. Let’s see if Mitchell’s gotten to see her yet. It might be too soon.” Samuel tapped his phone screen and then held it to his ear. “God, this is such a fucking mess… Hey, buddy. We just pulled into the deck. Where are you?”

Mark heard a single word, faint through the phone ear piece: “Apple.”

“Apple?” Samuel looked up at Mark, a quizzical expression on his face. “You’re not here yet? What did you do, walk?… Wait, you did? Fuck, Mitchell!”

Mark watched his husband’s face as he listened to Mitchell. His mouth set into a grim line and he shook his head.

After another moment, Samuel said: “I’m going to come get you. No, Mitchell, listen. I think I figured it out. Mark will stay here and see if he can find anything out about Larissa. But if you’re so bad off that you can’t drive, I’m not going to have you collapsing on the sidewalk. We’re going to sort this out, okay, buddy?”

Mark’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he glanced at his watch. “That’s IT.”

“Stay where you are, Mitchell. Love you, bye.” Samuel looked at Mark. “Answer that. Tell them about the deepfakes and see what they say. You have to stay here while I go pick up Mitchell. He can’t drive.”

Mark nodded, dragging his phone out of his pocket and climbing out of their SUV. “Be safe. Hello, this is Mark.” He pressed his phone to his ear.

Thirty minutes later, he was sitting with Samuel in a waiting room. Mitchell was leaning against a nearby wall, his fist pressed against his lips.

“Sit down, Mitchell,” Samuel said for the third time. “I’m not picking you up if you pass out.”

“As soon as they let me back there, I will tell her it’s not real, Mitchell.” Mark tried to keep his tone patient, in contrast with his husband. “We’re going to get this all sorted out, and she’ll be okay.”

“She doesn’t need all this stress, Mark.” Mitchell shook out his arms and finally sank into the chair next to Mark.

“Neither do you.”

“I think she had a seizure. It’s the only explanation. If it were her heart, I wouldn’t have been able… I wouldn’t have…” Mitchell’s voice choked off, and he covered his face with his hands. “If she never wants to see me again, at least she’s alive.”

“Mitchell, as soon as she understands, it will be okay. She’s a smart, open-minded woman who loves you.” Mark reached over and gripped Mitchell’s shoulder, dismayed to feel him tremble. “I’m sorry this happened. But it’s going to come out okay.”

Time, however, marched on. Thirty minutes turned into an hour turned into ninety minutes.

“What if she had another seizure?” Mitchell was on his feet again, pale as he paced back and forth. “I know she doesn’t want to see me, but if… if something bad happened, if she’s unconscious, I’m her next of kin. They have to inform me.”

Nearly two hours after they’d arrived, a woman in scrubs walked into the waiting room and called out: “Mark Jones-Anders?”

Mark blinked at her until Samuel elbowed him. “That’s you, babe.”

“Good. She must have asked for you,” Mitchell said. He sat down heavily, but nodded. “If she asked for you, she’s well enough to do so. I’ll take it.”

“I’ll fix it, Mitchell.” Mark pushed himself up out of his chair. “It’ll be okay.”

A few minutes later, the woman led Mark into Larissa’s room. Mercifully, the second bed was empty.

Larissa looked unusually small, her long legs drawn up and her arms wrapped tight around her middle. Her hair was loose, wavy and spilling over her shoulder. An oxygen mask obscured much of her face, and her eyes were closed.

Mark kept his footsteps light as he walked into the room. He couldn’t tell if she’d fallen asleep, or if they had her sedated, though he thought the nurse would have likely mentioned the latter. He was debating whether to wake her when she opened her eyes and looked up at him dully.

“Hey,” he said, his brow furrowing and anxiety making him uncharacteristically silent. He put his hand on the bedrail, uncertain what to say next. Finally and lamely, he said again: “Hey.”

“Need a favor,” she said. Her voice was hoarse and muffled by the mask.

“Anything, Larissa. What can I do for you?”

“Tell… him…” Her eyes watered and she winced. “When I get out, he should be… g-gone. He can go to the rental in Hawaii. Or stay with you. I don’t care. My lawyer will be in t-touch.”

