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macfrog · 10 months

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rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

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When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

taglist: @serenaxpedro @bitchwitch1981 @brittmb115 @stormseyer @scarletthefierce @pattwtf @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

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sarahsmi13s · 1 year

Text

Top Gun Universe

I DO NOT consent to any of my work being copied or translated

⚠ AUTHORS NOTE!! PLEASE READ!! ⚠

this masterlist is the old masterlist! all of the links still work though!

you can find the "remastered" or the "reboot" of this masterlist here!

TOP GUN UNIVERSE

Top Gun:

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin-

‘J and S’ Universe (jake seresin x sarah grant) -- oc series

Find Peace in the Changing Colors (jake x fempilot!reader) -- angst

Hesitation (jake x fempilot!reader) -- angst 18+ MDNI

Sirens vs Soulmates (jake x floyd!hunter!reader) -- smut and angst 18+ MDNI

You Better Not Die (jake x actress!reader)

‘Tell Them’ Universe (jake x wife!reader)

Natural Disasters (jake x reader) -- angst

Good Pups Get Rewarded (jake x reader) -- smut 18+ MDNI

Deep Cover Uncovered (jake x undercover!ncis agent reader) -- two part fic coming soon

You're Not Dying, Not Today || pt 1 pt 2 (jake x firefighter!reader) -- firefighter!au -- angst

Baking Playlists -- (jake x pilot!reader) for Rocktober

sunsets on the beach (a moodboard)

hometown hero (a moodboard)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw-

Picture Perfect Tattoos (bradley x tattoo artist!reader)

Footloose (bradley x fem!pilot!reader)

‘Duckie’ Universe (bradley x twin sister!reader)

Didn’t Like Me That Much (ex!bradley x reader) -- angst

‘Bring Her Home, Bradshaw’ Universe (agent!bradley x mitchell!reader)

90′s Bradley (a moodboard)

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd-

Rodeo (bob x pilot!reader)

‘A Pair of Glasses and a Scope’ Universe (bob x marine!reader) -- coming soon

"you're more than a one night stand" (bob x bartender!reader)

Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado -

coming at some point

Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia -

coming at some point

Reuben ‘Payback’ Fitch -

coming at some point

Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace -

soft dreamy nat (a moodboard)

The Dagger Squad -

‘Lieutenant Rogers’ Universe

Rookie

Feuds are Stupid -- monster!au

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell -

"would you just shut up and kiss him already” (pete x simpson!reader)

Beau ‘Cyclone’ Simpson -

coming at some point

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky -

"is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" (tom x kerner!reader) -- smut

Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw -

coming at some point

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zeebee3 · 8 months

Text

Reading Guide

Hi! Just found my fics and not sure where to start? Here's a reading guide based on vibes to help you find your way 😙

Or check out my complete master list featuring spice/plot ratings, overviews, tags, and summaries.

(Please note that, with the exception of this fic, all my works contain explicit sexual content, so 18+ only please).

😏 Just give me the pwp smut, woman

Dramione

A Little Glint of Gold (Pierced navel Draco)

Would You Rather (8th Yr, game)

Lemme smash (Aurors, pub pick up)

A Good Landing (5+1 lap-sitting)

Ancient Animal Awareness (omega!Draco)

Lie to Me (Pinocchio-jinxed cock)

Sympathetic Attraction (magically-connected piercings)

Self-Control (soft!Dom Draco, spanks)

Well-Mannered and Good-Looking (blind date)

Golden Hour (nude modeling)

It Was A Sunny Day (Aurors, legilimency)

Work It Out (gym bro!Draco, muggle AU)

Say Please (tattoo artist Draco)

Not Dramione

Honey (Theo/Draco/Hermione)

Cupido gemmas (Neville/Hannah/Susan)

There's Nobody Like You (Blaise/Ron)

Darling (Lucius/Narcissa)

An Indecent Proposal (Neville/Pansy)

The Right Fit (Neville/Pansy)

Just the Lightest Touch (Harry/Ginny)

Mind-Killer (Pansy/Ginny)

A Fair Trade (Draco/Tom)

Daddy? Sorry...daddy?

An Exception

Darling (Lucius/Narcissa)

Draco Gets It Good ™️

Take Him Down A Peg (Dramione)

A Little Glint of Gold (Dramione)

Would You Rather (Dramione)

Honey (Dreomione)

A Fair Trade (Draco/Tom)

Pierced Draco series

A Little Glint of Gold (belly button)

Lie to Me (nipple)

Sympathetic Attraction (cock)

A Good Landing (bonus fic: pierced clit Hermione)

Say Please (cock)

Try Not To Come series

It Was A Sunny Day (Aurors, legilimency)

Work It Out (gym bro Draco)

AU - Muggle

An Exception

Take Him Down A Peg

Golden Hour

Work It Out

A Fair Trade

🤗 Slice of life, humorous, rom-com vibes

You Do It For Me

Baby, Any Time You're Ready, I'm Waiting

The Five Love Languages

A Good Landing

Just Be Cool

Say Please

🥹 Watch them (slowly) fall in love

Balance & Oppose

You Do It For Me

There's Nobody Like You (Blaise/Ron)

🤓 Warm me up with plot first, then give me lots of smut

Balance & Oppose

The Noble and Most Ancient

🫣 "You're going to suffer, but be very happy"

The Noble and Most Ancient

A Gentle Haunting

(last edited feb 20 2024)

#reading guide #zeebee3 ao3 #read on ao3 #ao3 fanfic #hp fic

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rhoorl · 3 months

Note

Hi Jess,

I am not sure if you have addressed this through your fics, but if the Triple Frontier guys all had military tattoos, where do you headcannon that they would be on their bodies?

Obviously, Will has some ink on his forearms, but is one of them his service tattoo? I would love to read your thoughts!

-M 💜

Hi there M! Thank you so much for stopping by and dropping this question. I have my thoughts below...

I’ll first start off by saying that I’m not super well-versed in military tattoos and the symbolism behind some of the imagery, but I do think the guys have all put something on their bodies related to their time in the service.

