#and would be a nightmare for the things your 'morals' are so concerned by | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellishjoel · 5 months ago

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uneasy hearts weigh the most

7.3k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: Benny hosts the party of the year where broken pieces of Frankie's past are unearthed. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking and drinking alcohol, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.), house party, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, vivid writing of a mental disorder [capgras syndrome] and an accompanied nightmare, descriptions of violence against a parental figure, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers) A/N: I know this has been in the works for a while and I thank you for your patience! special shoutout to @thetriumphantpanda who beta'd this for me!! I owe her a 100 grand bar now! listen to the song uneasy hearts weigh the most and I'll kiss you on the forehead

Yeah baby, keep fuckin’ my fingers. “Do it again,” he mutters. You moan louder as you gyrate your hips once more against his fingers, grinding your core against his knuckles. “Fuck, baby,” he whispers with adoration.

The last time Francisco Morales saw his father was when he was punching his face in.

It was a blur.

Blood splattered across his face, neck, and shirt. His fist was crimson, his knuckles ached. But he couldn’t will himself to stop.

Frankie would draw his arm back, using as much force as his little twelve-year-old body could muster, and plunge his whole body forward as he landed another hit. He couldn’t stop himself from crying, even when he was at his angriest.

Why was he crying? Why couldn’t he stop crying?

Frankie’s dad wasn't exactly father-of-the-year material. More like a drill sergeant with a drinking problem. When things got tough, he’d ditch his family for drugs and booze and only ever circle back when money turned to dust.

His mom was falling apart before his eyes. His younger siblings were fearful because their mom, who was supposed to take care of them, couldn’t, and their father, who was supposed to love them, hurt them.

Frankie was the oldest; he felt an obligation to protect everyone. But what can you do when you’re not even five feet tall?

If his father hadn’t been so strung out that night, Frankie wouldn’t have been able to tackle him to the ground like he did. He wouldn’t have been able to pin him down by fisting his ratty t-shirt and hit him like he did. As hard as he did. As many times as he did.

Then, his father lay lifeless. Frankie blinked away his tears and let out a shaky sob. He got scared because he thought he had killed him. After all those puny hits, he laid limp. He wasn’t smart enough to know that he had just passed out from the drugs in his system.

Frankie was so torn because how can you hate someone you’re supposed to love? How could his father leave the family he was supposed to be the foundation of?

The Texas Department of Family and Protective Services intervened not long after. And he doesn’t like to think about it, any of it.

Not growing up, not his family, nothing.

But now he’s staring at a letter from his father. It’s his handwriting; the slant in the L’s, and the hook of his Y’s. Slightly smeary, written in pencil with eraser shavings damn near burned into the lined paper. He wrote this letter over and over again, trying to author the right words, to say the right things.

Frankie’s heart stops, and all the memories rush back in a flood. It hits him like a fucking hurricane.

Tommy’s Diner settles after its Friday night dinner rush. The hour before closing was always erratic, putting together to-go orders and ushering stacks of dirty plates from the tables to the back sink.

Your shoulder blades collide with the swing door connecting the kitchen to the rest of the diner, using the force of your body to swing it open as you balance the ceramic plates in your arms.

“Sorry, Lou. Just a few more.” You mutter tiredly as you set the stack beside the teenage dishwasher, hearing him sigh loudly before putting his earbuds back in place. He wasn’t one for many words. The most you knew about him was he listened to cringey, whiney rappers.

You close your eyes for just a moment and lean back into the counter, craning your back and feeling each vertebrae realigning with anguish. Tina called in sick and you offered to work a double to pick up some extra hours this week. Besides, on days you didn’t work with Frankie, you were more… productive.

The hum of customers gradually subsides, their chatter tapering off until the bell above the door chimes, signaling their exit. It’s nicer like this, when you don’t have to be the charming server who keeps up with all of their conversations from table to table. Especially after pulling a double, and your brain feels like it might melt.

The staff worked diligently throughout the rest of the night, tidying up the tables and floors, not letting up until the countertops gleamed, the coffee pots shined, and the strong smell of cleaning fumes mingled in the air.

You grow a fond smile thinking about spending the summer with Frankie. He adores being outside far more than you do. It’s impossible not to imagine how stupidly sexy he would look with his skin glowing a golden tan and a pair of sunglasses sitting lazily on the bridge of his aquiline nose. Loose, flowy shirt and a pair of shorts. Curls lost to the wind.

He talks about taking you on nature walks through his favorite trails and driving you further out of your nowhere town so you can stargaze at midnight. Or maybe you could hit the beach and spend your days under the sun drinking margaritas and Coronas.

Summer could change things for you.

Admittedly, you’ve been fantasizing—romanticizing. You think about him even when he’s not around. You miss the home you’ve made on the open side of his bed, where you’d curl around his orange tabby cat with his arms circled around your waist.

Worst of all were the nights you were back at your place, where there was no one around to cook you dinner or dish out goofy conversations. Having to snake touches over your own body, over the curve of your belly, and sinking your fingers past your panties where the only remnants of Frankie is you muttering his name at the peak of your orgasm, wishing it was him showering you with his affections rather than your fingers or toys.

God forbid you enjoy solo sessions anymore because Frankie has totally ruined that for you. It wasn’t as fun knowing you had a brown-eyed, curly-headed man across town who would beg on his knees given the chance.

Anyway. Enough of that.

You count the till’s cash, level out the profit, and put it all in a small bank bag before your manager, Carla, tucks it inside the safe. The metal keys on your carabiner clip jingle upon flipping the lock, the cool night air tickling your skin as late spring shows its face under the velvet night sky.

A truck rumbles up the drive, and you know the signature death rattle all too well.

“What are you doin’ here?” You lean against the driver's side of Frankie’s truck once he pulls up to you, your sneakers shifting gravel, his mouth tilted in a smirk. He leans past the truck’s frame and kisses you, cradling the back of your head to keep you against him.

“Mmm,” he hums against your mouth, tasting cherry chapstick as he glides his tongue across your lower lip. “Get in. Benny’s having a house party.”

Eyes narrowing, you run your thumb up his beard scruff and gently scrape your nails down the dark hair. “I need to go home to change. Plus, I need a shower. I smell like grease, and I have grime under my nails.”

“Fine, I’ll take you back to your place. I can wait.”

A breath stalls in your lungs, eyes unblinking as you stare at him for a moment.

Frankie has yet to visit your place — your dungeon, a basement-level one-bedroom apartment made up by a measly excuse of a kitchen and a tiny living space. You’re by no means embarrassed of its appearance. You’re rather clean, and you’ve made it as homely as you possibly can with bright-colored rugs and wall art. But it was sort of your final boundary. He was literally about to pass the threshold. Master the final boss.

He’s let you have your space and never pushed you. The least you could do was say,

“Okay.”

A contagious grin catches his lips, pulling you closer by the hand still cradling the back of your head, and he takes you in for a few more slow kisses.

A car’s honk and bright lights jolt your heart, and your eyes squint until the flashers go down on the car Frankie has parked in.

“Can you two lovebirds hurry it up?” your manager, Carla, yells from the driver's seat of her rust-red 2006 Honda Civic. “You’re blockin’ me in, Francisco.”

You purse your lips with embarrassment, heat flushing the back of your neck. Carla was going to find out one way or another that you two have been sneaking around. She knows everything about everyone.

“Hey, sorry, mama,” Frankie nods as she shakes her head slowly, mouth tainted with a smirk.

“I’ll follow you back to your place,” Frankie whispers and you nod shyly, wrapping around the front of his truck and letting him tail you home.

Frankie takes two steps at a time down to your basement-level apartment. His boots thump against the cold stone, and you push the front door open with the force of your shoulder.

His eyes drag along the different pieces of the apartment that make you, you. Soft blankets that drape along the back of a loveseat accompanied by little, fluffy pillows, different pairs of sneakers sit stacked beside the front door, and a small table for two holds random clutter in the criminally tiny dining room.

He follows your lead and kicks off his shoes, watching you unfold into your natural routine: you drop your bag on the kitchen counter, and your fingers are already tugging a black hair tie loose. He trails you down a narrow hallway, squinting as you turn on the harsh overhead lighting to the bathroom.

Out of your clothes without a second thought, Frankie can’t help but laugh at the way you fling your bra past his head, tunneling down the hallway and landing in what he presumes is your bedroom. The shower curtain is something abstract, most likely purchased from the Target down the road.

“I’ll be quick if you wanna wait outside,” you offer, body shielded by the curtain.

Frankie shrugs, eyes glancing to the toilet opposite the shower.

“I don’t mind waitin’. Wanna tell me about your day?” Frankie asks, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid. He sees you fight away a timid smile and slink behind the shower curtain. The beads of water hit your body and change the tune inside the bathroom. He can tell each time you shift and twirl. It takes you a moment to become acquainted, but you retell the details of your day in a sweet lull.

“I, uh, I usually listen to music when I shower,” you admit between the spray.

“Oh, so you want me to start singin’?” Frankie asks with a smirk, to which you quickly shout no!

It doesn’t stop him from breaking into a pitchy rendition of a song by the Bee Gees.

After a fit of laughter, you both settle down, and Frankie is back to smiling at the sheer, cheaply-made shower curtain. He can see your silhouette dance under the shower head, gathering your hair and rising out the suds, grabbing a loofa to scrub away the worst of the grime from Tommy’s Diner.

Holy shit, Frankie thinks, you smell like heaven. Oh my god, he likes you. It hits him like a bullet to the chest, the impact rippling through his veins and making his heart beat so loud that it rings in his ears. It’s a silent reminder that feeling things are beautiful when they are about you.

The bathroom grows steamy, fogging up the glass of your medicine cabinet mirror. His skin grows clammy and his knee starts to jump in anticipation.

“I’m almost done!” Your voice sing-songs as he slips off his jacket, his eyes still cast upon your body beyond the curtain. He’s in love with the way your body moves, fluidly and without intention. You’re just taking a shower and he thinks you’re beautiful.

Just as you’re about to flip the water off, the curtain rings screech to open.

“Frankie,” you breathe, eyes falling to his exposed tan skin. No other words come to mind other than another breath of his name.

His lips attach to your neck, slow but faltering. Like he’s searching for the one spot to push you over the edge and join him in oblivion.

The tension in the air rises as the water cascades down his back and soaks his dark curls. His frame, large and broad, protects yours as his arms circle your waist like wild vines.

Your eyes slowly fall closed, lips parted as your head eventually tilts back and rests against the shower wall. It exposes more area for Frankie to explore, his palms kneading at your lower back, arching your torso into his own.

His teeth skim along your skin, the steam already forcing your flesh to glow and rise under the growing pressure of his hunger for you.

He begins to navigate a new path, his lips finding purchase above your breastbone. Your fingers start at his biceps, feeling the strong muscles protruding underneath. He’s so unbearably handsome, and you can’t believe his body is fitting in the small shower stall with you.

Finally, a heavy breath slips, something that resembles a moan. After that, he’s starving for you.

The teeth that were once just grazing your skin, now nipping and sucking. His hands fall lower down the curve of your ass, squeezing and lifting as you gasp into his ear. You're dripping with arousal that sits achingly between your legs.

You place a slender hand over his more muscular one, guiding it between your legs and gently cupping your mound.

“Please,” you whisper, like the only thing Frankie needs to hear.

He paints your mouth in a wet kiss, drowning any better judgment that may have resided.

Intertwining your feelings together, the steam buckles heatedly in the small space.

His fingers curl in your hold, swiping between your folds and feeling you. There’s a whimper let out against his ear, nipping at his lower lip once his fingers push past your threshold.

And he groans.

You’re so fucking tight, so fucking perfect for him. His forehead lays against your temple, your nose brushing against the coarse hair of his beard. Frankie sinks his fingers into you, knuckle-deep, and leaves you squirming under his hold. His fingers are so thick, it’s a bittersweet symphony the way your moans mingle in the air.

He’s got you cornered in the shower, body pressed against the hot mold. Two fingers move fluidly inside, stretching your core and stoking the burning embers that rest low in your stomach.

“There,” you breathe, gasping as he adds more pressure to one spot that makes your legs nearly collapse out from under you. He still has you locked with an arm around your waist, holding what’s left of your presence.

He’s skilled, his thumb finding your clit, and you want to scream at the way his fingers are long enough to fuck into you and massage your aching pearl at the same time. He’s the only one who can make you unfold like this.

“Christ,” he mutters into your ear as he feels your walls desperately clench around him. “You can take another, can’t ya, baby?”

His brown eyes melt you, waiting for your confirmation. You sigh weakly but ultimately nod. It’s all you can think about.

He groans as he works a third into your entrance, and it burns, the way your pleasure mixes with the pain.

You wrap an arm weakly around the tops of his shoulders, nails etching into his skin in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself able in his arms.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you whine, long and bratty almost. You’re so close already, he knows just how to get you to the brink.

You tingle at his touch, your muscles going numb as he fucks his fingers at a now unrelenting pace within your tight core.

He works you to the edge, feeling the tick of the timebomb slowly begin to set off inside you.

With all the energy you have left, you swing your leg up and hitch it on his hip.

He looks bewildered for a moment, shocked eyes meeting your own as you rest your shoulder blades back against the shower wall with enough room to move your hips. You begin rolling your core down onto his fingers and he makes a noise resembling praise.

Yeah baby, keep fuckin’ my fingers.

“Do it again,” he mutters.

You moan louder as you gyrate your hips once more against his fingers, grinding your core against his knuckles.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers with adoration.

He watches your body with fascination, Frankie’s eyes obsessively taking in your movements. His lips are quick to bow down at your alter, lips latching onto your exposed nipples that perk up in his mouth with all the attention. It makes a tingle shoot down your spine, only making your hips move faster as you fuck yourself down onto his fingers.

Frankie kisses down your body until he’s sunk down onto his knees, damn near growling as your hips grind against his awaiting mouth. He latches his lips to your clit and harshly suckles, causing a high-pitched whimper to leave your mouth.

You’re so close and he knows it, he can feel your thighs trembling under the heat of his palms. It’s the only thing holding you up at this point. Weaving your fingers into his watered-down locks, you grip them tight and keep Frankie close.

He chuckles lowly, eyes flicking up to yours and seeing the desperate look cast over them.

“You wanna come?”

Like he even has to ask.

“Please,” you say, desperation leaking from your voice as you feverishly nod.

Frankie tsks playfully, humming lowly against your clit. “Love when you beg for it, sweetheart.”