“Larissa…” He held up his hand when she started to speak again. “I’ll do what you ask. I just have a yes or no question for you.”

She’d started to cry, and Mark felt his anxiety turn into a pit of misery in his stomach. But she nodded. He assumed she was giving him permission to ask his question.

“Larissa…” His mouth went dry. He felt the pressure of getting this right, of helping his best friends mend this sudden rift between them. “Do you know what a deepfake is?”

This was obviously not the question she was expecting him to ask, and she relaxed enough to reach up and wipe the tears from her eyes. “A deepfake.”

“You might have seen them of politicians, or celebrities. Samuel has seen a bunch of deepfakes of Keanu Reeves.” He reached for his phone, then hesitated. “Samuel wanted me to show you one.”

Larissa stared up at him, puzzled. “What?”

“I swear it’s for a reason, Larissa. It—”

“I know what a deepfake is.” She pushed herself more upright, and Mark reached out to help her with the pillows. He heard her cough and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Should we stop trying to talk? This can all wait, Larissa. Your health is the most important thing. I just want you to be okay.”

She stared at him for an uncomfortable few seconds, then said: “Please. What do deepfakes have to do with Mitchell?”

“Samuel and the IT department figured it out, Larissa.” His heart raced, and he thought about dragging the chair closer so he could sit. 

“The man in the video, in the pictures. It’s not… Mitchell?” Hope made her voice wobble, and she sucked in a gasping breath. “Mark… Mark… is that true? Is that possible?”

“It’s possible. And I believe it to be true.” Mark pulled the chair up to her bedside and dropped into it. “Do you want to hear more?”

“Is he okay?” she asked, sniffling.

“He’s very worried about you. And heartbroken, of course. He came home and found you drowned in the bath, Larissa. And then he found out you thought he had an affair.” Mark reached out and squeezed her arm. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I want to hear… m-more.”

“Mitchell called me, and after we cursed him out, he asked us to come to the hospital for you and to send the pictures and video to IT. I sent everything specifically to our cybersecurity expert. She’s discreet, of course. I ended up driving us over here, but Samuel couldn’t let it go. He kept talking about how weird the video looked. Then he started talking about these deepfakes of Keanu Reeves.”

He pulled up a file on his phone, then looked up at Larissa. “I got a call from Eugenia—cybersecurity—while we were in the parking deck. She told me the videos were faked. Since then, she’s found the original porn video, Larissa. It’s not Mitchell.”

A wild expression grew in her eyes, and Mark glanced up at the cardiac monitor. It wasn’t alarming, but he could see her heart rate had greatly increased.

“Take a few breaths, Larissa,” he urged. “It will be okay!”

“Can I see the real video?” she asked, barely audible.

Mark glanced over his shoulder, then leaned forward, phone in hand. “Let me get the volume turned down in advance, or I’ll get hauled out of here by security. And you need to know something else. Company PR is putting a statement out as we speak about Mitchell being deepfaked. Just in case the video or pictures get released to the public. He’s not exactly famous, just rich, so it’s possible that wouldn’t happen, but…”

“We have to get ahead of it.” Larissa wiped her eyes. “Show me.”

Mark tapped the play button and turned the phone toward Larissa. Immediately, quiet moans and thumps emitted from the phone speakers. Mark looked at Larissa’s face. He’d seen what she was seeing now. White male, Mitchell’s age and size, similar coloring. But very much not Mitchell.

She watched for about thirty seconds and then said: “Turn it off. It’s not him. I can see it’s not him. And this one doesn’t have that stupid music…”

Mark quickly complied, stopping the video and cramming his phone into his pocket. He wanted to ask her what she thought, or what she wanted to do. He wanted to offer to go get Mitchell. But he also knew she’d just been through a lot, and that he shouldn’t push her.

Still, he was relieved when she said: “Go get my husband, Mark.”

Mitchell

Mitchell stood as soon as he spotted Mark coming down the hall. He heard Samuel stand up beside him and call out: “How is she?”