Will and Benny. From the movie, we see that Will has one tattoo on either forearm and Benny has one on his upper right arm. I’ve never really been able to get a clear look at the one Will has on his right forearm but I asked @gemmahale way back when about the others and she helped me out! The one on Will’s left forearm has a quote with an Army Airborne Rangers eagle on it and Benny’s is a Marine’s special forces memorial tattoo.

We only see Will’s forearms in the movie, but my headcanon is that he has the most tattoos out of any of the guys. I imagine him having a pretty intricate shoulder piece or a couple on his back. He’s the quieter one and uses the time in the tattoo chair to reflect and process everything that he went through.

In the movie, we see Benny in his fighting shorts, so no tattoos are visible other than the one on his arm. I think he’s gotten a few more since, possibly along his calves and maybe another couple on his arms. The Benny in my fics is a bit on the artistic side, so I think he’s designed a couple of his own tattoos, including a memorial tattoo for Tom - it’s small enough that all of the guys got it.

Santiago - for some reason I don’t see him having many tattoos. Maybe he got the one for Tom and that’s it, or one more along his inner bicep or some place that could easily be hidden.

Frankie - I see his tattoos related more to his family than his military career - maybe he got something done for his baby. But with that being said, I think he has maybe one or two aviation-related tattoos.

This was fun to think through - and made me take a look at a few scenes in Triple Frontier so thank you! Come back anytime for more :)

#triple frontier headcanon #rhoorl asks #triple frontier

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solavonn · 2 years

Photo

I got too caught up with school projects as well as some commission work at the moment. So here’s some lineart of Tom and Harry for the florist & tattoo artist fic I plan on writing. As a treat.

#tomarry #hp fanart #solavonn art #i shared this in the discord server already #but fuck it #i'll put it on here #i still plan on coloring this but man am i swamped with other responsibilities #wip #vonn doodles

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kingofthering · 11 months

Text

☼ main tags : all gifs - drawings - icons - motogp posters - tiktoks - wallpapers + fave of mine

☼ series : drivers/riders parallels - every rosquez podium - favorite friendships - favorite helmets - important wins - pantone edits - random motogp things (gayest motorsport) - riders as cards - watching old moto races

☼ seasons journal pages : f1 2024 - motogp 2024

☼ documentaries : fabio quartararo : a date with destiny - hitting the apex - marc marquez : all in - there can be only one - unseen

☼ single posts : marc & vale at the same age - valentino’s hair evolution - 2024 motogp grid birthdate timeline

☼ writing : all (here) - ao3 - moodboards for my fics - prompt fills

☼ aus : 2021 honda vale - cat marc au - fake dating rosquez - forced coming out au - healing power vale - mabio reporter au - rosquez tv thing - single dad vale - tattoo artist bezz - vampire au - vr46 marc - wr universe

☼ recs : all favorite motogp reads (2023) - everything I enjoy

☼ primers : carc - mabio - tom/fabio - emilio alzamora’s brief implication in fabio’s career

☼ lists : marc documentaries - motogpblr creators (in big need of an update) - motogp races recs - getting into motogp : where to start - motogp : where to watch

☼ stats : all - motogp 2023 season

☼ surveys : f1 fans & their origins - f1 rpf (results) - motogp rpf (results)

☼ predictions : f1 2023 - f1 2024 - motogp 2024

☼ polls : favorite fabio hairstyle - f1 polls - motogp polls

☼ reading : being marc marquez : this is how I win my race - fabio quartararo : l'ascension d'un prodige

☼ 2024 season digital journals : f1 - motogp - formula e - everything about journals - etsy shop

☼ fantasy : join my motogp fantasy league

#summary page

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steddiecameraroll · 11 months

Text

The Artist and The Hair - Part 4 (complete)

[part 1] [read entire fic on ao3]

Eddie jumps off the stage and moves to the participant to offer assistance.

“I think you two would be perfect together. And I don’t mean like a one-night stand kinda thing. So give him a chance, ok?”

“Have you talked about me a lot? To him?”

“Well, I mean, I haven’t spilled any secrets or anything, but he saw a picture of us on Instagram after I’d mentioned you, and then he would sometimes ask questions. So I think he’s had a crush on you for a little bit, even before meeting you.”

“On Instagram?”

“Yeah, we follow each other.”

“Does he follow me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think about that. You should check.”

Steve reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, swiping it open and pulling up the app.

“What’s his handle?”

“Something about bats, I don’t know. Go to the studio’s account and look at tonight’s post. They usually tag him.”

Steve does just that and then recognizes the profile photo. He clicks on it and opens Eddie’s page.

“So?” She asks.

“Yeah, um, and I follow him.”

“What? How?”

“I liked his art. He followed me, and then I checked out his profile and thought it was cool. He never posts selfies or anything of himself. I didn’t know it was him.”

“Oh my god, do you two like each other’s posts?”

“Yeah, like every time.”

“Jesus Christ, like a fucking rom-com or some shit.”

“I kinda would get happy when I saw his notifications too.”

“WHAT?” She laughs and then ducks down behind her canvas. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean, he has these videos of him drawing, and he has kinda sexy hands, and he’s fucking talented, ok. Plus tattoos. I mean, Rob, I’m a weak man.”

“How is this fucking real? You had a crush on him, didn’t you?” She whisper yells at him.

“Yes,” Steve puts his face in his hands. “And he has the cutest dog. Rob, he has a dog. Oh my god. Now I’m weirdly nervous.”

“How do you know he has a dog?”

“He posts like normal stuff in his stories.”

“I better get the first wedding invitation.” She laughs and tilts her head back to look at the ceiling.

“Shut up. Now I’m nervous.”

“Why? Because you just found out the hot guy you’ve been eye fucking all night is also the cute Instagram man you’ve been crushing on? Yeah, that sounds terrible to me.” She rolls her eyes and swishes her brush back and forth in the cup of water. “This actually makes so much sense now.”

“Why? What do you mean?” He turns to her and crouches closer.

“Because sometimes, after we hung out on the weekend, he’d ask me pointed questions about what we got up to. You know I always put shit up on my Instagram stories, so he must’ve seen them. You two are actually so much grosser than I imagined. Ugh, I hate you.” She sighs with a smile and zero animosity.

“Why?”

“Because now I want a girlfriend.”