Frankie circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, making out with your pussy and lapping away at your sweet juices. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing his fingers to move with more precision.

You can feel your muscles contort as he starts to massage your spongy sweet spot. It’s enough to make your jaw drop and heat to spill down your spine. Your fingers clench his curls tighter between your fingers, holding him against you as your orgasm finally breaches.

The leg hooked onto his shoulder shakes with each uneasy wave of your orgasm. The shower’s heat leaves you breathless, crying out in pleasure as your body shudders.

Frankie smirks as he slowly loosens his fingers from your entrance, taking each finger into his mouth, one, two, three. His tongue swirls around each digit before he inches your leg back to down to the shower floor, planting your feet on solid ground before he stands and twists the shower’s handle.

It only takes a few seconds, but the high of your orgasm and the heat of the shower makes you lose your sense of self. Your legs tremble and your hands feverishly grip Frankie.

The ringing in your ears slowly fades away as he snaps the handle on the shower, letting the room calm into gentle silence.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers as he wraps you in his arms, feeling weightless as he talks you down. “Wow,” he breathes, “never had a woman faint from how good-”

“Stop,” you laugh breathlessly, peaking your eyes open, and seeing the glittering haze of the handsome man in front of you. Water droplets run down his face, cascading down his neck and gliding horizontally across his shoulders.

“I like hearing you talk about your day.”

Innocent eyes meet his own and you nod. “Okay.”

Frankie wasn’t joking when he said his friends threw a house party. They threw a goddamn party.

After winding down a long gravel road about thirty minutes out of town, you arrive at a two-story classic country home. It’s surrounded by acres and acres of green grass and tall trees in the distance. The most action this house has seen in years is most likely deer or coyotes.

And now it was seeing the house party of a lifetime.

“Frankie,” you breathe out in disbelief once he parks his truck in the grass and kills the engine. “Whose house is this?”

His mouth tilts in a smirk as he peers forward up at the house, not sure if he’s staring at the long string lights that reach from one side of the home to the other, or the drunkards climbing onto the roof.

“Will and Benny’s, after their grandfather passed away. Pretty sweet, huh?”

The crunch of a beer can under your shoe is the first thing you hear, other guests quick to park their vehicles and rush inside with cases of beer on their shoulders. The echoes of the partying inside could be heard from the dirt driveway, Frankie wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he escorts you in.

A chorus of people bump against your shoulder as they step outside, laughing hard and obviously tipsy.

“What is this place?” You mutter in slight amazement and curiosity.

“Come on, I’ll give you the tour,” Frankie whispers against your ear, making a tingle slip down your spine as you playfully nudge your elbow somewhere between his ribs.

He walks you through the living room, easily the most filled room in the house by the looks of it. All the furniture has been pushed aside and a band resides at the forefront of all the chaos. The lead singer and guitarists stand on the sitting area of the recessed mantle. The cheering rings in your ears and the bass thumps through the floorboards, electrifying everyone’s bodies to move and dance.

Off the dining room is the kitchen. You can’t really tell how modern or outdated it is due to the sea of people making drinks. Frankie reaches through the hoard and retrieves two beers, popping the top off yours and slipping the cold bottle into your hand.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you clink your bottle with his.

Aside from the noisiest parts of the house, there were chill places where people were talking and sharing ideas or the latest things that were happening in their lives. You try not to laugh as a woman swaying in a hammock accidentally falls out, landing with a thud. Thankfully, her friends in the bean bags below caught her with bellows of glee.

“Best part,” Frankie whispers to you as he opens the door to a nearly pitch-black room, only lit by two lanterns at the very front of the mostly wood study. People are sat on the floor, whispering and shushing each other as you and Frankie fill in quietly towards the back.

“And now, may I present to you, Santi, the Significant!”

Your eyebrows furrow as Santiago steps in front of a white flashlight’s spot, bowing ridiculously as everyone laughs.

“Santi the Significant?” You whisper as Frankie chuckles quietly and nuzzles his nose against your temple.

“He thought Magnificent wasn’t spectacular enough, or kitschy.”

“He performs real magic? Isn’t that kind of…” At the risk of offending one of his best friends, he fills in the blank for you.

“Nerdy?” Frankie snidely smirks and shakes his head. “Works better than you think. Watch.”

You're skeptical about the magic act, but you can't help but be impressed as the confident Santi pulls roses from his jacket sleeve and hands them to the most eligible ladies in the audience, eliciting gasps and enthusiastic applause.

“No way,” you shake your head as Santi continues a few close-up magic tricks, enough to keep his drunk audience convinced. After a few more card tricks and cheesy jokes, the crowd applauds and whistles.

“That’s all from me today, folks. If you want my number, please see me after the show.”

“Dear god,” you mutter, hiding your face in Frankie’s shoulder. “How is this working?” You ask as a group of young women circle Santi with praise and lusty eyes. “Should I go ask for his number? I was pretty wooed back there.”

Frankie tuts as he ushers you out of the study. “Absolutely not.”

The entire night thrives on high energy with a constant flow of surprises. The decor of pink plastic flamingos and a surprise disco ball is making this everyone’s night one to remember - as long as the guests don’t drink too much.

You’ve let Frankie go to mingle with his friends while you keep an intoxicated Benny at bay sitting at the top step of the staircase that looks over most of the party.

“Quite the bash, Benny.”

“Thank you, m’lady. You’re enjoying yourself?” He slurs and sways, even while sitting.

“I didn’t even know this many people our age live around here.” Your head rests against old yellow wallpaper, the design mostly faded and lightly curling at the floorboards. Your finger plays with the exposed edge, fighting the urge to tear it off or keep peeling it.

He hums and throws an empty beer bottle behind his shoulder, hearing it clatter against the wall. “The best distraction for someone like me is people. I like people. And everyone needs a good distraction.”

You narrow your eyes on Benny curiously, the disco ball flashing along the bedazzled beads hanging around his neck. “Distraction from what?”

Benny seems like a very happy person, but it’s moments like these that reveal one's vulnerability. He slowly shakes his head with a very telling smile, gently squeezing your shoulder as he sighs. “It’s okay,” he slurs, “it’s why our friend group gets along so well because we all need distractions.”

He speaks so knowingly, almost like a prophet speaking in riddles, so you decide to amuse him.

“Yeah? What about Frankie? He needs distractions too?”

Benny hums and points at Frankie down below. You peer through the wooden balusters, seeing Frankie mix and mingle with a drink in one hand and a lit joint in the other. He takes a hit and sputters up a cough as he laughs at what his group is saying, making you smile.

“Frankie… is a very special case. He’s uh,” Benny’s eyes droop, his head resting on your shoulder as he closes his eyes and relaxes with your presence.

“He’s what?” You whisper, reassuringly running a hand up and down his back.

Benny lets out another sigh, breath reeking of alcohol. “You’re a good distraction for him. ‘Nd I don’t mean a distraction like a bad thing. You’re… You’re very good for him. He’s had a hard life and y’know, I’m sure he’s told you. But now he’s happy again.”

Your heart hammers in your chest and you’re afraid Benny might be able to hear it. The large grandfather clock standing by the front door chimes, and you can’t read the time from this distance, but by the multiple rings, it must be midnight.

And before you can stop him from spilling, Benny shares maybe more than he should.

“Y’know with his dad. His whole family, really. His mom has capybara… no, not capybara syndrome.” Benny pauses to laugh before finishing.

“Capgras syndrome? She just wasn’t all there when he was growing up and she didn’t get the help she needed until later in… in life. Frankie was just a kid and all of his siblings were, y’know, younger than him. Plus his dad wasn’t around to help her, drunk asshole that he was probably wouldn’t have been much help anyway.”

You stare straight ahead, watching your happy goofball down below with a new view.

“So his mom was there but not really there. He hasn’t seen his dad in years, but now, he’s back around and sent Frankie a letter or some shit. I don’t know what about. But everything has just sort of sucked for him for a long time.” Benny scoffs and lays his forehead against your shoulder, muttering now. “Especially that damn letter. ‘Nd his damn dad. But you know about all of this already.”

No, you didn’t. You’re stunned into a soft silence, the hand on Benny’s back slowly falling.

“This party and you, good distractions. But Frankie told me he started having nightmares again.”

Suddenly very awake and alert, Benny sits up straight and looks you in your eyes. “Don’t let him drink too much tonight, okay? He’ll start spiraling if he thinks about this shit too much. Keep… keep being a good distraction.”

Benny pauses and clenches his stomach, his face turning a little pale. “Fuck,” He mutters as he quickly shifts onto his knees and crawls up the opposite side of the staircase, pushing himself to his feet and rushing towards the bathroom.

The buzz of the party slowly fades, like the sound of snow falling outside. It’s a silence that isn’t silence at all. Everything falls into slow motion, the confetti falling and the disco ball gleaming all halting mid-air.

You weren’t supposed to know this much, or Frankie would have told you if he wanted to. But now as you stare down the staircase to Frankie, seeing him throw his head back in laughter, it’s hard to imagine someone like him had a past like that.

Benny was drunk. Maybe he was mixing Frankie up with someone else? You didn’t know why, but instead of your usual instinct to flee, one of protection starts to come over you.

“Hey,” Frankie breathes out with a big smile, his eyes glazed over and a little red from smoking as he watches you step down the staircase.

“Hey,” you say with little to no masking of your emotions.

He tilts his head adorably and rests his hand on your hip, pulling you in closer to him. “You alright?”

After nodding quickly with wide eyes, you know it’s more important for Frankie to believe nothing is wrong.

“Yeah! Yeah, all good. Do you think we could head out soon? I’m getting pretty tired, worked a double and all.”

Frankie smiles and pulls his truck keys out of his dark blue jeans, doing the responsible thing and putting them into your very capable hands. “If you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s go.”

He’s cross-faded for sure. At one point on the drive home, Frankie hung his head out of the passenger-side window and stared at the stars, giggling, as the wind whipped his face. But he never let go of your hand.

The exhaustion from the night seems to hit you both once you return to the comfort of his apartment, a small orange fluffball hopping off the couch to run his body against your lower calf.

“Hi, Leo,” Frankie whispers, squatting down to gently scratch the cat’s chubby cheeks.

After stripping your clothes and turning on his television in the bedroom, the lull of a sitcom settles him into slumber. You lay with Frankie in bed, his arms slung low around your waist and his head nuzzled into your chest. He snores quietly as Leo curls up between you two.

Sleep seems to escape you, because every time you close your eyes, you picture a young Frankie with a tortured past. A shit father, a not all there mother. How was he so seemingly pieced together as an adult?

With one hand gently stroking his hair and massaging his scalp, you use the other to search capgras syndrome on your phone.

The National Institutes of Health describes it as, the most prevalent delusional misidentification syndrome and is characterized as a delusion of doubles. Patients falsely believe that an identical person has replaced a person close to him or her… CS symptoms may result in intrapersonal and interpersonal conflicts, along with poor social relationships. An individual with this kind of disorder is prone to self-harm and violence. There are also implications for the patient's family, as the stress on the caregiver and stigma-related stressors could further compound the issue.

Clicking the lock on your phone as fast as you can, you shakily sigh and wrap your arms tighter around Frankie.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard of and Frankie was at the center of it all. It felt like your stomach bottomed out thinking of what he had seen.

Was his mother ever violent with him? Or to herself?

And this letter from his father that Benny mentioned, what did it say?

You manage to exhaust yourself to sleep, but it doesn’t last long.

Frankie sweats bullets, his body rustling against the bedsheets that now make him feel confined. His heart hammers against his chest and pounds in his ears.

These dreams would be just dreams if they were happy, but there’s nothing happy about what he sees.

On a stormy night, his mother cries. The sobs fill the house, his younger sister fears it’s a ghost by the shaky howling that sways down the hallways to their bedrooms.

“It’s okay,” his uncertain voice reverbs as he fluffs her light pink princess pillow and tucks a lilac quilt over her small body. He smiles convincingly and closes the doors to his closet.

He walks alone down the dark hallway, his eyes anxiously peering from left to right. He spies his father downstairs drinking alone at the dining room table. The glass bottle shimmers as lightning strikes outside.

Is he passed out or impossibly still?

His mother lets out another wail.

“Goddammit,” his father curses to himself, shaking his head and finding a coat from the closet before slipping outside and into the rain.

It’s okay, Frankie thinks, because it’s easier to take care of her when he’s not around to intervene.

With a breath of relief, little ten-year-old Frankie walks downstairs and gets a glass of water. He’s so scared, his hands won’t stop shaking. No matter how much he tries to fill his lungs with air, the shaking doesn’t stop. Dribbles of water slide down his hand and wrap around the outside of his tiny wrist.

He follows the cries with hesitant steps, lightly pushing open the door to his mother’s bedroom.

“Mom?” He asks into the dark, his voice soft and squeaky.

“No! No, get out!” Her cries have turned to yelling, scrabbling up to the top of the bed and flushing her back against the bed frame.

“It’s me, mom, Frankie,” he whispers, slowly walking forward with an arm extended with the water.

She lets out another wail and shakes her head, causing Frankie to lurch back. He thinks the lightning strikes and the thunder booming outside is scaring her, and all he wants to do is soothe her panic.

“D-do you want some water?” He asks as she sniffs, her wide and unblinking eyes enough to keep him awake at night.

In a wake of reality, she wipes her face and whimpers. “Is that really you, Francisco?”

His bottom lip trembles as he nods feverishly. “Yeah mommy, it’s me.” Can’t you see it’s me?

She slowly lowers the covers that she had previously clutched to her chest, nodding slowly. But then she freezes again, horrified, unconvinced.

“I-It’s not you.” She says with uncertainty, shuddering at another clap of thunder.

“Momma,” he whispers as he moves closer, reaching out and touching her arm as he stands at her bedside. “Drink some water, momma.”

He offers the glass, her eyes shifting from Frankie to the glass and back.

“No-no! Your smile is bigger! That’s not my Frankie, his smile is bigger! Stay away from me!” She yelps, harshly smacking the glass of water out of his hands. Frankie jumps but can’t pull away, the grip of her hand wrapping around his wrist burns.

“You need to stay away from me, you hear me? Stay away from my family!”

Frankie tries to pull away, his own tears sprinkling along his eyes as he yanks yanks yanks and finally he’s free, running out of her room as adrenaline pumps through his little body. He quickly closes her door on the way out, sobbing erratically as he runs to the safety of the staircase, black funneling around his imagery.