Mark looked flushed and excited, and as soon as he saw both of them, he gave them a double thumbs up. “Come on, man. Come on, she’s asking for you.”

Mitchell swayed on his feet and both Samuel and Mark reached out to grab his arms. Mitchell shook his head, exasperated. “I’m alright. I’m alright! She’s okay? She wants to see me? Does she… understand?”

Samuel released his arm. “Did you show her the real video?”

Mark winced. “I did. Showing porn to my sister-in-law in the hospital felt super fucked up. But, Mitchell, she understands. Honestly, it didn’t take much convincing. I don’t think it was exactly easy for her to believe it of you to begin with.”

“Give her my love,” Samuel said. “Did you show her Keanu Reeves?”

“No, that wasn’t necessary,” Mark said, rolling his eyes.

“I’d have rather shown her Keanu Reeves than porn, but since what you did worked… Go, buddy.” Samuel released Mitchell’s arm and slapped him on the back. “Go get your wife.”

“Room 5D. No roommates. We already told the nurse it’s okay.” Mark leaned in for a quick hug. “I knew it would work out.”

Mitchell nodded, butterflies in his chest as he hurried down the hall. He felt echoes of his earlier walk into the bathroom when he’d found her drowned in the tub. It made him walk even faster, his anxiety insisting that if he didn’t get there NOW, something terrible would happen. Something terrible would happen, and he’d never get to talk to her again.

Larissa

She heard rapid footsteps coming down the hall, and then Mitchell came into the room, pale and disheveled, a tense look on his face.

Larissa burst into tears, one hand pulling the oxygen mask off her face and the other reaching for him. Mitchell caught her hand and all but crashed into the bed. He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking away her tears.

“I’m sorry!” she cried, watching in dismay as his eyes turned watery and a tear trickled down his cheek. “Mitchell, I’m sorry!”

*You didn’t do anything wrong, baby.” He messed with the bedrail until he got it to lie down, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I might have believed it, too, with that evidence! But, Larissa, it’s more important that you’re okay. Are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, honey.” His lips met hers as soon as the words were out, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. 

They weren’t able to kiss for long,; Larissa broke their kiss with a cough, and Mitchell pulled back long enough to locate the oxygen mask and carefully place it back over her nose and mouth. Then he gathered her back in his arms, and she heard him whisper: “God, I wanted to do this when you started breathing again. You were so confused and you made this… this small, miserable noise, and I just wanted to hold you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, and Mitchell shushed her and kissed her temple. The air in her hospital room was cool, and his body was a welcome warmth wrapped around her.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, speaking soft-voiced by her ear. “You’re more than enough, Larissa. I don’t have any unmet needs or wants.”

“I remember thinking ‘why wouldn’t he just tell me he wanted an open relationship?,’ but then I also thought about it, and that’s not something I want for myself.” She wished she didn’t need the oxygen mask; she wanted to press her face into his collarbone and cry. “I’m not saying I have a problem with that for people who want to be with multiple partners, I just…. It’s not for me!”

“I know, baby. I know. I don’t want anybody else.” Mitchell’s chest heaved, and he squeezed her tight. “I am so glad you’re okay. I’m especially glad that you didn’t… that your last thoughts weren’t betrayal.”

“I was so shocked. I didn’t think there was anything that would make me believe you’d do that.” Larissa coughed again and slouched against him. Now that she was coming down from yet another surge of adrenaline, she was exhausted.

Mitchell pulled back, taking her face in his hands. “Larissa, I love you.”

“I love you too, Mitchell.”

“You should lay back and rest now. I’ll be right here.”

“Lay down with me, please.”

Mitchell, the day of Larissa’s hospital discharge

Mitchell laid beside Larissa, watching her sleep. He’d been here many times before; almost losing her, getting her back, watching her sleep with gratitude in his heart. She was sleeping in his t-shirt and a pair of jogging pants, and he’d bundled them up together in blankets to warm Larissa up after her time in the cold temperatures of the hospital.