“What? He’s not my boyfriend, Jesus. Slow down.”

“He’s gonna be, and then I have to deal with what you two have been doing all night, all the time. It was funny until, apparently, I walked into a fucking Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks movie.”

“We may end up hating each other. You don’t know.” He huffs and awkwardly avoids looking up at Eddie.

“I don’t have that kind of luck, dingus.”

“So here we are, the last step of the night. I know it’s a shame, but if you realize you miss me giving you directions later this week, you can always come back. I do love telling people what to do.” The group laughs while Eddie’s eyes fall on Steve before he quickly looks away, turning to his painting.

Eddie walks the class through their last step and then reminds everyone to sign their finished paintings at the bottom corner.

“Don’t forget to drive safe, and come back next month where we’ll paint a saguaro cactus. I promise it’s cooler than it sounds.”

The class disperses, and everyone says their goodbyes. Some people approach Eddie to thank him and give him kudos. A few people are milling around finishing their last drinks when Robin and Steve move over to Eddie, who’s starting to throw cups of paint away.

“I would never say this sober, but you’re not a terrible teacher, Eddie,” Robin smirks at him and then playfully punches his shoulder.

“Oh shit, that’s high praise coming from you, Buckley. I won’t take that for granted.” He slides his hand around her shoulder and pulls her into a tight hug that she pretends to struggle beneath.

“Yeah, yeah. Apparently, you two have a lot to catch up on and divulge. Talk to you tomorrow, dingus. I’m outta here.” She looks between Eddie and Steve, then laughs and shakes her head while walking away.

“What is she talking about?” Eddie asks.

“Um,” Steve puts his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor nervously. “Apparently, you follow me on Instagram, and I have been following you this whole time and didn’t know it.” Steve’s eyes flit up to catch a surprised look on Eddie’s face.

“Oh, uh yeah, sorry if that’s weird.” Eddie nervously steps away from Steve and starts tugging on a stray strand of hair falling from his bun. “I didn’t- like it wasn’t some ploy or- I wasn’t….”

“Eddie, it’s fine.” Steve laughs a little and sees Eddie’s shoulders loosen slightly. “I think it’s kinda cute, actually.”

“Really?” Eddie sighs and nervously pulls his strand of hair over his smile. “Robin would just tell me how great her best friend was, and I mean, I saw her tag you, so I thought, how great could he be, really? No one is that great. It was research.”

Steve bites back a smile and glances around the room, noticing they are alone. He takes a cautious step closer to Eddie but keeps his gaze down.

“What did you find out with this research?”

“Well, um- that you will order a caramel Frappuccino every few weeks and then absolutely bash yourself over it for days. Which is really unhealthy, by the way.”

“I know. That’s why I get so mad at myself. I know they’re unhealthy, but I have no self-control.”

“No, no, not the frap,” Eddie chuckles. “You being hard on yourself. You kinda do it a lot, or at least of what I’ve seen. You should be nicer to yourself, man. I’ve also seen you be kind to some kids you act annoyed by, but I can tell you care about them.”

Steve blushes but takes another step closer.

“What else?”

“You have an awful lot of plants in your apartment.”

“Robin’s always giving me grief about them. I can’t help it when I see a sad little plant on the verge of being thrown away. It just needs a little love.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly and catches Steve off guard.

Eddie takes a small step closer to Steve, now only a few feet away.

“What else?”

“You have absolutely terrible bedhead, but you sound really sexy right after you wake up. Those stories might be my favorite.” Eddie keeps his eyes on Steve and moves in closer. “When you’re complaining about having to go to work for an early shift, and you make this little groan when you stretch. But enough about you, what about me? If I remember correctly, you’re also following my account and tend to be one of my most active followers. Hmmm, why’s that?” Eddie asks just as he reaches out and lets his fingers graze across Steve’s wrist.

Steve raises his arm, letting Eddie wrap his fingers gently around him.

“I liked your drawings- and maybe your dog.” Steve bites back a smile while Eddie takes the last step between them.

“It’s always my dog. He’s cute, though. I understand. So much cuter than me.” Eddie grabs Steve’s other wrist and slides his hands up his forearms.

Steve feels a chill run up his skin and across his neck.

“I also liked watching you draw- your hands, fingers. You leave your rings on when you draw. It’s sexy.”

Eddie smirks. “These hands?” He asks, then rubs his palms up and down Steve’s arms.

Steve’s eyes flutter involuntarily. “Y-yeah,” he responds a little breathlessly.

“Maybe later you can find out what else these hands can do.”

Steve bites his bottom lip and blinks back at Eddie while lost in that thought, giving him a slight nod.

Eddie slides his hands further up Steve’s arms and over his shoulders, sending a shiver through Steve.

“Is this ok?” Eddie asks softly while his gaze gets pulled down to Steve’s lips.

“Mhm,” Steve nods.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Eddie whispers and continues touching his hands over Steve’s shoulders. He moves them up over his neck, his fingers sliding into Steve’s hair at the nape.

Steve has to close his eyes at the feelings overwhelming his senses. He swallows hard before opening his eyes again. “Me too.”

Eddie moves closer, their chests centimeters apart, his hands lacing through Steve’s hair.

“I’m going to kiss you now, ok?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s breath woosh across his cheeks, and he nods, Eddie still holding his head.

“O-ok,” Steve whispers.

Eddie closes the gap between them and crashes his lips hard against Steve’s. They both inhale quickly while Steve’s hands rush to Eddie’s waist. Eddie groans against Steve as his fingers curl into Steve’s hair, pulling his mouth firmly against him.

Eddie angles his head, tilting his lips to slot perfectly with Steve’s. Steve spreads his hands wide across Eddie’s back, pressing him closer. The evening of sexual tension explodes into a rushed desperate need to touch.

They spend a few minutes exploring each other’s touch, taste, and bodies letting themselves slip into emotions they both have been missing.

Steve’s the first to pull back, trying to catch his breath.

“Wow,” he smiles, trying to hide his blush.

Eddie leans his forehead against Steve’s. “I bet that’s what you say to all the boys.”

“Naw,” he shakes his head slightly. “Just the really sexy artist types.”