Frankie’s eyes pop open, feeling the tight hold of your arms like the one of his mother. He shoots up and pushes your arms off, seeing your sleepy eyes tiredly open.

“Frankie?” You whisper, soft eyes meeting his own.

Fear still possesses him, it was overwhelming like a heavy weight sitting on his chest. It was all-encompassing, his manifestations of terror and panic being linked to the feeling of being chased by something from his past.

“It’s me, it’s me!” He shouts, his throat feeling like something was clawing at it.

You nod your head and reach out for his arm to which he instinctively rips away from you.

“It’s me!” He shouts again, causing Leo to scurry off the bed. His stomach felt uneasy, dread pounding a dent into his head.

“I know it’s you, I know it’s you, Frankie,” you breathe out, pushing yourself up fully as you take his hand and reassuringly squeeze.

He swallows down an impossibly large lump in his throat, catching his breath seems impossible. He couldn’t escape it, overwhelming helplessness nesting itself deep inside. It’s always the same nightmare or similar variants from his childhood. He used to think that he had blocked them out, shoved them away to a teeny tiny part inside him, locked away inside a vault. But recently, they’ve been coming back in swarms.

The reality that his nightmare is over suddenly hits him and his back slumps weakly. Like a human no longer possessed, his physical existence slowly turning from mush back to something concrete. Suddenly, a sense of relief washes over him. It wasn’t real, he was safe, he was with you.

“Frankie, you’re crying,” you whisper, slowly moving your hand up to wipe away the streams on his cheeks.

Frankie’s shaky hand holds yours, tight, and brings it to his heart, letting you feel the impossibly strong beat.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, putting his head in his hands, “I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry,” he quickly shakes his head, feeling his body subtly relax from the strong heat that was tingling from his head to his toes.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now, it was just a bad dream.”

He knows now and he nods, but he still feels lost between his past and his present.

He shouldn’t have drank as much as he did, and he certainly shouldn’t have smoked. He knows that now, but he was hoping it would help him sleep, keep him at bay until you were gone in the morning. But now you were here and he felt so exposed, his open wounds now out and in the open.

Please don’t run.

“I’m sorry,” he says on repeat as you slowly run a hand up and down his back, his body leaning into yours and nodding; he needed this, he needed you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you whisper, “can I hold you?” You ask so sweetly, your voice dripping in kindness lined with concern.

He’s already nodding as you gently wrap your arms around his broad torso. He puts his arms over yours and sighs weakly, his fingers interlocking with yours.

Comforting energy exudes from you, the thing he desperately needs the most right now. Your soothing voice is nothing like his mother’s anguished cries, breaking him into reality with the honey drip of your sweet whispers.

“A nightmare?”

Frankie nods and closes his eyes, wiping the stray tears that still fall down his cheeks.

“I never wanted you to see me like this,” he tries to laugh, but it just comes out wrecked and thick from crying.

Why was he crying? Why couldn’t he stop crying?

Your chin rests on the dip of his shoulder and he can feel your slow breaths against his back. He aligns his wrecked breaths with your calm ones, your bodies slowly becoming in sync.

He’s so tired. He wants to close his eyes, but every time he does, he sees the flashes of lightning outside his mothers window and hears her untrusting words.

It’s not you!

You sit together like this for fifteen minutes and he’s becoming grounded again. He strokes the blankets and relaxes the clutching hold he has on your hand.

“I’m gonna get a cold washcloth, you’re burning up.” You whisper. He doesn’t want you to go, but he knows it will help - something his mother never understood. Help was good.

“Leo wants to sit with you,” you whisper as you round the bed, Leo already leaping up onto the bed and circling himself between Frankie’s parted legs.

“Sorry buddy,” he whispers, his voice raw and still shaky, but no longer feeling like he was choking on the air his body was desperately craving.

With hazy eyes, he watches your body move in his bathroom, the light making his eyes squint. Your soft legs tucked under his large t-shirt was a sight. He was definitely here again, in the present.

Benny had warned you, but nothing could have prepared you for that. But again, your usual feeling to run wasn’t here, because Frankie really fucking needed you right now. Your own concerns about this relationship were pushed aside. He needed comfort and reassurance, love where there wasn’t any before.

You soak a washcloth in cold water until your fingers turn numb under the streaming faucet. Squishing out the excess, you return to his bedside and gently dab at his neck. His honey-amber eyes have never looked so dark and lifeless.

He blinks slowly, he must be so tired. Frankie rests his hand on your upper thigh, fingers sinking into your plush flesh. He’s trying to ground himself, you think. A reminder that this was real.

“It must have been really scary,” you whisper as you bring the washcloth up to his rosy cheeks, then to his temple and across his forehead. “Does this feel good?”

He nods and squeezes your thigh reassuringly. “Really good.”

“Okay, baby.” You whisper, running the washcloth slowly down both of his arms. The cooling sensation should help him fully awaken. You rest the washcloth on the back of his neck and rest your hand on his now cool cheek.

His words ring through your ears, begging to be heard that he was real, that it was him. It was a dream about his mom, it had to be.

He lets out a breath of relief, smiling weakly. “You must think I’m insane.”

He grapples to find the right words, and you think it’s best to come clean.

“Benny told me,” you whisper, seeing his eyes harden at your truth. “About your mom, Frankie. Is that… is that what your dream was about?”

He sits impossibly still, but something in his gut must condemn him to tell you the truth. “Yeah, it was.”

You nod and run your fingers delicately across his cheek, giving him a reassuring smile. “You can tell me what you want when you’re ready. But it doesn’t scare me off, and I don’t think you’re insane.”

An exhausted breath of relief mingles between you both and he agrees. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

“My dad, he sent me a letter and the nightmares started again,” Frankie whispers, brokenheartedness laced in his words.

You press a gentle kiss to his lips, one of understanding.

“I wanna read it to you in the morning.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, nod, and kiss him again.

After making Frankie a sleepytime tea in his favorite mug, he settles back into bed. He was so vulnerable tonight when he really had no other choice. He falls asleep with his ear to your heart, and his arms wrapped loosely around your hips.

You stay awake and watch the television for as long as you can, hoping the comforting vibes of a sitcom will calm your racing heart. Gentle fingers draw shapes over Frankie’s back and you share a look with his cat. One that said you were both in this together. As the sun slowly slips across the horizon, your eyes finally close knowing this night of terrors is over.

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut

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bakugoushotwife · 1 year ago

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kinktober day twenty-six: bondage kink

>>> yeah i got filthy with this one tbh and i've never written for daddy aizawa before! i hope we enjoy this natstiness.

>>> starring: shouta aizawa x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: kinda darkish, yandere-ish like behavior from aizawa, bondage with the scarf, choking, degradation, slight angst, mc hurt and recovery, slight breeding/baby-trapping, edging, orgasm ruining, one daddy lol >>> wc: 3.2k >>> event masterlist:

this is exactly why he kept working as an underground hero. maybe if you would have listened to him and followed his lead, then he might not regret his own choice. you were popular. way more popular than you should be for the eighth ranked pro-hero, but shouta knew why. you’re the country’s sweetheart, gorgeous and funny–perfect with the press and paparazzi, so sweet to fans but oh so brutal to villains. you were the commission’s people’s princess, and he couldn’t stand it.

shouta isn’t a jealous type. he didn’t yearn to be in your shoes, after all you were constantly complaining to him about all the photoshoots and pressers and all the key-to-the-city ceremonies you had to attend. it seems like less and less of your schedule was actual hero work and the rest of it was reserved for the flashier side of the business. he didn’t wish to trade places at all. because he stayed underground—people only knew him as eraserhead, nothing about his private life—including his long-term relationship with everyone’s favorite number eight pro. he just got to go about his business, taking down his assignments without any showmanship required. he just got to keep his head down and eliminate bad guys, all before coming home to you at night.

and sure, you were ogled. talk show hosts, interviewers, your own fanbase, and even other heroes had their fair share of tries at you, but aizawa never feared. you always gave them the same apologetic grin, informing them that you weren’t single and never would be again. of course, people pry about your love life. you never betrayed shouta’s wish for privacy, always swearing that your beau was none of their concern—your hero work should speak for itself. shouta was always proud of you and the way you handled things. you were just and fair, a strong hero with good morals and you were simply unafraid of speaking your mind. if not for the…sigh, corrupt, hero society that we were currently operating under, things would be perfect.

but this was not a perfect world, and he knew that all too well. he’s watched you and other colleagues take on mismatched quirks or scenarios without enough information. it’s a tale as old as time. they make a martyr out of a low-ranking hero just to remind the rest of society how bad villains really were, like they weren’t the biggest villains out there. as badly as aizawa hated your publicity and stardom, he had hoped that it would keep you safe. you garnered so much attention and popularity for the heroes. there was no way they would put you at risk.

so the day the word reached his base, he thought he was having a nightmare. it was only when he turned on the news that his worst fears were confirmed. the camera had the perfect shot of you laying in the rubble, face scraped and bloody—unmoving. the banner below the frame read, “breaking: number eight hero taken down in shinjuku city! villain slaughtered by the brave hero; backup on the way!”

taken down? what exactly does that mean? were you dead? did they actually take you from him—all without anyone knowing how much you mean to him, how much he loves you? his face falls, and he realizes that staying underground may have been the wrong move. would they have killed him instead? would he have been there with you then, to at least keep you safe? his head is full of questions that he can’t find answers to by standing in the middle of his hq. no one understands why eraserhead looks so pale as he navigates to the tokyo hospital, though a few have sneaking suspicions as they watch your body loaded into an ambulance.

he’s there before you are, waiting to hear any news in the lobby alongside your sidekicks and work study students. he recognized a few of them as students of his own, and it made him sick all over again. why did he allow this? why didn’t he make you take underground work? why couldn’t he follow you if nothing else, becoming a part-time hero while you took on villains way out of your league. if you had someone like him with you, you wouldn’t have ever gotten hurt.

he can’t forgive himself as he looks at you hooked up to machines reading off just how close you were to death. it took you days to wake up, weeks to get out of the hospital on your own accord. shouta was there every step of the way, taking it on himself to ensure you made a full recovery. not because he would willingly let you back into this fucked set up, but because he needed you to be okay. he would never be able to forgive himself if you suffered permanent damages from this fight.

luckily, or maybe unluckily so, the love of his life is a fighter. you make physical therapy a breeze, taking strides ahead of the curve and getting back to your new normal with the help of some rest and the loving care of your boyfriend. shouta seldom left your side, though he kept hinting at a change in your professional life once your progress proves that you’re ready to put the suit back on.

“follow you underground? shouta, honey i’m the number eight. everyone’s waiting for me!” you try to reason with him. you knew it had to be hard on him to watch you at your lowest. you can’t imagine how terrified you would be if the situation was reversed, and you were the one nursing him back to health. you’d never be able to take your eyes off him again—so how can you expect him to abandon this?

“yeah i know, waiting for your return, all heroes will rally behind you and go on another villain elimination crusade.” he drawls rather annoyed. you were supposed to go back to work today–shouta’s many chides not doing the trick until he finally demanded you to stay home this morning. here you stood in your spandex suit, ready to throw your life on the line without any thought or hesitation even after you were almost killed. it makes him sick with worry. you’re brainwashed.

you bat your eyes at him, folding your arms over your chest. he watches you with a ticked brow, lazy half-lidded eyes waiting for your response. “is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

he angrily rubs at the stubble on his cheek. “yes–what actually ever comes of this? why do so many heroes die like this every year, just like you–set up to fail? you managed to escape with your life this time. but they’ll make a cause out of you, too. i cannot allow that.” he mirrors your posture, and you narrow your eyes at him this time.

“i killed that villain.” you huff indignantly. “and i’m fine, shouta. don’t pretend i am fragile.” you cock your head at him. he scoffs, looking down his nose at you.

“you are. i didn’t realize it before, but you almost died due to my overconfidence in you.” he deadpans, images of you bloody and broken flashing in his mind. “i won’t make that mistake again. beat me, and you can leave.”

it’s your turn to scoff. “excuse me? i am not fighting you, shouta—everyone gets hurt from time to time that is hardly a reason to lose faith in my abilities.” his scarf wraps around your wrist. you look at the tie and look back at him, raising and indignant brow. “really? you’re gonna play this card?”

you activate your quirk in an effort to escape his binds, purposefully moving quickly to beat your lover’s quirk. after years of being together and learning how to fight effectively against the other, you’ve learned how to avoid it—but he stays three steps ahead. his scarf keeps you from running out of view, and your quirk is gone before you can do much else but yank against his hold on your wrist. his black hair floats and his lazy eyes turn red as you roll your own. you try to throw a punch his way, your only way to win now was to make him blink. his scarf fully unravels to take you on though, catching your other wrist and tying them together in front of you.

“shouta.” you say sternly, heart racing as he proved you wrong. you couldn’t even beat someone you have battle experience on with a soft spot for you—there was no way you were ready for patrols with the possibility of engaging in battle again. you were hoping the call of his name would be enough to buy you some time, but based on the way his brow arches and he steps forward–you know he won’t be giving you any.

“you lost. i could do anything with you right now.” he pushes you back toward the bed, keeping his hold on the binds taut. “and you know me. but now you’re under my control. you know you aren’t ready.” he looks down at your form sitting on the bed, unable to fight him—unable to get away. “what would happen if i was your enemy, hm? tell me, darling. you would be finished. i could have my way with you and you couldn’t do anything to stoop it.” he tugs on the fabric around your wrists.

something about the way he says that has your bratty side kicking up like the tingling in your veins. “yeah? i’d like to see you try.” you pull back on the scarf, and he gives you a lopsided smirk. his free hand grabs your chin, lowering his face to yours.

“you have no idea what you just asked for.” he nods, smashing his lips on yours. your eyes fall closed, and you imagine he does the same based on the energy restored in your veins. you wouldn’t dare fight him now, however. shouta was right. you had no business going back to work yet, and if he got it his way, you wouldn’t return to that line of work at all. you were too precious to him and this incident was a wake up call. you are his whole life, the one thing that gives him unending happiness even on bad days. he wants to marry you—to build a life with you, and he can’t do that if you’re convinced you actually matter to this hero society. he can’t do that if villains take you from him. so if he has to embrace his inner bad guy for your greater good, then so be it. twist his arm.

his thin lips slot perfectly against yours, possessive and all-consuming like the heat that takes over your body from the touch. his stubbly chin collides with yours as his fingers search for your bundle through your skin-tight hero suit. it was annoyingly easy to find considering how the fabric clings to your every dip, and your head falls back as soon as he starts rubbing over it. he chuckles at how easy you are, though he knows that’s because of him. another benefit of the entire world wanting his girlfriend—they could want to their heart’s content. he got the real thing, and goddamn if you weren’t addicted to him, giving him free reign with you in moments like these. though this time it was borderline dangerous. you were letting him treat you like a villain after months of being without you as you rehabilitated. but as you kiss, he realizes he’s being too loving to teach you a lesson so serious. he pulls away, shoving you by the chin.