He studied her face, relaxed in sleep. Then her hair, braided and draped over her shoulder. She had a handful of silvery hairs by her part; he couldn’t remember noticing them before. He reached out and gently traced her hairline with his fingertips, then drew them down the proud line of her nose. He traced her full lips and watched them part. 

Larissa’s face suddenly pulled into a grimace, and she made a whimpering sound. 

“Shh.” Mitchell cupped her cheek. “Everything’s fine. We’re okay, baby.”

She whimpered again, and her eyes opened, a disoriented and worried look on her face. Mitchell pulled her into his arms, dragging her with him as he rolled onto his back so that he could cradle her.

She rested her head on his chest, and he stroked her back, feeling her relax against him. 

“Love you, Mitchell,” she murmured sleepily. “Always.”

“I love you, too.” He closed his eyes, finally relaxing himself. “Always.”

--

Resus scene written from Larissa's POV.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

17, 12, and 7 for the fic ask game <3

Hiii, thanks for the asks!

7. Your preferred writing fonts. I like to write in a clear, easy to read sans-serif typeface. I like most neo-grotesque typefaces, mostly because I find these easy to read and well-balanced. These fonts don't move about the page too much or merge colour (I have synaesthesia which is a time). Unfortunately, neo-grotesque typefaces don't have the same effect in digital spaces that they do in print, simply because that's not what they were designed for. For digital processing, I go for humanist typefaces. They have a similar grounding feeling whilst also being legible on a screen. I use word to write because I'm just used to how word functions, so I use Calibri. I like it more than Arial and find that it sits still when I'm going over my work.

(Incidentally, Ceth is really into mid-century modern design across the board.)

12. A trope you’re really into right now?

To be honest, I don't really know that many literary tropes, let alone the ones that come up in fan fiction. I mostly read non-fiction books about history, and when I am reading fiction it's usually horror or mid-century dystopian sci-fi. I'm really picky with fantasy to the point where I don't like most of it, and what I do like could fall under the previous two genres. I like when the characters are forced to deal with their situations in a sea of grey morality. I like the idea of something so great and unfathomable that the main characters are nothing in the face of it.

Most of my works have horror components. All of it references IRL events. Tropes though, I'm not so sure what would apply.

17. Talk about your writing and editing process

Usually I've been folding a scene in my brain for days or weeks before I start writing it. I have a tendency to write my whole fic as I'm seeing it in my mind. Every so often I'll need to reference a quest in game so I will pull up the UESP page for a character's dialogue or a particular quest and build around what's there. Sometimes i'll also pull up a play through just to get the atmospheric feel right.

I also have in game maps on the side. I find it's helpful for figuring out the details of characters travelling.

I write long fics. Even my one-shots are long.

I tend to keep chapters for my long fics between 7k and 12k words, with most reaching 12. I like having three acts to each chapter, so find a longer word count gives me room to say what I need to. Most of my one-shots hover between 15-20K for similar reasons. The mid-sized multi chapters usually end up between 20K and 40K. So I get that might be a barrier to reading these things XD.

Editing stuff is really just me re-reading a work, searching for typos and reworking certain scenes if I'm feeling like they aren't working right. I don't like doing too many drafts, since I don't have the patience to come up with more than one way of doing something. I'm like this with my art too. I don't do thumbnails. I just see the idea fully formed and transfer it out of my brain. Stories are similar and generally I find I'm not reworking or cutting much. My main character speaks from a chaotic mind state with few linear thoughts, and his stories reflect that.

Ask game here

[cornbread-but-minecraft]

Beta 3 for Cornbread's Texture Fixer is now out on Planet Minecraft!! Featuring a bunch of fixes for the new Tricky Trials blocks, items, and UIs, as well as a ton of other miscellaneous things like the chat settings popup and various gamepad helpers!

I have not yet updated the cover to reflect the release of the Tricky Trials update, but I will soon. Eventually.