Eddie moves his arms around Steve’s waist and hooks his hands together, leaning back to look at Steve. “So, I have to clean up real quick, but would you wanna grab a drink or dessert or something across the street? They make a pretty good cheesecake if you were up for it.”

Eddie looks bashful, and it makes Steve melt a little inside.

“I’d love to. I’ll help you clean up so we can get out of here quicker.” Steve leans forward and kisses Eddie softly.

“It’s a date.”

coffee? ☕️🍩💕

#steddie #steddie fanfic #I love these two an unhealthy amount #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiecameraroll posts #my writing

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belmottetower · 2 years

Text

Bel's AUgust Challenge — Masterpost

Yesterday was the last day of The Ted Lasso AU-gust Challenge (@ted-lasso-au-gust) and I wanted to share a masterpost of all the fics I wrote for this.

You can find them all in my AUgust Challenge series on AO3 as well the main AUgust Challenge collection along with all the other contributions, but below is a list of links to every one with a brief description and approximate word count.

I did 31 fills in total, because in a moment of madness I decided I was going to do a fic a day for every single prompt.

It was a choice, it was a bad one, but it’s done now. The current word count for the series is almost 76,000, but this will go up because three of the fills are multi-chapter with only the first chapter posted so far.

There’s a pretty varied range of pairings and ratings and characters focused on, hopefully there’ll be something here for everyone.

Regarding the basic tagging here — fics marked Canon Universe obviously may involve tropes like soulbonds, de-aging, time loops, elements that make them a Magical Realism AU rather than literally Canonverse. But you know what I mean. Also, the two marked Roy/Keeley + Jamie as opposed to Gen are pre-poly, where the vibe is definitely charged and would end up there down the line, but the story here isn't really about that.

Please do tell me what your favourites were - I would love to know!

#1 Tattoo/Florist: alstroemeria aurea (2k)

Roy’s an introverted florist, Jamie’s a tattoo artist looking for inspiration, and Jamie's weekly purchases have Roy growing more and more curious. Full AU, Roy/Jamie, G.

#2 Soulmates: loving the expanse between them (1.5k)

Sam’s trying to give Rebecca space, but the new telepathic bond between them throws a spanner in the works. Canon Universe, Sam/Rebecca, G.

#3 Role Reversal: lioness rampant (5.5k)

Keeley is the star footballer, Jamie is the model. Roy is still himself. Slightly pre-series, so Roy's still playing. Canon Universe AND Full AU, Keeley/Jamie + future Roy/Jamie, T.

#4 Crime & Punishment: The Pink Paper Job (1k)

Detective Kent is half-heartedly investigating the theft of artefacts "belonging" to Rupert Mannion. The thief leaves a distinct calling card when repatriating the items. Leverage vibes. Full AU, Roy & Keeley & Jamie, T.

#5 Crossover: star struck (3k)

In which Ted Lasso and Starstruck take place in the same London and new friends are made on a date night at a fancy restaurant. Canon Universe, Keeley/Roy/Jamie + Tom/Jessie, G.

#6 Historical: The 18th of November, 1914 (1k)

The year is 1914 and Jamie’s moved from Manchester to London for work. On his day off, he’s handed a poster asking if he’s a fast, fit, fan of football. Full AU AND Canon Universe, Gen, G.

#7 Science Fiction: the final frontier (2k)

A Star Trek AU - Rebecca is the Captain of the USS Richmond, Keeley's her first officer, and the rest of the crew is made up of familiar faces. Full AU, Roy/Jamie, T.

#8 Adoptive Family: funnier than step brothers (under 1k)

When Isaac’s mum marries Colin’s dad, Isaac is worried it’ll change things. Canon Universe, Colin/Isaac, T.

#9 Reboot/Fresh Start: jeff bridges (7.5k)

Jamie gets a magical do-over of his first season at Richmond. A season 1 redux with a twist. Canon Universe AND Canon Divergent AU, Gen, G.

#10 Espionage: honey trap (1k)

Keeley meets Rebecca early, and helps Rebecca get the evidence she needs to divorce Rupert. Canon Divergent AU, Keeley/Rebecca, T.

#11 Health & Medical: quae prosunt omnibus artes (3.5k)

Hospital setting. Keeley's a children's entertainer, cheering up sick kids on various wards, she meets a gruff surgeon and the junior doctor stuck on rotation with him. Full AU, Keeley & Jamie + Roy/Jamie, M.

#12 Mythology: the exchange of winnings (2.5k)

A Monty Python-esque spin on the Arthurian tale of The Green Knight. Bargains are made and kisses are exchanged. Full AU, Keeley/Roy/Jamie, M.

#13 Infinite Loop: the same, but different (2k)

Ted gets Groundhogged on his first day in London. Beard may or may not be to blame. Canon Universe, Gen, G.

#14 Where It All Went Wrong: one good reason (under 1k)

After the Bye Bye Bye rehearsal ends in disaster, Sam gets the sign to stay that he's been looking for. Canon Divergent AU, Gen, G

#15 Countryside: tho’ her precincts are confin’d (3k)

Keeley's the landlady of a country pub and her bartender Roy keeps bees in the orchard of Rebecca’s estate, where many other familiar faces also work. Full AU, Keeley & Roy + Roy/Jamie, M.

#16 Supernatural: flotsam and jetsam (1k)

A Being Human AU. A werewolf and a vampire move into a house with a resident ghost. No wonder the rent was so low. Full AU, Roy/Keeley + Jamie, M.

#17 Flatmates/Neighbours: the rookie (2k, chapter 1)

Roy avoided injury in 1.10 and is still a player in season 2. When the topic of Jamie returning Richmond arises, Ted has a condition inspired by an NHL tradition. WIP - more to come. Canon Divergent AU, Roy/Keeley + future Roy/Jamie, T.

#18 Childhood: Bradshaw’s Brew (6.5k)

Roy drinks a dodgy beer he finds under Beard’s desk. The effects are unexpected. Luckily Keeley and Jamie are great babysitters. Canon Universe, Roy/Keeley + Jamie, T.

#19 Horror Movie: final girl #13 (1k)

Horror movie tropes are no match for Jan Maas. Canon Universe, Gen, T.