“you know what villains do with hero sluts?” he asks, his gravelly voice low and almost bored sounding juxtaposed against what he was actually saying as he circles around to your back. the tone goes straight to your core, and you have to bite on your lip to keep from responding. he pops the zipper on your uniform, dragging the pathetic excuse of armor down your body. he rearranges his scarf’s hold on you to get the annoying garment off you completely. you squirm at the air on your skin and the scarf wrapping around your neck—pulling your hands back together—over your head this time. it’s tight enough that you know struggling will get you nowhere, but he’s careful. “especially the weak ones, the pretty ones?”

you shake your head as if you don’t know where he’s going with the demonstration. he shoves your legs apart, replacing his fingertips on your now bare glistening pearl. “they make them villain toys instead, and you would be the most prized one.” he grumbles at you, watching the pinch of your brow as he rubs you expertly. “they’d play with you for hours, see what all your pretty cunt handle.” he hums, sliding around the mess you’re making. once his fingers are coated in your slick, he shoves three of them inside brutally. you scream out at the burn, writhing as his bony fingers curl into your spot so crudely you were seeing colors that didn’t have names. he tugs a little at the cloth around your neck, making you gasp at the slight squeeze. it’s all such a delicious combination, and your hips are still free to grind down on his perfectly angled digits. your pretty chest heaves as your orgasm rapidly approaches. “shouta–”

“they certainly wouldn’t let you cum.” he removes his fingers from you with a nasty little squelch. you whine at the loss, struggling against your binds in an effort to pull him closer. he licks the essence of you off his fingers, humming in approval. it drives you crazy how relaxed he looks, like edging you was just his average wednesday afternoon, but perhaps that was part of your lesson. besides, the crinkle of fondness by his eyes tells you that this is only done out of your best interest. he knows you arms must be getting tired, but he couldn’t risk not running you ragged. he pushes your thighs apart again, deciding the best way to exhaust you was with his cock. he shrugs his pants down his thighs, pumping his length in preparation for you. he was well endowed—certainly enough to punish you with. you shiver at the sound of his belt clinking against the button of his pants, waiting for the feeling of his hot thick length parting your walls. he was so weighty, curved just to abuse the spots he needs to reach. he’s well trimmed and pale like the rest of his lean form, his leaking slit betraying his cool appearance. he looks up at you with disdain, clearly still annoyed that he had to tame you like this anyway. he’d much rather let you free, letting you touch and enjoy him just as he does to you, but it it seems you’re more stubborn than he thought.

he shoves your legs up to your ears, giving you all of his length without pause or warning. “they’d never be careful” he grunts, squeezing the back of your plush thighs at the same time you vice grip his dick. his scarf tightens around your neck, finally constricting some of your air as he pulls out, sending you reeling when he plunges back into the hilt, repeating this and tightening his scarf every time. you moan out embarrassingly loud. in a way, you had already agreed to your partner’s wishes by letting him have his way with you, as he put it earlier. he knew this too of course, as he certainly couldn’t treat you any real way a villain would, and he knows you would love this far too much to consider it a lesson by any means.

not like he’s complaining, though this is more work than he would regularly like to put in, it sure is worth it to see your tongue loll out of your mouth and eyes roll back behind those pretty lids. he finally sets a steady pace, rocking into you evenly with an extra shove at the end to kiss your cervix. the squeeze on your throat was so stimulating, giving your head just the right amount of dizziness—his cock strokes your walls in such a mouthwatering way you know you won’t even be able to warn him about your orgasm this time. he’s smart enough to know it’s coming with the way your pussy flutters around him, little whines tumbling from your lips like a promise that you’d never leave the safety of this house again. he lets you tumble off the edge this time, watching your legs jump once before removing himself from you completely, letting his scarf wrap back around him for a brief moment. you cry out at the ruined orgasm, staring at him with contempt. he smiles in amusement.

“oh, you’re mistaken. weak little heroes like you are in no position to give such attitude.” he shakes his head in disappointment, his scarf descending again to roll you over and take your wrists behind your back. you have no choice but to bury your cheek in the bed as shouta positions your hips where he wanted them. you squeal out when he plows back in, the angling has your toes curling and mouth drooling. “at least this hero slut has good pussy.” he drawls, giving your ass a light spank. “probably the only thing that would keep you alive out there.” he groans as you clamp down on him again, making him grin. you clearly enjoy his dirty talk–evident by your slutty moans and spasming cunt. “think you should finally get to cum, little hero?”

you nod rapidly, whimpering loud. “please daddy, wanna stay your hero whore~” you say so sweetly that even a man as detached as shouta aizawa couldn’t deny you when he’s supposed to be the bad guy. he nods, letting your arms go.

“then do it, show me what a slut i have. maybe i’ll breed her and make her stay home.” he grunts, feeling you clench him and yell out for the last time. your vision burns white as you let yourself sink into the overwhelming ocean of pleasure that’s been denied to you for so long hitting you all at once. you sputter out whines and moans, giving his cock a pretty ring of your creamy release. his head falls back at the sight, black hair sticking to the sweat he’s worked up. he can’t hold it off any longer, pelvis still against your ass as he empties his load, balls drawing up to give you everything. you nod contently, feeling the warmth seep through your core. his scarf withdraws completely—not before pulling your hair to one side so he could see your blissed out face.

“don’t go back to work.” he pants, feeling up the curve of your back as he softens inside you. “can’t get that close again.” he nods, finding your eyes. you sigh softly, rolling to your back as he gets something to clean you up with.

“guess i gotta since you’re burying loads in me now.” you snicker, and he holds the towel out of reach to tease you, expression bored—though one corner of his mouth creeps up. he hopes it takes, nothing would distract you from your lack of career like a new one.

#kylee's kinktober event #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kyleewritesmha #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta #mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa sensei #aizawa smut #shouta aizawa smut

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dekus-naughty-dikon · 2 years ago

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You’ll kill for me?

Izuku Midoriya x Female Reader

TW:Mention of kidnapping, blood, sex, r*pe, murder, details of murder, and anything else I forget.

SMUT ONESHOT, mentions ‘daddy’ and other kinks. My first smut and oneshot Im sorry.

I don’t own this art and idk who did it I’m sorry.

Now imagine Izuku coming home late at night covered in blood that ain’t his. Some will say “I would freak out”, but you simply go

“Hey Izu, why are you covered in blood are you okay?” you go and check to see any injuries. You don’t see none but he starts to chuckle.

“I’m fine puppy, why are you still up?” he says as he pushes the hair in his eyes back. He’s looking at you with adoration but also concern as you never stay up this late, I mean it’s 3 am. Who would stay up that late when they have work in the morning?

“I- I was worried about you, and you know I don’t like sleeping without you,” you say quietly, still trying to find out where the blood came from. Little did you know, he knows why you aren’t asleep. Yes, you don’t like sleeping without and worrying about him, but you were kidnapped not even two weeks ago by an unknown man. He did terrible things to you trying to find out Izuku’s- the number one pro hero- weaknesses. His thinking it was you was a huge mistake on his part. You aren’t his weakness. You are his strength, and why he wakes up every morning. You’ve been having nightmares and suffering from PTSD since they found you. Izuku asked you to move in with him not even an hour after he found you- you all being together for two years, it was understandable. Now you’ve been living with him, and he’s been helping you through your trauma and nightmares. He is there to protect you, and it’s why you can’t sleep without him. You worry about him not only because he’s Japan's number one pro hero but because you love him dearly. You are a little obsessed, but you find it healthy as he is your hero and love. It is healthy- until someone gets in the way of you two being together- or until someone hurts you or him. You become unhinged and forget your natural morals as you don’t want to lose the only person you have left. You didn’t know he was the same way.

“Puppy, you know I’ll come home. Always. Tell me the real reason you are up?” he looks at you with a soft stern look, making sure not to scare you like he does others.

“I- I did tell you, are you hungry? Have you eaten?” you say, trying to change the subject and not get caught in a half lie. You haven’t eaten being so worried about him, and you barely eat anything due to your fear and anxiety due to your trauma. It has affected you greatly, but you try and hide it. You can’t hide anything from Izuku tho, though he is very observant. He sees right through you hiding your fear and pretending to be okay. He knows what that man did to you, and every second of every day since he found out you’ve been kidnapped, his anger grows. It’s like a hot flame that won’t go out even when you pour water on top of it. The only thing that can take out this flame is you being with him, safe and happy. You are safe and comfortable but scared and traumatized. You’ve been going through stages of depression for years now, and this has made it worse, even if you don’t admit it. He sees it all, though, and it makes him angrier at the people who have hurt you in the past and the man who hurt you recently. That man had no right to touch what was his, you.

“Now, puppy, no changing the subject. No, I haven’t eaten yet, but I was going to after I showered,” he says softly but sternly. “Have you eaten?” he looks at you up and down, seeing if any signs of malnutrition are there. You have gotten skinnier since the kidnapping, but you also became weaker physically. Do to the things that man has done.

“I-um…” you hesitate. You hate lying to him. You know if you lie, he will find out the truth. Even if he doesn’t get angry with you but tries and talk to you about why you should eat- sleep- or do anything to keep yourself healthy, you are scared one day he will snap at you as your past exes have. Like your mother and father did when you were a child, like your foster parents, or the kids you went to school with.

You look down at your feet, thinking of how to change the subject, but with your luck, your stomach growls. You go wide-eyed but quickly return to normal as you don’t want to give away what you haven’t eaten.

“I’ll take that as a no, baby; look at me, please,” he says quietly and softly. He tilts your head up by the chin and looks at you in the eyes. Your eyes help him see everything he needs, they help him calm down, and they are like stars in the night sky to him- beautiful. “Baby, why haven’t you eaten? What was the last thing you ate today?” he asked curiously and was full of concern.

“I- I ate some yogurt and fruit this morning after you left. I guess I just forgot to eat again,” you say. Your lips quiver in guilt as you hate doing this to him. Hate seeing him so concerned with you- and for what? Because you haven’t eaten or slept. “I’m sorry-“Before you could even finish your apology, he kissed you softly. It’s the only way to get you to stop talking when you are feeling like this. Kissing and holding you tight is the only way to help you see he isn’t angry or upset- he loves you with everything in him and wants you to be okay.

“No apologies, puppy. I’m not angry or upset, okay.” He looks at you softly and lovingly. “How about we go shower and eat something, okay? Then we can cuddle and try and sleep,” he says softly.

“O-Okay. But you never told me why you are covered in blood. Is it yours?” you say, wiping away the tears that were about to fall. You look over him closer and realize he isn’t hurt, not one scratch or bruise. You become concerned about what happened for him to be covered in blood like this.

“Don’t worry ab-“Before you can even finish, you stop him.

“No, tell me please,” you say desperately. You want to know, and curiosity is eating at you now. “I just want to know, Izu, you never come home this late without calling- even with your hero work. Let alone come home covered in blood,” you say. You start worrying more and more as he won’t tell you.

“Puppy, if I tell you- you might see me differently,” he says quietly and sadly. He takes his fingers off your chin, making you sad, but you ignore that for now. You are more concerned about why he thinks you might see him differently.

“What? You know I can never see you in any other way than I have- I always have. You know I love you.” you say with a small laugh. You are trying to help him see you will be okay with anything he tells you as long as he’s okay.

“You- you wouldn’t look at me the same. You might become scared of me and lea-“He starts the last part, but you shut him up with a kiss. You pull him closer, not caring if you get blood on you. It wouldn’t be the first time you were covered in blood for him anyways.

“Hush!” you say after the deep kiss. You say this loudly, which is very rare for you. It causes him to go wide-eyed and look at you in shock. You never speak louder than an inside voice- speaking this loud means you are serious about this and want to know. That or you got upset about what he was saying, if not both.

“I will never leave you, Izuku. I love you more than anything, and I will never be scared of you, understand?” You say sternly. Which is even more of a shock to him- and honestly, a turn-on. “Tell me please, I want to know Izuku,” you saying his name like this makes him want to kiss you deeply and never let you go, but it also makes him sad that you are getting upset with him enough to call him his full name.

“I.. I killed someone.” he whispered. He backs up and turns his back towards you. You look at him in shock- him killing someone? Never. You seen him get angry at villains before but never seen him at a point where you thought he would kill them. “I killed him Y/N. The man who hurt you. The man who-“ he stops for a moment to collect his words, “the man who kidnapped, tortured, and r*ped you. I killed him, happily. I was so happy when I did it. I was so happy when I found him finally. I would do it again for you- I will always do ANYTHING for you.” he says loudly and sternly. He tries and speaks softly with you always but right now he is so scared of what you might do he forgets everything.

You look at him, his back still facing toward you. You were shocked but had butterflies. Did he kill someone for you? All because they hurt you. You didn’t care he brought up what happened, and you didn’t care he mentioned what the horrible man had done to you. You just cared about him. The fact he killed someone for you makes you blush and have a belly full of butterflies. It makes your heart jump out of your chest with happiness and love. Sure, anyone would be scared hearing that, but you? You killed multiple people for him. The people that dared lay a finger on your man and get away with it. The women who try and get in between you, too- you don’t hesitate. Like him, you are happy when you do it and would do it again. You never told him as he is a hero, and murder is a crime.

You walk closer to him, which he hears and tenses up. He is scared of what you will say and do. He doesn’t want to lose you- he would go crazier than he already has. When he feels you behind him, he slowly turns around halfway but doesn’t look in your direction. His hands are in fists as he tries to control his fear tears.

“Look at me, please,” you say quietly and softly, which shocked him but made him more scared as you might leave him like this. He slowly turns his head towards you and looks you in the eyes. You see the fear and anger of mentioning that man again in his eyes. He, right now, is blind by fear and can’t tell what you are thinking or feeling.

“How? How did you kill him?” you say softly and curiously. This made him hesitate, but he was shocked. He isn’t going to hope you will stay because who will remain with a murderer? Yeah, who would stay with a murderer?