Link

Changelog:

General Changes

The hover and pressed textures on the Realms button on the Title Screen are no longer swapped. (Added textures)

The rightmost pixel on the Realms button on the Title Screen no longer appears slightly stretched on some monitors. (Added JSON)

The enchantment glint no longer appears pixelated on the Mace. (Added Texture)

The item stack count in container screens is now layered correctly again (Mojang, why did you break this? It benefitted no-one). (Added JSON)

The hotbar is now aligned to the pixel grid. (Added JSON)

The item durability bar is now aligned to the pixel grid. (Added JSON)

Sandstone and Quartz Slabs now have their side textures again (Mojang broke them). (Added JSON)

The bottoms of Quartz Slabs now use the correct texture again (Mojang broke these as well). (Added JSON)

Specifically normal Blackstone Double Slabs now use the correct texture on their tops and bottoms (kind of an oversight on my part, but it still wouldn't have happened if Mojang had done it right themselves). (Added JSON)

Cartography Tables no longer use a custom bottom texture. (Removed JSON)

Polished Tuff Slabs now use a custom side texture. (Added JSON, texture)

Item Locks are now consistently layered above their associated item in container screens, like they are on the HUD. (Added JSON)

Tweaked anti-aliasing on the icon for the Darkness effect. It should now look better at lower HUD opacities. (Added texture)

The gamepad helper on the Dressing Room button on the Pause Screen now properly disappears when Hide Controller Hints is enabled. (Added JSON)

Various icons that should not turn green no longer do so when hovering over their associated buttons while using this pack alongside leaf4e's green hud with the default green hud subpack enabled. (Removed, added JSON (kinda? i mostly just renamed it))

Fishing Hooks are now rotated along a less broken looking axis than in vanilla. (Added JSON)

The Close Button on the Chest and Horse Screens now uses custom textures (textures/cb_custom_ui/dialog/) that fit a tiny bit better into the allotted space. (Added JSON, textures)

The Crafter Screen no longer looks horrendously broken! Still controls a little funky, but that's a job for Conglomeration (different resource pack). (Added JSON)

The pipes in the Brewing Stand Screen are layered correctly again! Not actually entirely sure what Mojang even did to break them in the first place, though. (Added JSON)

The shaded part of the indent on the Chat Settings panel is no longer a lighter color than its background. (Added JSON, texture)

Moved the Close Button on the Chat Settings panel (and similar) a pixel down and to the left for consistency with container screens. Hopefully this doesn't break anything. (Added JSON)

The scrolling elements on the Chat Settings panel are no longer cut off! The scroller is still slightly farther left than I would like, but those are hard :( (Added JSON)

The Gamepad Helpers on the Chat Screen are now properly layered beneath the darkness that appears when the Chat Settings panel is open. (Added JSON)

The Gamepad Helper for pasting text on the Chat Screen now properly disappears when Hide Controller Hints is enabled. (Added JSON)

The rightmost pixel on the background of the banner/panel thingy that appears when you click on a resource pack no longer appears slightly stretched on some monitors. (Added JSON)

The rightmost pixel on the outline of the world thumbnail on the Edit World Screen no longer appears slightly stretched on some monitors. Its size has not been fixed, though. (Added JSON)

Technical Changes

Moved all custom block textures (those being the ones that aren't in vanilla, like the slab side textures) to a new folder "textures/cb_custom_blocks" and renamed most of them.

Yes, I am aware that the folder name makes it sound like the blocks themselves are custom. I'll deal with that later maybe.

Removed an unused folder from the subpacks folder. Not sure why that was even there in the first place.

Furnace tweaks were moved to Conglomeration in a previous version. I have now removed the associated texture (textures/cb_custom_ui/container/furnace_arrow_on.png).

Unused part of the JSON for the background of the scrolling panel on the Trade Screen is now commented out instead of ignored.

Added global UI variable ("$cb_is_texture_fixer_beta_3": true).

A comment in ui/_global_variables.json that referred to java edition as just 'java' no longer does so and now ends with a period.