#20 Roadtrip: International (1k, chapter 1)

It's the summer of 2017 and after attending an England match in Paris, Jamie needs a lift back across the Channel. Roy is happy-ish to oblige. WIP - more to come. Full AU, Roy/Jamie, E.

#21 Underwater: Inverfarigaig (under 1k)

Cryptozoology podcasters Beard and Dani are camping in Scotland to search for the Loch Ness Monster. Full AU, Gen, G.

#22 Fake Married/Dating: Suck, Bang & Blow (1k)

Keeley needs help to get rid of a creep in a bar. Jamie, her new best friend from the bathroom, is happy to oblige. Full AU, Keeley & Jamie + Roy/Jamie, T.

#23 Injured: Caledonian Road (4k)

A meet-cute in a Tube station featuring too-large suitcases, too many stairs, scraped knees and piggybacks from a hot personal trainer. Full AU, Keeley/Jamie, G.

#24 Pets: Mushroom Carbonara and Frank (1k)

Roy, owner of fat little rat dog Frank, is invited by Jamie, owner of rescue greyhound Mushroom Carbonara, to a local dog park social event. Roy's keen, Frank less so. Full AU, Roy/Jamie, G.

#25 We Used To Be: isn't it strange, how people can change (4k)

After karaoke in Liverpool Roy reflects on his casual fling with Rebecca as she watches him leave the club with Keeley. Canon Universe, Roy/Rebecca, E.

#26 Body Swap: gift, mouth (3k, chapter 1)

Jamie gives Roy a well-meaning but somewhat unorthodox birthday present. Hijinks ensue. WIP - more to come. Canon Universe, Roy/Jamie, M.

#27 Food & Beverage: cherries jubilee (4k)

Chef Roy and Man City star Jamie get to know each other better over a four course dinner in a continuation of my Grindr AU from all roads. Canon Divergent AU, Roy/Jamie, M.

#28 University/College: Gap Year (4k)

Jamie retires in 2032. With help from Keeley, Roy, and most of all his mum, he figures out what he wants to do next. Canon Universe, Gen, G.

#29 Superpowers: health and safety (1.5k)

Roy’s a superhero, Jamie’s his cleaner turned boyfriend. Roy gets called in to save the day at a really unfortunate moment. A riff on SuperBob. Full AU, Roy/Jamie, E.

#30 Post-Apocalypse: blue diamond (1k)

After the apocalypse, a rag-tag group of Richmond survivors reminisce about what they miss most. Implied main character death. Canon Universe, Roy/Jamie + past Roy/Keeley, T.

#31 No Football: Over and Out (under 1k)

Baseball coaches Ted and Beard have arrived in the UK to coach professional cricket. Ted has a lot to learn about the sport. Full AU, Gen, G.

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lillylvjy · 11 months

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So here’s the line up for fics

Hs!wil /Tom

llg! Part 2

Bartender!reader x tattoo!artist wil- (this fic has been shifting in my docs for 2 months)

And then siren!wil

yay! Content!

#lilly stfu

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smashboxgirl26 · 2 years

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WIPS

there are no promises that all of these will get finished and posted btw! this is just so people can see what i'm currently working on

LONG FICS (2k<<)

strawberry shortcake — katsuki bakugou (10-15k words)

continuation of strawberry jam: cowboy au; long distance sucked. and it wasn’t as if katsuki didn’t know it was gonna suck, it was just that it sucked harder than he’d expected it too.

hidden in the sand — katsuki bakugou (aiming for 20k)

mermaid au; seeing your face again wasn't something he'd called for, but you don't normally think about seeing your dead childhood friend as a mermaid.

wounded crown — touya todoroki (5k)

royalty au; he'd taken your kingdom, your family, and your crown. you weren't going to let him add you to that list.

sometimes i look in her eyes (and that's where i find a glimpse of us) — touya todoroki (5k)

dabi x ph! fem! reader / she wasn’t you. touya found that he had to repeat it to himself — over and over and over, as repetitive as the rain water that dripped from the ceiling day and night. even the bucket he’d put under it wasn’t enough to stop the water from spilling all over the dirty, linoleum tiles.

untitled — katsuki bakugou (15k)

titanic au; what good is it when you meet the person you're destined to be with on a boat destined to sink?

untitled — jean kierschtien (10-15k)

regency era au

untitled — katsuki bakugou (5k)

race car driver au

tom's diner — izuku midoriya (5k)

ph! midoriya x reader

SHORTER FICS / DRABBLES (>2k)

untitled — katsuki bakugou

hunger games au

SERIES (multiple chaptered fics)

i kissed a flame (what did i expect?) — katsuki bakugou (5-6 chps)

ph! reader x ph! bakugou / you and bakugou have been friends since, forever — though friends don’t usually hook up in an empty janitor’s closet in secret. but that’s all your relationship is chalked out to be, and that’s the way it’ll stay. that is until, for pr reasons, you have to publicly date, and you can’t stop seeing him in a different light.

have your cake (and eat it too) — katsuki bakugou (12-15 chps?)

bakery owner! reader x tattoo artist! bakugou / dammit the guy across the street was an asshole, but why'd he have to look so goddamn good?

#wip list #blog maintenance

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worldofheroes · 10 months

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Tag Game✨

Get to know me!

Bold the ones that are true. Tag 15 other blogs.

Thank you for the tag @maverick-wingman!