“I- I tortured him,” he whispered, looking done. He can’t make eye contact with you telling you this. “I stabbed him, choked him, everything someone does in a torture chamber. I got creative with some of it, but most of it was to see him in pain, like the pain he caused you,” he says, trying not to smile or smirk when thinking of that man’s face in agony.

“Oh, wow,” you say a little louder. What shocked him was you sounded interested- you had wide eyes and a slight smile, but he was still looking down, so he didn’t see this and got scared. “Did he beg?” that made him look up quickly. That’s when he saw the wide eyes and slight smile you were trying to hide.

“Yes,” he says carefully. Trying to examine your reaction, but he was too confused and blind by fear still to understand anything you were expressing. “Yes, he begged, like a bitch.”

“Good,” you say. He goes wide-eyed as your smile is clearer to see, and you hug him tightly.

“W-what? You aren’t mad or upset?” he says, still shell-shocked at what is happening.

You stop the close hug just enough to look him in the eyes. “No, why would I be?” you ask curiously. You see nothing wrong with killing someone for the person you love most.

“I-I killed someone-“ he says, wide eyes and shocked still.

“Yes, and I’ve killed for you,” you say quietly, like telling a secret.

He goes wide-eyed, looking at you. He never thought you, out of all people, could be capable of murder. It all runs through his head, and some things start to connect. The secretary that went missing after locking herself and him in the bathrooms at his agency, trying to have sex with him knowing he was taken. The couple of girls at the coffee shop grabbed his ass when he went in to check on things turned up dead- murdered brutally-actually. The villain who stabbed him during a mission in Tokyo died in his jail cell. Everyone who has landed a hand on him in a harmful or nonconsensual way- dead or missing still. You killed them- brutally. Tortured them just because they put their hands on your man. His shock suddenly goes into lust and love as he looks at your eyes and face.

“You- you have?” he questioned. That is a dumb question if you ask yourself. He looked at your eyes and lips, begging for an answer.

“Yes, and I would do it again in a heartbeat,” you say calmly. To anyone else, it would be creepy, but to him, it was beautiful and sexy. He quickly catches your lips with his- kissing you softly but urgently. Never would he thought you would kill for him- this isn’t the first person he’s killed for you. Won't be the last.

“Fuck,” he whispered after you two separated for a breather. “Tell me how, baby, please,” he says lowly and quietly, ready to kiss you again. He pulls you closer, not caring about a single thing- not his clothes- not the blood all over him- nothing.

“I mean, you read their autopsies, right?” you look at him, questioning. He smirks and kisses you again roughly, but it ends as he speaks again.

“Yeah- I wanna hear it from you. That beautiful mouth of yours, And I’ll tell you how I’ve killed the others that dared lay a hand on you,” he whispers in your ear. It gives you tingles and causes you to shiver. Has he killed more people for you? This turned you on more than you thought it would. You jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist and staring into his eyes, smiling.

“Izu, you’ve killed multiple people for me?” you say as you look at him, getting closer to his lips, “that’s sexy, baby,” you whisper as you kiss him, in which he grabs your ass to hold you up and pushes his tongue past your lips.

Now tongues swirling around each other, sloppy kissing, and him grabbing your ass with your legs around his waist and arms around his neck to have him as close as possible. It becomes heated quickly, as you two haven’t had sex since before the kidnapping- him wanting to give you time- and you being too traumatized to think of anything like this. But now, you two have found out each other's dirty little secret and are as turned on for each other as animals in mating season.

He puts one of his hands in your hair and deepens the kiss even more, walking slowly to the bathroom. When he sits you on the sink counter, you gasp, giving him more access to your mouth. Tongue deep in your throat, you moan when he tugs on your hair in the right spot. He stops to breathe but only briefly as his lips find their way to your neck- leaving love bites and his marks all over your soft sweet skin. He soon discovers the sweet spot and sucks like a leech; making your moan louder. You are a panting, heaving, moaning mess when he stops and rips off your shirt. Seeing you aren’t wearing a bra- as you were going to go to sleep when he arrived home safely- he latches onto one of your nipples and flicks his tongue rapidly. Squeezing the other and sucking on your other nipple, he moans onto your nipple when you start to grind against his dick. Oh, how hard he is for you and how you love it. He stops just for a few seconds to catch his breath.

“Tell me, baby,” he says, kissing your neck, “tell me how you killed those bitches.” He speaks into your skin and starts to suck, leaving more of his marks.

“I- I had to find out where they lived first,” you say, panting a little from the sensation of his lips on your skin. “Then I just waited till they were alone to sneak in. Dumb whores didn’t lock their windows.” You giggle a little remembering how the dumb ass girls didn’t lock their windows at night and how the men were so easy to find.

You hear him chuckle into your neck, “Oh? Now that isn’t very smart of them,” he says, licking over a new mark he just left.

“They didn’t know how to fight either. It was easy dragging them out of their soft little beds and tying them up. The men, not so much, so I just knocked them out.” you say as you are a panting moaning mess. He licks down your breast to your belly button sucking and leaving marks all the way, “I used things they had, like their knives and other things that can cause damage. One had a fun crowbar.” you giggle. “Most of them didn’t last long enough when I was cutting each of their fingers off and passed out, but the ones who did last had some interesting words to say to me. It was so funny and fun hearing them beg and curse at me,” you say, stopping and gasping as you feel your shorts being ripped off. Izuku lays you back to pull your panties off with his teeth. Sucking and licking each part he goes by. You were lost in his eyes as they looked at you, pulling your panties down.

“Awe go on, baby, I wanna hear what all you did to those son of bitches.” he says as he licks your pelvic bone down to your thigh. He sucks the inside of your thigh, leaving marks near your sweet little sex, stopping and hovering, waiting for you to start talking again.

“I-I stabbed most of them, but the ones who hurt you-“ you stopped and gasped when you felt his tongue run up and down your slit. Back arching a little and watching him lick slowly up and down against your sex makes you quiver and shake. “The ones who hurt you- I-I, fuck, I made sure they felt every inch of what I cut and sliced them with. Some passed out when I got to their toes, but some lasted till I cut off their hand. Chopping them up was-“ you stop as he starts to suck on your clit but then continue, “so fun knowing what they have done to you. Their blood made puddles, and they whined like little bitches.” you start to moan uncontrollably as he sucks and fingers you with two fingers rapidly.

He moans into your sex, and his tongue flicks up and down rapidly and skillfully. “Mm puppy, you taste so fucking good,” he says into your sex which causes vibrations. It makes your back arch even more and pant.

“Come on baby, cum for me,” he says in a low tone voice that causes more vibrations to your sex. When he sucks on your clit again and arches his fingers up to hit your sweet spot, you cum instantly on his face. Lose all focus on anything else, just the feeling of his tongue and fingers inside you. He licks up all the cum from you, sitting up and pulling you close to him.

“Good girl,” he says against your lips as he kisses you. You taste yourself as he roughly kisses you. “Such a good girl for me. Even killed people for me,” he says lowly into your mouth. You grip his shirt, letting him know you want it off. He smiles and pulls off his shirt showing his chest and abs. All those scars turn you on more than you already were.

“Come on, baby, how about we shower? I’m not saying we are finished, but that bastard's blood is starting to get aggravating, and I don’t want his blood anywhere near my girl,” he says, lifting you from the counter to have you stand on the floor. You pull him from the rim of his pants to the shower, which he happily follows. Getting to the shower, you undo his pants, which he slides off in a heartbeat with his underwear.

His length is seeping precum and hard, but he knows he can wait. He doesn’t want that bastard's blood getting on you. Starting the shower, grabbing a loaf to scrub him off, you can’t stop looking into his eyes. He hasn’t looked away from you once, and when you look at him, all you see is him looking at you with adoration and love. Finishing scrubbing the last bit of blood off of him, he starts to wash you with a different loaf slowly and softly. Being very gentle around you injures that bastard caused you. They are healed, but he doesn’t want to risk anything. When he gets to your sex, he puts the loaf down, knowing you are sensitive, slowing and sensually washing your sex but not without fingering you in the process. His chest against your back and your ass against his dick, he fingers your slowly, going faster with each moan you let out.

“Have to make sure every,” he thrust his fingers into roughly but not to the point it hurts,” part,” thrust,” of that body,” thrust, “is clean.” he thrust rapidly into you, now making your back arch and you moan and pant leaning back against him. “Right baby?” he asks knowing he won’t get an answer.

“D-daddy,” you moan, putting a hand against the wall and the other in his hair. You grind against his dick, making him grunt.

Right when you were about to cum her stops and takes his fingers out, making you cry out a whine. “Shh baby, you’ll get to cum. But does my good girl want to make daddy cum first?” he lowly says in your ear.

“Ye-yes, Daddy,” you say as you turn around to kiss him; he kisses back roughly and grabs your ass. You kiss down his neck, leaving marks and bites on his skin, licking the scars on his cheek and abs.

Getting onto your knees, you stare at his length, he is much bigger than average, and you love it. To you, it was a gut wrecker. You look up at him, seeing him look down at you and pet your hair. You start to do kitten licks on his head, which makes him grunt and groan.

“Don’t tease me now, baby. That ain’t nice,” he says lowly with a grunt.

You start to suck his head just as he likes, slowly going down and deepthroating him. He grunts in pleasure and grabs your hair just right. You bobbing your head up and down slowly and sucking ever so tenderly makes him wild. He throws his head back, feeling so much pleasure he can barely breathe right. You always know how to suck him right, and he loves it.

“Fuck. Good girl, so good at sucking my cock.” he moans. He grabs your hair tighter and starts to throat fuck you slowly and rough to the point it hits the back of your throat.

“Such,” thrust, “a good,” thrust, “cock sucker,” thrust. He thrust into your mouth, repetitively groaning. Tears start to run down your face, and all you hear is the slurping sound you make, sucking his dick. “Yeah? You like sucking daddy’s cock?” he groans. You suck a little hard to let him know you say yes. He grunts more and thrusts, becoming more sloppy, “fuck I’m going to cum,” he says, thrusting faster into your mouth.” Swallow it like a good cocksucker.” he says. Thrusting more, he then cums down your throat, throwing his head back and moaning. “Fuck.”

When he takes his dick out of your mouth, you show him all the cum you will swallow. This makes him groan and become more turned on by the second. He picks you up and wraps your legs around him putting your back against the shower wall.

Kissing you, he wraps his hand around your breast and squeezes them right. “You want daddy to fuck you now? Or do you need more time, baby? I understand if you do.” he says softly, rubbing his thumb against your cheek and looking you so lovingly in the eyes.

“Please,” you say. “Please fuck me, Daddy,” you say quietly. You want him as much as he wants you, and nothing will stop you from having your man.

“Mmm fuck baby,” he says and kisses you, “you sure? I don’t want you to feel rushed or anything.” He says sweetly, he cares too much about you to rush you into things like this, and he understands if you want to say no.

“Please, Daddy. I want you so bad,” you say louder but not too much louder than usual. He looks you in the eyes one last time until he starts kissing you roughly but tenderly again. He lifts you so he can line up his dick with your entrance. Slowly pushing you onto his dick, you both moan at the feeling. Inch by inch, you lower on his dick till it’s inside you.

“Fuck. You feel so good,” he moans. “Tell me when to start moving, okay puppy?” he grunts—kissing you sweetly and waiting for your okay. Once you give the OK, he slowly thrusts in and out of you, not wanting to hurt you. You both moan and look into each other eyes. Never would you think you would have sex with someone as yandere as you. You love that he killed someone for you. You love, he would kill for you. To you, it’s the biggest turn-on, and to him, it is too. Both of you think about how lucky you two are to have each other. You love each other more than life itself, and nothing can or will change that.

“F-faster, Daddy,” you moan. He then starts to thrust faster and faster. He was soon going as fast and hard as he could. You become a moaning mess as he hits your sweet spot repeatedly. “Daddy! Fuck!” you moan.

“Yeah? You like it when daddy fucks you like this?” he grunts as he fucks as fast as he can, “Fuck, such a good girl taking all-, “ he moans, “of my fucking cock.” he moans and groans as he fucks you. He loves watching your face twist in pleasure; he loves hearing your moans as his dick is deep inside you.

“G-gonna cum, Daddy,” you moan and arch your back. You moan as he pulls your hair and sucks your neck and breast.

“Fuck.” he is now pounding into you at an inhuman speed, gripping your hair and ass. Sucking on your breast as you moan for him and clench around him. “Good girl- cum for daddy- cum for daddy,” he says and moans throwing his head back as he feels himself getting close. “Be a good little cumslut and come for daddy,” he says.

That was your final straw as you came instantly clawing his back and moaning into his ear. He loves every second of you clawing and moaning as it makes him cum deep inside you. “Fuck, that’s my fucking girls, that’s my-“ he breaths heavily, “girl.” he finishes his compliment and kisses you sweetly and tenderly. Not wanting to take it out of you like it’s his favorite place to be.

You breathe heavily and lay your head on his chest. In which he happily accepts and kisses the top of your head.

“Good girl, I love you so much, puppy,” he says as he kisses your head and holds you tighter. He pulls out of you, saving you still in his arms, and putting you towards the water, he rinses the cum off and out of you. After he turns off the shower, he lays both of you down in the bed, not worrying about clothes.

You cuddle more into his chest, happy he is lying with you and finally home. You are worn out from worrying, crying, panicking, and loving sex. He is, too, but he is also worn out from dealing with an issue before coming home to you. He is happy you accepted what he did and who he is, as well as glad you are the same type of crazy as him. He never wants to let you go and never wants to lose you. You are His light in the darkness and will forever be that light that never goes out.

“Come on, baby, make some ramen and watch a movie. We can sleep when we are done eating, okay?” he says quietly into your ear—looking at you as you look up.

“Okie, can we watch a Marvel movie?” you ask with big puppy eyes.

He chuckles as he figures it would be Marvel or Godzilla. “of course, baby, what else would we watch?”

THANK YOU AHHH… okay it took me a couple of hours but I finished it. My god that was something to write right off the top of my head at 3 am.

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max1461 · 1 month ago

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Yeah my entirely subjective, personal impression of the BAP/koryos stuff is that it appeals to... this desire to like "run around with the boys", right, like, get all the boys together and release your inhibitions and run around causing mayhem. Uh. This is imo a gender neutral thing but BAP presents it as gendered. Anyway. That's like the uh, playground psychology that seems to be on display here.