[wemlygust]

do youtubers get ad and/or subscription money when someone watches an entire video by hovering their mouse over the thumbnail for the silent preview clip?

does it help their algorithm? does it effect the watcher's algorithm?

does it the video's view count tick up by one? how much preview does someone have to watch before it counts as a view? Because loading the full video page counts as a view even if you watch, like, 2 seconds, but that can't be the same for just the mouse hover previews, right? But somewhere between 2 seconds and the entire video, it should count it as a view. Otherwise, ghost viewers.

[shankbhaijaan]

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[nulledclubproblog]

YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom nulled plugin 2.29.0

Download YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom Nulled Plugin for Free YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom nulled plugin Enhance your WooCommerce store with the power of visually appealing product displays using the nulled plugin. This high-performance tool transforms your standard product images into an engaging and interactive shopping experience, helping you attract more customers and boost conversions—without spending a dime. Why Choose YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom Nulled Plugin? Online shoppers rely heavily on visuals. A clear, zoomable product gallery gives them the confidence to purchase. With this nulled plugin, you can offer just that—premium-level image magnification and an advanced product gallery layout completely free from our website. It's an all-in-one solution to improve product presentation and drive higher user engagement. Detailed Product Description The YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom nulled plugin allows customers to closely examine product images with a powerful zoom effect. Whether it’s apparel, accessories, electronics, or art—this plugin ensures every detail is visible. The intuitive zoom feature and customizable gallery layout seamlessly blend with any WooCommerce theme. With no coding required, this nulled plugin is perfect for developers and store owners who want advanced gallery features without the premium cost. You get full access to features that improve UX and visual storytelling. Technical Specifications Plugin Name: YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom Version: Latest nulled version Compatibility: WooCommerce 6.0+ and WordPress 5.0+ Responsive: Yes, fully responsive on all devices Language Support: Multilingual ready File Format: .zip for easy installation Features and Benefits Interactive Zoom Functionality: Let users hover and zoom into your product images effortlessly. Advanced Gallery Layout: Customize image thumbnails, layout position, and lightbox effects. Mobile-Optimized: Smooth zoom and swipe gallery experience for mobile shoppers. Fast Loading: Lightweight plugin optimized for speed and performance. Compatible with Other Plugins: Works flawlessly with major WooCommerce tools, including WPML pro NULLED. Use Cases Perfect for fashion stores, digital accessories, high-end electronics, and any eCommerce platform where visuals drive sales. The YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom nulled plugin is ideal for merchants who want to highlight product features, textures, and details without extra development costs. Installation Guide Download the .zip file of the YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom from our website. Log in to your WordPress dashboard and go to Plugins > Add New. Click Upload Plugin and select the downloaded .zip file. Install and activate the plugin. Go to YITH > Zoom Magnifier to configure settings as needed. Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) Is this plugin really free? Yes! You can download the YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom for free from our platform without paying a cent. Is it safe to use a nulled version? We provide clean, malware-free nulled plugins that are safe and tested. Always download from trusted sources like our site. Can I use it on multiple websites? Absolutely. Since it’s a nulled version, you are not limited by licenses or domain restrictions. Use it freely across all your WooCommerce stores. Will it work with my current theme? Yes, the plugin is compatible with most WooCommerce themes and has customizable options to adapt to your design preferences. Does it work with caching and optimization plugins? Yes, and we recommend pairing it with WP-Optimize Premium nulled for faster page loads and better overall performance. Don’t miss out on upgrading your product pages. Download the YITH WooCommerce Product Gallery & Image Zoom today and turn every product into a high-converting visual experience!

[hydrus]

Version 605

windows

zip

exe

macOS

app

linux

tar.zst

I had a great week working on a bunch of small issues and cleanup. There's also a user contribution that adds ratings to thumbnails!

full changelog

highlights

First, if you would like to try showing ratings on your thumbnails, each rating service panel in services->manage services now has a couple new checkboxes to show the ratings, either only when the file has a rating, or all the time. Unfortunately, the ratings can sometimes get washed out by the text banner or thumbnail image behind them, and while I tried to fix it with a very very subtle backing shadow, I think it needs a bit more work to look 'nice' (the whole ratings system does). Let me know what you think!