APPEARANCE

i’m over 5’5” // i wear glasses/contacts // i have blonde hair // i prefer loose clothing to tight clothing // i have one or more piercings // i have at least one tattoo // i have blue eyes // i have dyed or highlighted my hair // i have gotten plastic surgery // i have or had braces // i sunburn easily // i have freckles // i paint my nails // i typically wear make-up // i don’t often smile // i am pleased with how i look // i prefer nike to adidas // i wear baseball hats backwards

HOBBIES AND TALENTS

i play a sport // i can play an instrument // i am artistic // i know more than one language // i have won a trophy in some sort of competition // i can cook or bake without a recipe // i know how to swim // i enjoy writing // i can do origami // i prefer movies to tv shows // i can execute a perfect somersault // i enjoy singing // i could survive in the wild on my own // i have read a new book series this year // i enjoy spending time with friends // i travel during school or work breaks // i can do a handstand

RELATIONSHIPS

i am in a relationship // i have been single for over a year // i have a crush // i have a best friend i have known for ten years // my parents are together // i have dated my best friend // i am adopted // my crush has confessed to me // i have a long distance relationship // i am an only child // i give advice to my friends // i have made an online friend // i met up with someone i have met online

AESTHETICS

i have heard the ocean in a conch shell // i have watched the sun rise // i enjoy rainy days // i have slept under the stars // i meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // i enjoy the smell of the beach // i know what snow tastes like // i listen to music to fall asleep // i enjoy thunderstorms // i enjoy cloud watching // i have attended a bonfire // i pay close attention to colors // i find mystery in the ocean // i enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favorite season

MISCELLANEOUS

i can fall asleep in a moving vehicle // i am the mom friend // i live by a certain quote // i like the smell of sharpies // i am involved in extracurricular activities // i enjoy mexican food // i can drive a stick-shift // i believe in true love // i make up scenarios to fall asleep // i sing in the shower // i wish i lived in a video game // i have a canopy above my bed // i am multiracial // i am a redhead // i own at least three dogs

No pressure tags: @helloitstsyu @rveyjules @tomcruiseishot @raefoxiegirl @fangirl23obsession @elenavampire21 @evelyn-kingsley @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @azu21 @tom-cruisey @here-for-the-fic @tomsf18 @filmscruise @topgunslut @thewhiskersonkittens and anyone else ☺️

#personal #tag game #get to know me #text post

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sugarlove-01 · 2 years

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The Cruelty

Ok this is my story of DwayneXReaderXDavid based in Santa Carla with my own character. I loved the Lost Boys! Always have and always will. They were my favorite characters so I had to write a story about both of them.

Be warned: this isn't a happy fic, this is fanfiction that is based on obsession, stalking, murder, abuse, and death. Some themes are triggering, so be warned.

But it's also a love story.

Prologue:

If you know one of these. You know them all.

You’re born.

You live.

You die.

There you go, life sucks.

Chapter 1:

Your POV:

Monday, June 13th

9:13 in the Morning

“Mom, can I go down to the beach? And the carnival, please?” I asked.

“Yea, sure. Go out. Explore,” replied my mom.

“Ok, thanks. And I moved in all my stuff to my room.”

“Did you take out all the boxes?”

“Yea. I brought in your purse, too. You forgot it in the truck again.”

“Ok thanks. On your way back, can you bring back some milk?”

“For cereal?”

“No, for Oreo cookies this evening… And cereal tomorrow.”

“Ok. I’ll be back…”

I walked out of the house. Noting to myself to go to the gas station later this evening for milk. My mother, calling a few friends on the phone, talking about a book club. I rolled down my sleeves. Got my green jacket and my brown shoes on. The weatherman predicted a cloudy day in Santa Carla. Maybe a few winds. Going to the shed, I got out my bike. Unlocked the chain and peddled off.

Not much has been happening in Santa Carla. Not for the past week that I’ve been here. The moving trucks weren’t needed anymore and my mother had all the help she could get from my father. My father was sleeping on the couch infront of the TV when had left. He always looked so restless ever since we moved. Maybe it was the exhaustion of moving, or he missed our old house as much as I did.

As I rode, I passed Tom on the way down the road. He was taking out the trash. He was a neighbor, the one who first greeted us when we moved in. He always took out the trash at 8:15 in the morning, every day. He worked at a hot dog stand near the carnival. He was, in truth, an artist actually. When we first met, I promised him I’d try one of his hotdogs when I went down to check it out.

I rode out of the neighborhood and down the road. Down the road I looked around. Two men were hanging out at a gas station. One man with dreadlocks was looking at a magazine with a plastic bag in his hand. The other was reading a newspaper. The both of them stood next to a bulletin board that had paper fliers on it. Fliers for concerts, yard sales, puppies, and lost children.

I got to the pier. The beach looked occupied and warm, with trash all around it. But there were a few men with trash bags picking everything up. I attached my bike to the railings that had bubblegum underneath it. There was strange people here who looked at you and snickered. It seemed they had a thousand piercings and a thousand tattoos and with many different hair styles. They were wild kids.

“So this is Santa Carla….”

I chained up my bike. With money in my pocket I got in and looked everywhere for something or anything interesting. And there was many in fact. Clowns juggled. Boys danced on cardboard. Cotton candy stands and other sweets were open. Men tried to talk you into buying lotions and cellphone chargers. Even shops for mini golf and leather jackets. Souvenir shops. Tobacco shops. And others.

I passed my way by, not bothering the roller coaster or other carnival rides. So I walked around the carnival in a circle. There was a drink stand and I decided to buy a pretzel. The cashier inside wore a red and white shirt. He went to get my order. I waited. There was women in bathing suits eating at the tables and shirtless men who watched them. They looked at me sometimes, but didn’t bother.

The man in red and white came back with my pretzel and a napkin. He asked me for anything else, I said no. When I finished my fingers were buttery and tasted of salt. I went looking for a trash can. At the corner of the stand I found a trashcan, and I 6 men there. One man held a boom box over his shoulder. One man whistled at me, wearing a red spiked dog collar with high eyebrows. I threw away the napkin.

“Hey sweety…” He clicked his tongue.

I looked at him. And his friend chuckled. I kept walking. Soon I found myself looking in a comic book store. A man and a woman were behind the counter, looking as if asleep. They wore black glasses. I paid no attention. But there were two boys. They packed comics out of a box, placing them on shelves, and organizing them. I didn’t mind comics. What I loved most was the art work and the action.

Later that evening, I began looking for a hotdog stand. I didn’t have breakfast this morning. But it wasn’t just any hotdog stand. It was where my neighbor worked, Tom. He said I could come right over if I wanted. I found it. It had yellow and green neon lights with a picture of a hotdog man. Tom was there, at the counter in a white and red worker outfit and waiting for someone to approach. And I did.

“Hey Tom…!” I smiled.

“Oh hey! How ya doin, girl? Likin‘ Santa Carla? Or hatin’ it already?”

“It’s ok. I’m just looking around.”