Except my playground psychology was that I wanted to wander around by myself and look at plants/cocoons/weird sticks/etc., and I always felt some mixture of confusion and disgust at what I perceived at the time as like, the sweaty writhing mass of other kids. Uh. Needless to say I lack the koryos drive. It's not running around in the woods that I take issue with, but running around in the woods with a group. At most a single treasured woods-running partner who I've cultivated a one-on-one relationship with for many years please. No group running for me please.

Like, another manifestation of this, and I've talked about this before, is that I've never been part of a friend group. All the important relationships in my life are wholly one-on-one and have been since the beginning. My best friends have each met each other like, once or twice in 8(?) or so years of knowing them. I don't do this on purpose it's just how I tend to operate.

Anyway, right. I would hate BAPworld not just because I think it doesn't make any sense morally speaking, but also because organizing society around "running around and getting wild with the boys" is like, my fucking nightmare scenario. Or, not a nightmare actually. Because uh the playground was always organized around that, right, koryos-ethics are what emerge on the playground. And I never hated it or anything, I was just completely disinterested. I had my own more important stuff to think about and little interest in joining the big writhing mass.

As an aside, I've also talked on here about how I was never bullied, and how in fact people are (irl at least) essentially never mean to me in any capacity. Uh. And I think this is why. Somehow I have just the right mix of politeness + disinterest in the social games of others that they lack a foothold. I think as a kid (and possibly even up to the present day) I gave the impression of someone who, if you were mean to me, would just kind of go somewhere else and do my own thing largely unbothered. And I gave that impression because that was 100% true; the few times I recall someone doing something that seemed actively pointed to me as a kid I remember basically just walking off and it never amounting to anything further.

This all might make it sound like I hate socializing or something, but as an adult that's not really true. As a kid I admit I didn't have that much interest in interacting with people my own age, but as an adult I like socializing quite a lot. It's just, uh. Well I think I have a decidedly different attitude towards social interaction than most people do, although how it's different is difficult to pinpoint. I find myself really disinterested in social games, status jockeying and whatnot; not unable to see it happening but just emotionally unmoved by it, not concerned with the outcome or with participating myself. I think this is definitely a good thing and has saved me inordinately many headaches over the years. On the other hand I the pleasantries of socializing; I like small talk and I like getting to know people, finding out what they're interested in and how they feel about things. I kind of just feel positively towards everybody at a baseline level. But it'll usually take a year or more of knowing somebody before I decide like, ok we're actually friends-friends and not just acquaintances. I guess that's fairly normal.

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ashs-cardboard-box · 4 months ago

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Undead Nightmare 2

~ Van Der Linde gang/Male!Reader

~ Platonic

~ 4k words

CW: Gore and disturbing imagery

I'm back !!!! I hope you enjoy :33 I have a few WIP fics I'm working on, along with the long awaited requests. I'm thinking abt making this a "series" of sorts (I <3 Undead Nightmare)

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In the ripe year of 1899, it was as if a new plague had just infected the entire nation– who knew how Nuevo Paraíso was doing. No one knew how it came about. One day, everything was completely fine. The sun rose and fell all the same. The people going about their normal lives without a care in the world. The next, everyone had some sort of illness, it seemed. The animals grew emaciated, more dead than alive, making it hard to find living food. Odd phenomena showed up, like THE walking sasquatch. Due to the rumors that they ate babies, you made sure to put them down before they could.

The dead were rising out of their graves, you were sure you saw your mama come back, right before she took another bullet to the back of her skull. People were killing one another left and right, fighting for their lives.

Dutch had kept everyone on their toes more than usual. Hardly even unpacking before trying to move to another camp. Everyone was scared shitless, as well as confused and partly upset. Surely, it was just mass hysteria. That was what you would assume, if you hadn’t just killed another walking corpse hobbling through the trees at the smell of human flesh.

“Well, what the hell’s wrong with ‘em?” You hear Dutch press gruffly, earning a confused sputter from the undoubtedly inebriated Reverend. Your eyes flick around the trees along the edge of camp warily, trying to find more of those undead freaks. Unable to find any, you shuffle a bit more inward to the center of camp, one rifle in hand, the other on your back.

“I thought you were supposed to be a priest.” Micah remarks sarcastically, as if he had any ground to stand on for morality’s sake, you roll your eyes. You weren’t too sure how it happened, you saw them die right after the Blackwater heist had failed.

Yet, here they were, young Jenny, Mac, and Davey. All tied together in the middle of camp, growling and hissing as Swanson attempts to anoint them with a flask, flicking whatever liquid happens to be inside that thing, but it’s definitely not Holy water.

“Damn, they stink..” Lenny grimaces. His eyes flick over to you as you approach the group before they return to the undead trio. “No better than you or the O’Driscoll.” Bill adds. Normally, it was a comment that would’ve gotten a chuckle, at the expense of the boy, Kieran, you learned, with whom had been practically kidnapped back in Colter.

Everyone was up to their ears in stress, really. The Pinkertons were less of a concern than the rotting bodies that piled in the streets. Add that to the list of trying to keep twenty people alive. It was pretty unanimously decided to send the women and Jack away, board them up someplace with one of the men to protect them. John just so happened to be that man..until he rotates responsibility to someone new, that is.

The gang was tighter than you’d ever seen before, despite joining not too long after Charles had. Trying to protect each other from the horrors that had become society. “Maybe we should just kill them. Get it over with.” Javier suggests, earning a side-eye from Dutch. “He’s right, Dutch. Keeping ‘em here won’t do any of us any good. They’ll only bring a horde.”

“No.” Dutch responds flatly, now outright glaring at you. “We need to stay loyal. Respect our brothers, and dear Jenny, who have fallen before us. If we merely slaughter them..like animals.. We would be no better than they themselves. Savages. Beasts. Faith, and a little redemption, is all they need, son.” You didn’t see Dutch’s point. Not in the slightest. But you didn’t push the issue, knowing chaos was unnecessary during the end of the world as you knew it.

Shuffling off, you spot Hosea sitting on a short stump, staring blankly at the crowd hovering over the trio of undead. “Any ideas?” you inquire, to which he shakes his head with a dissatisfied hum. “It just don’t make sense, Y/N. They aren’t supposed to… y’know.”

You nod as you kneel down next to him, feeling the pressure get taken off your aching feet and back, down onto your knees as they nestle into the grass. Resting one of your firearms on the ground next to you, the other remaining strapped to your back. Despite all the chaos amok, nature still felt the same as it was. You wondered if the trees would remember, only to be pulled out of your thoughts with a sigh from Hosea.

“I sent Sean out with Arthur to find information. Hunt down the nearest school or something..” He mutters, causing you to quirk an eyebrow in confusion. “Arthur and..Sean..? You know he can’t–” You start. “I know.” Hosea cuts in, his eyes flicking away from the crowd to look down at you instead. “Sean can’t read. But, Arthur is the best gun we have, even if he isn’t the most literate. Keeping Sean around camp is a death wish to us all. Like a hyena in a lion’s den.” He explains calmly, earning another curt nod from you. That was the best way to describe ol’ Sean MacGuire. A hyena.

“What’d you want me to do?” You ask, feeling a bit useless just standing around and pondering what to do with Jenny, Mac, and Davey. Hosea hums, reaching into the pocket on his vest and pulling out an old pocket watch. “Maybe you should check on the women with John.. Bring ‘em some food. Find game for Pearson while you’re at it.” He suggests, putting the watch back into its designated pocket.

The thought of leaving camp made you uneasy, but it had to be done. Pushing yourself to stand, you pick up your rifle. Silently dismissing yourself from camp, just as anyone had done before any of this started, you make your way over to the hitch rails and to your horse.

It whinnies as you approach, only growing more wary with the apocalypse, a sentiment you could understand. Holding your hand out in a placating gesture, a small ‘shh’ leaving your lips. The palm of your hand comes to rest on its nose, while the other moves to unwrap the reins from around the rotting wooden rail.

Just as you adjust to step up into the stirrup, you hear someone calling your name from behind you. Turning around quicker than you meant, you spot Charles approaching, Taima in tow. “You need help?” He asks. While you wouldn’t admit it, it’d be nice to have him around. Especially for Hosea’s request of finding game for Pearson, you were a lousy hunter. Ironically better at killing humans than animals. Maybe that was just empathy’s game.

“Sure.” You muse, pushing yourself to mount your horse, swinging your leg up and over the saddle and taking a seat. Slipping one of your rifles into the carbine scabbard on your saddle, the other remaining strapped to your back, not even daring to come down. You need to be ready at all costs, especially with such limited ammunition being passed around. Gunsmiths all got raided God knows when. “‘sea asked me to switch with John, check up on the women ‘n Jack. Bring ‘em a bit of food and bring game back to camp for Pearson.”

Charles merely gives a small hum in acknowledgement, silently mounting Taima alongside you before gently pushing his heels into her flanks, with you to follow suit, allowing Charles to lead you out of camp.

“How you feel ‘bout all this?” You ask, but it’s a bit of a stupid question. Of course Charles wouldn’t feel good about it. No one in their right mind would. “Terrible.” He replies monotonously without missing a beat. “Just feels cruel, I guess.”

“You wonder if they’re suffering?” You inquire. A quick snap of the reins and a small click of your tongue causes your horse to speed up with a small huff. You keep your eyes focused on surrounding land. Watching for both predators, live prey, and those damn freaks.

“Maybe.. But- I’m not them. Ain’t too sure.” Charles sighs, doing the same to be riding alongside you, just heading East and staying away from the streets. Who knew what kind of monstrosities could lie in the cities. You didn’t even want to imagine what Saint Denis was like or how bad it smelled..worse than usual.

It was simple idle conversation, which often happened out on the longer rides, but it made it that much easier to bear. Sometimes sitting for hours at a time, riding down from Annesburg, to Saint Denis, to the middle-of-nowhere New Hanover and back to camp..all in time to make it back for Pearson’s stew in the evening.

Yet, even so, the rides were often longer than you’d like. This one in particular just felt agonizingly slow. It was one of the only times you’d left camp since this whole debacle began and you hated it. Instead of being on edge for lawmen or rival gangs, you were on edge for the growling mob of the undead. Some were slow, some ran after you like their asses were on fire. Some were dumb and brutish, while others spat acidic bile. Truly terrible. Though, the plus side is that they made noise, unlike Pinkertons.

Currently making your way across the tracks separating New Hanover and the East Grizzlies, Ambarino. Out towards a little known cabin Arthur has dubbed ‘Martha’s Swain’. When he first showed it to you, in a desperate attempt for the gang to find some place to hide the women and little Jack, there was one of those rat bastard walking corpses inside. Though, you had little time to assume if she was Martha before she was shot in the face by Arthur. After burying her outside, the cabin was deemed safe and hidden.

As you and Charles approached the cabin, after a damn too long ride, the silence in the air was concerning. Normally, that would be a good thing. Finally a moment to stretch your legs and relax. But now, that was the last thing you wanted. It was suspicious. Charles gives you a side eye with a small nod, pulling his bow out from around his torso and carefully dismounting.

Not wanting to make a ruckus, nor waste ammo, you leave your longarm in its scabbard on your saddle. Instead, unsheathing your knife and hopping down onto the grass with a small huff, your rifle weighing heavy on your back.

You silently follow after Charles, the pair of you half crouch-walking to avoid being seen by anything in the probable vicinity. Your eyes blown wide with caution and your heart racing in your chest, you’re sure your ears are ringing. Rapidly scanning your surroundings as you approach the cabin door. No sign of any threats yet..except for a bear. Your mind flashes with a split image of getting mauled by it, only to shudder instinctively.

Turning your head back to the door as you hear it creak open. Your grip on your knife tightening as Charles pushes it open, bow drawn. The two of you don’t share a word as you follow Charles inside.

To your horror, there’s one of those undead freaks trapped inside the cabin, feasting on someone. A short gasp leaves your lips in surprise, causing it to raise its head just enough from the body, allowing Charles to let go of his bow string, sending an arrow through its deflated, maggot ridden, left eye. Due to the force, the zombie is knocked backwards, dead once again.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Charles asks gruffly, to which you shake your head in uncertainty, already making your way over to the body. You’ve seen a lot of fucked up things in your life, but this takes the cake. The poor sod was still breathing…barely. His blood seeped into the cracks of the cabin, his eyes were wide with terror.

“Help- ..me…” He chokes, and you wish there was something you could do. Several bite marks and infected scratches cover the man’s body, already flushing the skin an unsightly gray-blue, slowly clawing up the man’s insides as the infection travels through his blood stream, though his pulse is slow. Skin was missing from the man’s body, his abdomen punctured and organs ruptured, leaking blood, pus, bile, and, undoubtedly, his bowel contents all over his clothes and the floor underneath. It’s sad– revolting… but every man for himself.

You felt a hint of guilt, sure. Raising your knife above your head with both hands before plunging it down into the middle of the man’s dirty forehead. You can feel bile climbing your throat, forcing you to swallow to hold it back down. It wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before; the man’s skull just split in half like a goddamn onion. Brain matter leaking out of the bowl-shaped-skull, barely getting snagged on the optic nerve before it paints your boots. But, at the end of the day, your conscience was eased. He was put out of his misery, and there’s less of the undead crawling around.

“Gross..” You mutter, your lip curling in disgust as you stand back up. Wiping off the flat of your knife onto your denim clad jeans. Your eyes linger on the man, a sick image burned into your retinas. But, upon further inspection, the man is wearing a green vest, hardly able to be seen underneath the blood. Torn up by the undead’s mangy claws.

“O’Driscoll.” You point out to Charles with a gesturing nod of your head. Charles, uninterested with the scene, steps past you and further into the cabin, searching for where John had taken the women and young Jack.

“Maybe he had something to do with it.” You mutter, sheathing your knife, heading into the opposite side of the cabin to do the same. “Maybe.” He muses flatly, rifling through the many different belongings atop Martha’s rotting wood table. Accidentally toppling over a vase, swiftly picking it up before it could create noise.

Turning the knob of one of the back doors, you use your shoulder to push it open, finding a nearly empty bedroom as well. Nothing of value to be taken. But, abandoning that thought, you move into the room. Your boots squelching against the unknown substance covering the floor. Pushing forward, you make your way to an end table. By the looks of it, it’s already been robbed. You could only guess it was the gang’s doing. Regardless, you pull open the drawer in search for a letter or a sign. Nothing.