I gave the advanced deletion dialog's 'deletion reason' list a full pass (the code behind the scenes was super ugly), and it is now more stable and highlights and sets 'existing deletion reason' and, optionally, 'last used reason' much more reliably.

If you use e621 a lot, there's a new non-default downloader that grabs the (new?) 'contributor' namespace, which tracks VAs and modellers different to the primary artist. There's also an update to the e621 style, thanks to a user. Check the changelog for more details.

In the duplicates filter, the two files are renamed from 'A' and 'B' to 'File One' and 'File Two'. It is a silly change, but I'm firming up some nomenclature behind the scenes as I work on duplicates auto-resolution. The filter's hover window now also shows the score difference between the two files as a number--let's see if it is useful.

I fixed a ton of jank layout this week. Many panels will now expand more sensibly or are simply laid out cleaner. I'm may have typo'd something or didn't realise some knock-on effect somewhere that I didn't test, so if you see any text in an out-of-the-way dialog suddenly out of alignment somewhere, let me know!

next week

I finished another duplicates auto-resolution tab this week. I've now got two difficult things and a bunch of tying-together to do and we'll be ready for an IRL test. I'm feeling great about it and I want to keep pushing. Otherwise more small work and cleanup like this.

[citynewsglobe]

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[linkinbioguide]

Improving User Engagement: Customization Techniques for 'Link in Bio'

A "link in bio" is more than just a pathway—it's a gateway to a brand's online universe. Customizing this crucial touchpoint is key to enhancing user engagement and ultimately driving more traffic to your content. Here’s a detailed exploration of how you can leverage customization options for your bio link to keep your audience clicking.

The Importance of Customization

Customization in digital marketing is about creating a personalized experience that resonates with the audience. For a "link in bio," this means transforming a standard link into an engaging, visually appealing destination that reflects your brand's identity and meets your audience's expectations.

1. Choose the Right Platform

The first step in customizing your bio link is selecting a platform that offers the flexibility you need. Popular choices like Linktree, Hopp by Wix, and Carrd offer varying degrees of customization from basic color changes and text edits to adding images and multimedia content. Choose a platform that aligns with your brand’s aesthetic and functionality needs.

2. Design and Layout

A compelling design and intuitive layout are essential. Consider the following:

Color Scheme: Use colors that align with your brand’s palette to maintain consistency across your digital presence.

Typography: Select fonts that are easy to read and reflect your brand's style. Some platforms allow custom font uploads, enabling even more personalized touches.

Layout Options: Organize your links in a manner that prioritizes essential information, with the most important links (like new products or campaigns) at the top.

3. Visual Content Integration

Integrating visual content such as images, icons, or videos can dramatically increase engagement. A thumbnail next to a link can provide context and appeal, while a short video can offer a dynamic preview of the linked content. This multimedia approach caters to the visual preferences of most users, enhancing the overall user experience.

4. Interactive Elements

Incorporate interactive elements such as hover effects, animation, or a feedback option like "likes" for links. These small interactions not only improve the aesthetic appeal but also make the experience more engaging and fun for the user.

5. Personalized Greetings and Messages

Add a personalized touch with custom greetings based on the time of day, location, or returning visits. For example, a simple "Good morning!" or "Welcome back!" can make the interaction feel more personal and engaging.

6. Regular Updates

Keep your bio link fresh and interesting by regularly updating the content. This could be as simple as changing the background image seasonally or updating the featured links to reflect your latest posts or offers. Regular updates keep your audience coming back to see what’s new.

7. Analytics and Feedback

Most platforms offer analytics that can help you understand what's working and what isn't. Use this data to tweak your designs, test different layouts, or even A/B test different versions of your bio link to see which one performs better. Also, consider adding a way for users to provide feedback directly through the bio link page.

Creating Your Engaging Gateway

Customizing your "link in bio" isn't just about making it look good—it's about creating an engaging gateway that enhances the user's journey from your social media to your primary content. By employing these customization techniques, you can ensure that your bio link is not just seen, but also enjoyed and used effectively, paving the way for deeper engagement and loyalty.