“Ok, cool. You want anything to eat? And guess what’s on the menu!? Hotdogs!”

“Like, omg, no way! I would never have guessed....” I laughed.

The menu was awesome. There was hotdogs on there that I didn’t know existed. Tom worked with a smile and made my small dinner. A hot dog, french fries, an ice-cream bar and a Coke. The Coke came in a glass bottle with a straw for it. Tom talked to me more and said there were seats I could sit on with umbrellas and eat. Where no one could bother me. And when he’s off, he could walk me home.

I was glad, because that man with the spiked collar creeped me out. It was exciting to be here. There wasn’t much to do. I watch wild kids run with shopping carts, playing duel. Men flirting with women. The security guards watching the boys with spiked hair and alcohol. The tattoo people get more tattoos in stands. The people with piercings get more piercings. And kids dancing to heavy metal on the street.

Rolling down my sleeves, I went to the beach. That was where it was most hectic. A lot of people were sunbathing and surfing and making sand castles and digging big holes on the beach. A bunch of seagulls were flying over picking up small stranded Dorito ships and Cheetos. Even dogs were on the beach, trying to steal a snack or two from their owners or from strangers. But they were just playful.

It wasn’t later until I went across the Boardwalk watching men in black and white juggle random objects and others host magic shows. Near there I found a Videotape store. The best selection in Santa Carla, and perhaps I could agree. The shop was covered with neon lights, fliers of lost children, and a weird smell around it and with a white dog at the entrance. There was even posters in the corner.

Finally after a long day at the carnival, I made my way back home. Tom said that he could meet me at the gas station. Tom knew that this the streets could be dangerous. It was a long day. I approached the gas station. The bulletin board seemed to have been added more pictures of children and other people who were lost. That was the thing I noticed most about this new home of mine. All the fliers.

Peddling towards the gas station, I went inside. There were more fliers of lost children, and a security guard with a mustache. Going inside, I looked for the milk and a newspaper. It was only 8:15 in the evening, but I felt it was time to turn in. And I was tired. And plus my mother probably waited long enough for the milk. The newspaper was for me. Tom was already inside, and we both walked home from there.

David’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

6:30 in the Evening

As soon as the boys woke from their sleep, they were hungry. Their fangs showing and their eyes fiery and ghoulish. So they found more Surf Nazis, laying around on the beach far from any civilization to hear them scream. So it was perfect. They tore them apart and drank their blood. The Boys were cheerful that night. They threw their bodies into the fire, sizzling. Their skin, cooked, crispy, and curled. They were dead and drained and gone. The boys were satisfied as they howled in laughter. Paul, Marko, and Dwayne were in high spirit tonight.

David laughed as well. They discarded the bodies, and soon they had to meet up with Max. David lead the way, flying towards the pier. He was well rested to go the Boardwalk and look for her. Yes, dear reader, he’s looking for someone. She must be walking around at this time. David knew that this girl was out and about. Walking about, vulnerable and open. She was new. It was not long ago when David saw her, but it was an accident. Less than a week ago. And that’s when the wheels of fate began to turn. For better or for worse, he didn’t know.

A walk down memory lane, he remembered when he first looked at her. The sighting was an accident. David thought that she was Star, but was wrong. She had straight hair, different colored eyes. She wore different clothing, not like the gypsy wardrobe Star had for herself. By the look on her face, she didn’t really know Santa Carla or its people. In a way, David, thought it was adorable how she looked so lost and vulnerable to everyone and everything. She was so polite, that even if she ran into a wall she would excuse herself. Prey.

“Hey, yo! Hey! Where ya goin’ David!? I thought we were all goin’ out together, dude?” Marko called out.

“Where’s he goin? It’s not even 8:00 and he’s already ditching us for…. some chicks that he’s either gonna bang or eat!” Paul grinned.

“I don’t have to baby sit you guys all night. Make your way on your own…”

“Aw, come on David. This is the 5th night that you’ve ditched us for god knows what. The hell is goin on? Where the hell do you go buddy?”

David closed his eyes, gained back his patience, and gripped his bike handle hard. Gripping that bike handle was great restraint on his part. They others mounted their bikes and began their engines.

“Why the hell would he--- Oh nevermind,” Dwayne looked away.

“Oh god. Would you all shutup? I’m goin my own way… See you guys back at the cave…” David seated his motorcycle.

“What? We’re not good ‘nough for you? You leavin us for someone else?” Marko joked.

“Oh, David, is that true? I thought we all had something special!” Paul put the back of his hand on his forehead, swaying backwards.

“Get outta here!” Marko pushed Paul and laughed with him.

David started his bike and sped off. Leaving his brothers in the dust. Paul and Marko had stupid smiles on their faces.

“Wow, he just chucked it didn’t he?”

“David has no time for us anymore, huh?”

“Just hit it and quit it…”

“Always been my motto…” Paul nodded his head.

Dwayne’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

7:00 in the evening

The three boys drove off their own way. Their leader flying away to wherever he was gong. The boys didn’t really mind, so they flew off to the carnival. Going off to the Boardwalk, where they dominated all the other gangs in sight. Dwayne looked back, thinking where David really went. It would be easy to ditch Paul and Marko, since they were geeky losers. Something was up, and he didn’t like the fact that David was being mysterious and suspicious. David didn’t have the leader-like qualities like he used to, and that was something that couldn‘t be tolerated. So the boys walked, talking about going to the Videostore. But the quiet one of the group had other plans.

“I’m out,” Dwayne started to walk away, going to find David.

“Hey, whoa there. Where you are going?” asked Marko. Paul noticed and turned to him.

“What’s it to ya?” Dwayne groaned and turned towards Paul and Marko.

“It’s David and now you? What the hell is goin’ on?” asked Paul.

Damn, Dwayne thought they wouldn’t notice him leaving. Paul was on his right side and on his left side, Dwayne was sandwiched in between them. Being irritated by their very presence.

“None of your damn business! Just drop it.” Dwayne rolled his eyes.

“Ya know, this is the first time this has happened. We’re separating.” Marko pointed out.

“What are you? A lost puppy? We don’t need to be together all the time!”

“Just pointing it out, man! Just wondering where the hell he is!”