Not bothering to close the drawer, you shift to check the mattress. Patting around the edges, feeling for a ripped seam, the wood slats inside creak in agony as a protest to the movements. You could only imagine how old they were. To your shock, you find a hidden letter inside one of the cracks. Internally groaning, you slip your hand inside the mattress, pulling it out, along with whatever insides the mattress had to spare.

Slipping the letter into your other hand, you shake your hand free of the yellow dust that coats it. “Dear Mr. Kilgore–” it starts, but you don’t get much further. Hearing a “you find anything?” from Charles in the other room.

“Yeah!” You call back, walking back through the door, your eyes briefly scanning over the letter. Charles rushes up to you, faster than he meant to. “What’s it say?” He inquires. “From the gang.” you mutter quietly, flipping the page over to check the back of it before turning it over again to read aloud.

“Dear, Mr. Kilgore. Your grand-nieces have just been lovely, it’s truly an honor to have met them. I appreciate you letting us borrow your cabin for the weekend, but I regret to inform you that we must be headed off now. There’s no shortage of adventures to find in the great state of New Hanover. I hear Flat Iron Lake is just lovely this time of year, lots of good fish to eat! Especially from that lovely dock you mentioned that is oh, so near Flatneck Station.

I do hope you would grace us with your presence once more, but we understand if it would be a burden to request such a thing so soon after your return home from France. Do wish your brothers the best from us, will you? Good health is always important to us, you know. Yours truly, Mr. and Mrs. Van Winkle.”

With a small click of your tongue, you hand off the letter to Charles, who accepts it without missing a beat. Even if you weren’t being actively chased by Pinkertons, it was still easier to lie about your identities. You watch his eyes reread everything before you walk right past him, headed for the door. It’s pretty damn clear where they went. Though, a thought lingers in the back of your mind. What chased them off? It had to have been something they couldn’t kill. John was a coward, but he was stupid enough to stand his ground when protecting the vulnerable..right?

“Back to New Hanover, then.” Charles remarks, following you to the door, slipping the letter into his pocket.Though, as soon as you reach the door, you pause. A familiar growling heard from the other side..just barely. Holding up one of your hands, you silently tell Charles to wait.

Leaning forward and pressing your ear to the wood to listen outside. Only for the door to swing open as someone, or something, forces its body weight against the wood, knocking you down in turn. Pinned underneath one of the heaviest undead you’ve come across, you struggle to reach your knife.

Several gunshots ring out inside the small cabin, making your ears ring. You hardly had time to register what just happened before it slumps forward with a hiss, oozing something akin to blood all over you. It smells foul. You could hardly keep yourself from vomiting, gagging and swallowing down the puke that manages to make its way into your mouth with a small shudder.

You completely forgot about Charles until he kicks the hefty zombie off of you, causing the twice now corpse to roll off and onto the floor. “You alright?” He asks, oddly calm as he extends a hand down to you, holstering his gun with his other hand. He hated using it, but sometimes it was more than necessary.

With a slow nod, you place your hand in his own, allowing yourself to be helped to your feet. Your legs feel foreign underneath you as you stare down at the dumb brute that had attacked you. But, you don’t have any time to process it. With a pat on your shoulder from Charles, he finally heads out the wide open door with you following close behind.

Letting out a loud whistle from between your teeth, not exactly wanting to stick your fingers in your mouth after wrestling with that undead brute. Your eyes flicking around your surroundings, hearing the sound of hooves approach. No doubt your horse and Taima got scared of the monster. That or something different.

“You’re quiet.” Charles states bluntly, looking you over, It’s not a judgmental comment– the opposite. He’s concerned. He’s used to your thoughts leaving your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. Though, he could understand. Naturally, anyone would be a bit shaken up. He was confident you would get through it. “Ain’t you always?” You retort without batting an eye, earning a dry chuckle from Charles. “You ain’t wrong.”

Your eyes dart over to movement in the treeline, growing a bit tense at first, only to relax at the sight of Taima’s nose, a hint of a smile crosses your lips at the sight. Nodding towards her as Charles approaches her, whispering a small praise under his breath. Walking past him, you spot your own horse just down the hill, slowly making your way down to it with Charles just on your tail.

Your horse whinnies as it sees you, it’s tail swishing back and forth. “Easy..” you coo, reaching up and gently petting its mane. Getting closer and stepping up into the stirrup, further heading down the hill, expecting Charles to follow suit, which he does.

“There was another letter inside.” Charles mumbles, riding alongside you. You glance over towards him, silently asking for an elaboration, before facing forward again. Both of you heading right back down from Ambarino and back into New Hanover. “From the owner’s husband. He was in the Confederacy.” He explains, a hint of distaste in his tone.

You nod silently in understanding, remembering the skeleton you and Arthur had buried not too long ago. You hardly even registered the sight of the setting sun until it shines right in your eyes, humming with discontent as you squint. Your posture straightens as you focus more and more on the sounds around you, until you follow Charles further into the woods, finally having a bit of respite.

It’s unfortunate, really. Not finding any sort of live animals..or any at all, really. The plains were oddly silent now, more than before. Undead animals haunted the fields, attacking anything in their sights with the intention to infect further. The remaining, living animals were all emaciated. The disruption to the food chain was detrimental to the entire ecosystem…clearly.

All seemed well on the long ride to Flatneck station, until you hear gunfire echoing loudly in the distance. Much to your dismay, Charles races forward, leaving you to follow behind in a huff. Coming across the small, abandoned trading post, you damn near sigh in relief. John is the one firing the gun, getting frustrated with Abigail and readjusting her hold on a rifle to properly aim a half broken beer bottle resting atop the railway tracks.

“John!” Charles calls with a hefty sigh of relief. John tears his gaze away from Abigail and over towards you and Charles. You were sure there was a small smile on his face out of relief. “Uncle Charles! Uncle Y/N!” You hear Jack call before the door to the small building flies open and the boy comes running out. You couldn’t imagine how scary it must be for him.

Both you and Charles dismount at the same time. Jack nearly tackles your leg into a hug, allowing you to ruffle his hair. “We didn’t find any food on our way.” Charles informs, to which John shakes his head with a heavy sigh. “We got a couple rabbits on our way out..ain’t much at all.” “Better than nothin’?” You offer, to which John offers a half-hearted shrug. As Jack lets go of you, you follow after him inside the small building, mostly to check up on the other women. It’s incredibly cramped as you step inside. Five women, excluding Abigail, with Jack and yourself. But beggars can’t be choosers.

Molly is staring at her reflection in the small mirror, gently pulling at her skin. Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly are quietly whispering amongst themselves. Though, Karen seems shaky and jittery. You can only imagine what her lack of alcohol is doing to her body.

“Y/N.” Susan greets with a curt nod, sitting just by the door, her shotgun laying over her lap. A terrifying sight on its own. “Miss.” You reply with a nod of your own. Gently nudging Jack away from you and further inside into protection.

“How y’all been holdin’ up?” You inquire. Stealing a wary glance over your shoulder to make sure Charles, John, and Abigail were fine just outside, before returning your gaze back down to Grimshaw.

“As good as we can be..” She sighs. Her weathered hands idly feeling over the metal firearm. “I imagine y’all saw the wreck the cabin was left in?” You nod, earning a pleased hum from Susan. “O’Driscoll showed up and tried to rob us when John went out for food. He brought a damn.. horde with him. We handled most of ‘em, had to leave when we started getting overrun. Barely had time for Mary-Beth to write that letter.” She explains.

It made sense. A bunch of kick-ass outlaws wouldn’t just..abandon their safehouse for no reason. Leaning back against the doorway, you let yourself slide down it until you’re finally sitting, just relaxing. Resting your eyes with a heavy sigh, you’ve had enough to do with today. Just in desperate need for a nap. Yet, you know you can’t sleep yet. Especially not here. But Gods.. you want to. You definitely need to. You’re not sure how long it’s been since you last slept.

“Y/N.” Charles calls. With a small hum of acknowledgement, you force your eyes open, looking up towards him. “You head back to camp.. I’ll stick around here.” Nodding along blankly, you force yourself to stand up again. Yawning widely as you step fully out of the trading post, passing John and Charles, giving each of them a pat on the shoulder and a small nod to Abigail, shuffling back to your horse and mounting up, setting off into the night.

The lingering burden of finding food for camp weighs on your mind. But, as you slowly trek through the dark forests, you find nothing. You could blame it on your exhaustion or the dark..or some sort of noise, but there’s nothing around. Not a soul except you. It nearly snaps you awake, feeling a chill creep down your spine and the feeling of eyes on you. Clicking your tongue off the roof of your mouth, commanding your horse to speed up. You don’t want to be out for any longer than you need to.

But, as you come back to camp, the ride feels shorter. Dismounting your horse with an exhausted sigh, hitching up the reins to one of the rails, right next to Gwydion, Trelawny’s horse. Not feeling like dealing with the magician at the moment, your eyes flick around camp until you spot Hosea on his bedroll. You offer him a shrug, signifying you didn’t find anything, earning a solemn nod in response.

Hearing the growls and hisses from young Jenny, Mac, and Davey, your day ends just as it started. Laying down on your bedroll, your muscles aching and your skin slick with sweat. Though, unlike last night, you allow sleep to claim you and hope that, at some point, things will be okay again.

.....................................................................................................................

#rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x male reader #john marston x male reader #undead nightmare #undead nightmare 2

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youthereader · 1 year ago

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Near Zero part 4.

PAIRING: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 2k words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

RATING: E; mentions of smut, infidelity, drinking, period-typical sexism

A/N: Although based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character, and does not intend to be accurate. This is merely for entertainment. Once again, I owe @indulgence-be-thy-name my life. My brain just isn't co-operative at the best of times and she's the best. This is a bit of a filler chapter but I hope you like it anyway! 🖤

masterlist

“Kitty would like you to come for dinner.”

You glance up from your paper, brows hiking as he leans over you, his voice soft. You recall his seminars at that same volume. He never gave the same lecture twice, so more fool anyone that didn’t understand the concepts Oppie spoke of.

Your lips part. “Oh.”

You’ve never spoken to Kitty Oppenheimer. You saw her as recently as yesterday when you walked to get milk from the store in the center of town. She was in the street, laughing with one of the wives of a fellow physicist. You didn’t know she knew who you were.

“We’re having a group over tomorrow night,” he adds. “We’ll have an awful lot of fun.”

Someone calls for him and you use the moment to gather your thoughts, to think of an excuse. As he returns to your side, you whisper:

“Robert.”

You began to call him by his first name a week ago, after you slept together for the first time. You were way past calling him ‘Dr. Oppenheimer’, and you called him ‘Oppie’ now in front of others. If anyone noticed, they haven’t let on, and if they were to ask why the change, you’re sure you’d tell a half-truth – you were closer to him now than your days at Berkeley. You were on equal footing, in a way. You did not, however, moan ‘Oppie’ when he pleasured you with either hands, cock, or tongue.

“She doesn’t know,” he whispers back, as if reading your mind.

The look he gives you, along with the accompanying pat on your shoulder, tells you he doesn’t believe you’re walking into trap. You nod, and you part ways once more.

You’ve slept with him a few times since the first night. All within the T building, all under the cover of darkness. You wish you could sneak him into your house but it would be noticed. He already walked you home more than once in full view of the street.

A guard or two would know you and Robert leave together occasionally, but that isn’t unusual. He is often with other people because of the nature of his position.

You haven’t behaved any differently, thus raising suspicions. You don’t feel any guilt. Perhaps that part of you doesn’t exist, at least not when it concerns him. It would be more of a headache that a morality issue if Kitty were to confront you about it; from what you’ve heard, she’s a nightmare to deal with when she makes something or someone her mission.

You arrive the next evening at the Oppenheimer residence, flashing your pass at the guards at the picket fence. You’re let through with a curt nod, feeling your nerves intensify when you hear the laughter coming from within the house.

You’re late, having delayed getting ready. You decided to dress well, but not ostentatiously. You wear your best dress, having not worn it since arriving in Los Alamos. You notice a mark on your shoe as you walk towards the front door, pausing to buff it away with your free hand. Your other arm carries a cake tin your mother gifted you – and until tonight, you never had a use for it.

You knock on the front door and wait a minute before it opens, revealing Robert, sans porkpie hat. He smiles slowly, blue eyes sparkling with outright delight.

“Hello,” he murmurs, and kisses you on the lips, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” you whisper, and glance over his shoulder.

You’re aware of his eyes still on you, taking you in. Standing there on his front doorstep, you know it’s perhaps the only time you’ll have alone with him all evening.

“I’m very happy to see you, darling,” he says.

“Is it her?” someone calls, and you recognize it as Kitty, your heart leaping.

Robert leads you in, shutting the door behind you. Kitty appears, eyes widening, her cigarette in her mouth. She takes it out, exhaling as she comes toward you. She stares at the cake tin, coming in to kiss you as Europeans do, one-two, her hands on your shoulders.

“You’re adorable, you brought cake!”

“I thought chocolate would be a safe choice,” you murmur, feeling your cheeks flush.

She plucks the cake from you and spins around, forcing you to follow her down the hall with Robert behind you. He reaches out and squeezes the tip of your fingers before letting go, your stomach flipping.

“We’re in the den…”

You walk in to see a group of five other couples. All the men you know, but the wives are part of Kitty’s club that meet for drinks almost daily. Kitty announces you with a flourish of her manicured hand, and you raise a hand to wave an awkward hello to the several pairs of eyes set upon you.

You shake hands, kiss some cheeks and then are ushered by Kitty into the kitchen where she sets the cake on a plate, examining it.

“Dessert done. Good for us,” she says, and she glances over to Robert whose back is to you both. “Where are those martinis, dear?”

“Almost done,” he replies. “Very, very soon.”

“Hmm. Not nearly soon enough,” Kitty says. She gives you a playful wink.

Robert turns, two martinis in hand, giving one to his wife. She takes a sip, licking her lips.

“Thank God.”

He hands you the other, and you follow suit, eyes meeting his when the alcohol reaches your tongue. There must be a whisper of vermouth.

“He will get you drunk,” Kitty says, and she takes off again, expecting you to follow her.

You sit on either side of two scientists from the experimental physicists, your ankles together as you nurse your drink. Kitty talks the most and possibly drinks the most, Robert plying everyone with as much alcohol as possible as the night goes on. Dinner is served haphazardly by Kitty, but she’s not a sloppy drinker. She’s surprisingly sharp, and a great cook from what you can discern. A beef ragu helps slow the alcohol, at least for a time, before the crowd gets rowdier.