“Who?”

“David! That’s who! Ya know!? The one that keeps ditching us for the past 5 days!”

“Shit, man. Maybe you two are the reason he leaves in the first place, damn it!”

“Oh, Dwayne! That was cold!”

“Shut up and get outta my way! Shut your mouth and move it!”

“Ok! Ok! You don’t need to snap, man! Damn, Dwayne! Just chill! Just chill!”

“Well, ya know what I--”

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Can’t you see you’re tearing this family apart!?” Paul gasped and put both his fisted hands on his face with his knees bent towards eachother. What a joker.

“Drama Queen…” Dwayne whispered. Paul noticed.

“Hey, I heard that!”

“Good! It was meant to be heard!” Dwayne called back, leaving them alone.

So the silent one of the bunch left, and searched for their fearless leader. He walked through the crowds, people looked at him but only saw him as a bored and peculiar man. Some looked at him as a very serious and dangerous man, that could out-silence the dead. Of course the boys had a reputation around Santa Carla. Maybe some people knew his name. Even the other gangs on the beach feared him and his brothers, and try to keep to themselves.

After walking around for about 20 minutes, Dwayne sat down, lifted his knee to his chest and sighed. The seat was oddly comfortable and clean. No bubblegum or spray paint. Yellow and green neon lights glowed on him. He looked up to see a picture of a hotdog man. A really stupid thing. Dwayne looked at the man at the cashier, dressed in red and white. Maybe Dwayne should tip him in the tip jar. He decided yes, because that guys life as a hotdog man sucks. Then he saw the customer.

Her long hair. Her jaw line. Her nose. Her ears. Her brown shoes and green jacket. Her hands. In a way, when he first saw her, she looked like Star. But he was mistaken. She was…pretty. She was ordering a hotdog from the worker in red and white. Then something caught his attention. The smell of hotdogs and mustard didn’t catch his nose, but it was her shirt or jacket.

Dwayne looked at her face, and she didn’t have any wrinkles or any evidence that she did any drinking or drugs. She looked clean. Healthy. But she smelled like cigarettes, alcohol, and… blood. He could obviously see that she wasn’t a vampire or anything. He knew it was all on her jacket. Was that jacket hers? Did she drop it, let it get trampled on by bleeding crack heads, and then wear it again?

But it was familiar. And he knew it, but couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Then she came over and sat down on the tables and began eating. For some reason, he was intrigued by her. She looked… normal. More normal than anyone here in this whole damn place. She didn’t notice that he was sitting near her. But she just ate, and sat there, and just…looked cute. She looked deep. Real. Like a book with no ending. And soon after a quick 5 minutes, she finished and began walking again.

He saw her once. But decided to leave it be. He searched for David again. But never found him. Near midnight or so, Dwayne feasted on a lone homeless man before finding his way back to his group. Paul and Marko only wasted their time chasing cats and talking about Max and the Videostore and getting Thorn a spiky collar. Near the time of morning, they hid their bikes, flew back to their cave, hung themselves upside down, and by that time Dwayne had forgotten all about the girl.

David’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

7:05 in the Evening

She was at the hotdog stand with Tom. Talking. Tom was her neighbor down from her house. From the distance David was, she seemed comforted by Tom. Of course David knew that he was the only friend that she knew. In the crowd all alone, she seemed to be so out of place and awkward. People passed by, and he was delighted that he easily blended in. He transformed himself into a hunter. Teaching himself patience and strength to keep his distance and learn everything. Not telling the boys.

The hunter that hadn’t made his move yet. He would attack soon, but not just yet. He had to have some sort of tactical plan to get close to her. A gameplan. He had to expand his grounds and know everything about her. And so he did, not telling the boys. After he first saw her a week ago, he followed her home. He saw her parents. They looked like any other couple, looking out for their loved one and all that crap. Enough of them. Around town, she didn’t really have a routine, but just wandered.

The hard thing was that he slept all day, and knew she was out and about all day. The other hard thing was that she retired too early in the evening for him to see her. So instead he watched her from inside her home sometimes. Her parents obviously looked very delicious, and it was all due to the smell in their veins. She was definitely new in Santa Carla. She moved from Washington. Why she moved, he didn’t know. He learned some small things about her as he continually watched her every move.

She liked to help her mother with the garden up front, watch her dad cut out magazine pictures and paste them on paper, she loved to see movies every weekend all by herself, talk with Tom in his front yard about Santa Carla and it’s people, her favorite snack were smores, she liked to arrange her room differently each day, she liked to talk with her friends on the phone, play with her hair, watch television and listen to the radio at the same time, and sit in her room and do nothing. She was fascinating.

So for the rest of the evening, he followed. Keeping his hands in his pockets. Soon he followed her to the gas station where she was suppose to meet Tom and he could walk her home from there. She walked in after looking at the bulletin board. David walked up and entered the gas station himself. The girl didn’t notice him. David walked past the magazines and refreshments to the small shelf of cigarettes and lighters. Tom looked up and smiled as he looked at her. And…David didn’t like Tom.

David knew that if he tried to get near the girl, then Tom would interfere. For example, if David attacked, then Tom would get in the way. He would be reported and leave an entire mess and have a search party or something. And plus, Max said to keep a low profile. Plus, Tom seemed to be the only reason that the girl left her house and go to the pier in the first place. So…David knew that the damn bastard had to live.

So Tom and the girl stood in line. Tom’s shoulder was in contact with hers, and David didn’t know if it was a public display of affection. Tom didn’t have anything to purchase, but she had milk and a newspaper. Tom offered to carry her things, but she refused him. David stood right behind them, waiting with them in line. David noticed that every once in awhile, Tom would look over at her and smile. And she would look back and smile, hugging the milk closer. Squeezing the newspaper a little.

Slowly, but cautiously, David raised his hand and made a small trace down her jacket. Touching her. His glove made a line down her back. David’s been doing this for the past week, and she had never noticed. Putting a small, tiny, teeny fraction of his scent on her. The cashier rang in their stuff, and put the milk and newspaper in a brown paper bag. The girl said to Tom that the milk was for Oreo cookies and cereal, and Tom nodded and smiled at her again. After they left, David purchased his stuff.

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