Robert doesn’t raise his voice, ever. He drinks steadily, thoroughly, throughout the night, but doesn’t guzzle it down. He barely eats. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him eat a full meal in all the years you’ve known him. He chain smokes, lighting his guests’ cigarettes whenever able.

At one point, little Peter Oppenheimer begins to cry from his bedroom and Kitty groans, rising from her chair.

“Better deal with the little devil,” she says, slipping out.

Curiosity gets the better of you and you follow her out. You blame the martinis, and the fact that you’ve never seen Robert’s child up-close. Kitty gives you a little smile and rolls her eyes, leaving the door to the nursery partly shut as she goes to the crib.

Peter is sat up, howling, and you watch as he’s lifted out, Kitty’s hand patting his back as she shushes him. You sip on your drink, just as Kitty asks:

“So why don’t you have a husband?”

You choke, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, you’re very attractive. And obviously you’re brilliant if Robert wanted you for the making of the gadget…”

Peter distracts her with another cry into her shoulder and she begins to rock him, humming. It takes another couple minutes for him to fall silent, and only then can you make out his face properly. He resembles Robert, his hair a mass of dark curls. His tear-streaked cheeks are round and rosy in the half-light, his eyelashes long against them as he snuffles. When his mouth closes, you see his perfect Cupid’s bow and dimpled chin.

“He’s beautiful,” you murmur, and Kitty nods absently.

“He gives me a headache,” she whispers. “But he’s asleep now.”

She places him down again and takes you by the elbow, whispering:

“Let’s get out of here before he starts up again.”

Kitty doesn’t seem the maternal type, but neither are you. What makes it sad to you is the lack of pride she seems to exhibit. There’s no space for Peter tonight, no swapping of stories about children. You return to the den and sink back into your chair, eyes meeting Robert’s across the way. He’s nodding politely along to a story, cigarette dangling.

“We were discussing our female genius’s lack of spouse,” Kitty announces, a little louder than you’d like.

Your face flushes and everyone turns their attention to her and then you, your drink by your lips again as if to shield yourself.

“Do we require a bachelor?” one of the wives says, leaning forward, resting her chin in her hand.

Kitty nods, sitting down. Her drink was refilled while you were with Peter. She takes a gulp.

“There’s Nielsen.”

“He’s that chemist?” another wife says. “How is his English?”

“He’s an Oakie,” one of the men chuckles. “And a bore.”

“Well, what would you suggest, Jerry?” Kitty throws back. “We’re all ears-”

“Actually, I don’t want one,” you blurt.

Everyone looks at you, including Robert, who takes out his cigarette and exhales. Elizabeth, the brunette whose husband is to your right, leans over to speak.

“You don’t want a date?”

“She means she doesn’t want a husband,” Kitty says, and she smirks, taking a drink.

You swallow, sure that it’s the alcohol loosening your tongue. “Yes. I mean, I don’t want a husband.”

“Is it… you don’t like men?” Elizabeth asks.

Your face is on fire. “I like men. I like… I like work.”

“You’ll change your mind,” another male visitor says, and you see Robert get up in your peripheral vision. “When the war is over.”

“Maybe,” you lie.

If you sound too certain, you’ll seem even stranger to these people than you already do. You’re the only one that came alone, and you’re possibly the youngest by several years, too. That could be your advantage; it might be dismissed as youthful naivete. You can’t let on that you decided as a little girl that marriage had no appeal.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to marry a scientist,” Robert says, taking your glass from you.

“A football player?” someone suggests, and there’s an eruption of laughter.

After the subject changes, there’s a shift in the atmosphere. You feel less self-conscious. Perhaps you’re tipsy, but it’s more likely the probing into your personal life in front of strangers that left you feeling less tense. It seems the worst of it is over by the time Robert returns to you with a new drink.

He takes the seat beside you, the cake having been served with some ice cream Kitty prepared earlier. Wives and husbands mingle as you feel a companionable silence settle between you and the director.

You light his cigarette for once, sharing the flame before you snap your lighter shut, inhaling.

“Did you meet Peter?” he murmurs, after a few minutes.

“Yes,” you reply, and you exchange a proper look. His head tilts towards you ever so slightly.

“He’s very strong. Quite the grip on him.”

“He’s very handsome,” you reply, exhaling with a small smile. “And you have a lovely home.”

Although it’s what the government built for him, and there’s less personality here than there would be in his ranch or his real home, it feels good to be there, in whatever sense.

Or maybe you’re drunk. Either way, you’re glad you came.

Kitty promises to see you again soon. One of the other couples offer to walk you home and you oblige. For the first time that night, you long for things to be different, that Robert was walking you back. You would hold his hand, lift his knuckles to your lips to kiss them.

You are very, very drunk, you realize, as you shut your front door behind you. You lean against it, sighing.

The next morning, hungover and searching for a reason to ever consider drinking again, you open your door and nearly trip over the cake tin left there overnight. You stoop to pick it up, hearing something inside it.

You turn back, opening it to peer inside. Some crumbs from last night surround a small envelope you lift from the tin, moving back inside to tear it open.

Darling,

You were wonderful last night. Nevertheless, we need to get away.

Come with me to Santa Fe.

Thank you again for reading! Let me know if you're liking this so far. I have no idea how long I intend to make this story but any feedback will help me gauge how interested you are for more. Likes and reblogs are therefore encouraged! 🖤

#oppenheimer x y/n #j robert oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #near zero #fem reader

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obsessedwithpedritoofc · 4 months ago

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Cᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ (Fʀᴀɴᴋɪᴇ Mᴏʀᴀʟᴇs)

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Frankie Morales × Transmasc Reader.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2,6 k.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: You weren't feeling well, not after the memories resurfaced that night. Luckily for you, Frankie is always willing to support you through your rough times and help you feel better... in more ways than one.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: au, angst, mentions of nightmares, mentions of shots being fired, mentions of death, mentions of killing, mentions of anger problems, mentions of scars, fluff, frankies a sweetheart ofc, hesitation when having sex, smut, eating poosay, unprotected piv (dont do this at home), both reader and frankie are switches, rubbing, teasing, similarities with the series "time", not detailed physical descriptions of reader, no use of Y/N (reader is referred to as Lost). (lmk if i missed any).

𝔸/ℕ: STOP RIGHT THERE EVERYONE. this is a small drabble that i guess you can read alone, but if you want to understand the plot i suggest you go read the actual and first fic. im pretty happy with this short thingy, i wanted to do some transmasc reader being taken care of (if you know what i mean) and i think i did good (or so ive been told, tysm @pedritofics for helping me out (˵ ͠ಥ﹏ ͠ಥ˵) check out his fics hes an absolutely FUCKING AMAZING writer, seriously his help was so useful im crying rn ily ted). enjoy <3

𝕡𝕥 𝕚 𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟

𝕡𝕥 𝕚𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You woke up with a loud gasp. Your chest hurt from breathing as heavily as you were. Your knuckles were white from gripping the bedsheets so forcefully. A shaky sigh left your mouth, then you tried to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm down a little. Moments like those made you grateful that you weren't sharing your cell with another inmate to whom you'd have to explain your nightmares. One less thing for you to worry about.

You weren't able to sleep any more for the night. The adrenalin kept you awake long enough for you to witness the cops knocking on your door a couple of hours later. You sighed again, not wanting to have to start the day like that.

But you remembered him.

You would do it for him.

Soon enough, you were in the dining room, grabbing a tray and looking for a table to sit at in the back. Unsurprisingly, he was already there, eating his own food and scanning around the room to try and spot you. The sight of him searching for you reminded you why being in that prison was not so bad.

You walked up to him, trying to ignore the way the other inmates were looking at you —it seemed like three months was not enough for them to get used to you not being like the rest of them. As soon as he noticed you approaching, he smiled at you as wide and beautifully as always. And like always, it made your heart flutter.

"Hey", he waited until you were sat to take your hand and kiss the back of it. "Mornin', beautiful", he smiled again. You gave him a small, brief smile of your own.

"Hi", you squeezed his hand.

"How'd you sleep?", he stared into your eyes. You could see the concern in his expression. He knew something was wrong. But you tried to shrug it off.

"Good. I'm good".

"Don't lie to me, you know you can't", he shook his head slowly, his eyes not leaving yours. You took a deep breath.

"It's fine, it's nothing, you know how I always get like this", you tried to give him a sincere smile. "I'll sleep better tonight, when I'm exhausted, you'll see", you cleared your throat. "You have to eat".

"You too", he pushed your tray in your direction with a warning look in his eyes. You sensed a hint of something similar to anger, and you could feel your insides burning with another one of your attacks. But you remembered it's him. You couldn't do that to him. So you just swallowed it down and nodded once more before starting to eat.

You spent the rest of the day avoiding him and giving him evasive and short answers every time he asked you if something was wrong. Part of your attitude was due to your lack of sleep. You couldn't lie to him about that, but you tried to keep the rest to yourself. Even if you knew he was there to listen to you, you didn't want want him to have to deal with more of your shit than he already had to.

At least you tried not to make him deal with more of your shit than he already had to, until you inevitably found yourself being alone with him.

You entered the shower stalls to find him already there, naked under the water, with no one else around. For obvious reasons, you preferred to shower as late at night as possible so no one would see you. Not even Frankie, until you randomly came across him.

"Hey", he tried to keep his eyes on yours, despite having his body already responding to the naked sight of you. You quickly wrapped yourself up in your towel, then turned around,ready to leave. But Frankie grabbed your wrist, then waited until you turned back to look at him. "Where're you goin'?".

"I just... thought you might want to shower alone", you looked down at your feet, avoiding eye contact.

"C'mon, you've been tryna stay away from me the whole day", he stared at you with hooded eyes. "What's wrong? And I want the truth this time — you're clearly not fine".

A heavy sigh left your mouth. You looked around the shower stalls, letting your eyes wonder anywhere but his. You tried to gather your thoughts and finally found the words to speak to him. When you did, your eyes found his at last, and you turned around to completely face him.

"I didn't sleep", you started.

"That's obvious. Lookit ya, y'have huge bags under here—", he reached out to trace the black underside of your eyes with his thumb. You gave him a dissatisfied look for how he had interrupted you, and as soon as he saw your expression, he cleared his throat and apologized; "Sorry, keep goin' ".

You sighed again.

"I had a nightmare. A... really nasty one", you looked down at the floor. You could feel your throat closing around your cracking voice, but you tried to swallow it.

"Fuck, hun...", he put a hand on your shoulder and pushed you to sit down with him on one of the benches nearby. You took a shaky deep breath.

"I was... My... He was there, with the baby... And he shot me, and the little thing... I couldn't...", your wide open eyes got lost staring at the floor again as you lost track of your own words.

Frankie stood still, watching as you mumbled something he couldn't make out. When he saw the tears starting to stream down your cheeks, he wasted no time wrapping his arms around you. You laid your head on his chest, letting small droplets fall from his body to yours as he gently cradled you, hushing you softly and whispering "it's okay" constantly. You hugged him back and let out all the built-up tension inside you. It had been so long since you had cried for the last time, and you felt that the only one who could help you through it was Frankie, but you didn't want to cause him any more trouble than necessary. In the end, he was always the one to coax your feelings out, good or bad, just so you knew you could talk to him and feel safe with him. Although he didn't want to push you too hard, he wanted nothing more than to help you work through your emotional traumas. And you hated to admit that it was working.

You finally pulled away when your tears were completely dry on your face. Then you looked down, unable to look anywhere else. Your fingers squeezed his arm gently to call his attention.

"Frankie...", you said, still not looking him in the eye. Frankie then looked down at where your eyes were fixed, and he noticed his manhood hard against his stomach.

"Oh", he frowned lightly. Then, he laughed. "Sorry, I know you were talking about something serious—", a giggle interrupted his speech; "—but you gotta admit, you walked in on me naked, I couldn't help it", he kept laughing. You just couldn't help your own chuckle from coming out.

"You're just a perverted old man", you shook your head between laughs.

As you both kept giggling at the situation, Frankie reached for his towel and got up to put it around his body. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his covered hardness, and you immediately got up to grab his wrist to keep him from tying the towel back on his hips. He looked down between you and your hand, his surprise and confusion mirroring yours.

No words were spoken. Frankie let the towel fall to the floor. You got on your tiptoes to kiss him passionately, tongue and all, as he untied your towel from around your body. Your hands grabbed ahold of his strong arms, and you pulled him into one of the shower stalls. His lips slid down your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail as he kept going downwards. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the scars going across the underside of your chest. You suddenly felt hyperaware of your own body and tried to cover your scars. Frankie wasted no time taking your hand, entwining his fingers with yours. He kissed your knuckles, then your chest, then your scars. You gasped at the sudden feeling of his lips on your sensitive skin, but you didn't try to push him away. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and urged him to keep going. He chuckled at your antics, his kisses never stopping.

Before you could wake up from your spell, Frankie was teasing the inside of your thighs with his tongue and teeth. You opened your eyes wide as realization hit you. You hesitantly put your hands on his hair, again not trying to push him away. He looked up at you with hooded, darkened eyes, as if asking for permission. You swallowed, feeling a bit unsure. Even now, you were hesitant to let him explore your body —a body you didn't want.

But he wanted it.

You nodded. Hesitantly, but you nodded. He wasted no time to start exploring your wetness. First he kissed the surrounding skin, then the upper part of the inside, to then finally find your sensitive nub. He started tasting it slowly, being gentle with you at all times, humming at the saltiness of your juices and sending vibrations up your spine, only to start sucking at your most sensitive spot with fervor, almost as if he had forgotten how careful he wanted to be when exploring your body at the beginning. That didn't seem to disappoint you tough, since you even forgot how to formulate correct sentences.

"Oh god... Frankie... Shit shit shit... Fuck yes...", was all you could mumble, your voice slurring your words.

You buried your nails in his scalp, scratching lightly every time he sent a jolt of pleasure through your body. Your hips were moving against his mouth, and your feet were kicking the shower floor and splashing water on both you and Frankie when the pleasure became unbearable. You weren't really aware of the situation anymore. The way he was making you feel better than you had ever felt before clouded your mind with desire. And before you could even warn him, your juices exploded into his mouth like a volcanic eruption. He lapped up your release like it was nothing, as if he had been starving for a long time and only you could provide him with the meal he wanted.

You collapsed on the shower floor, your back laying against the wall behind you. The cold feeling of the tiles made you jump for a moment with how sensitive your body was after the intensity of your climax. A heavy sigh left your lips, then you chuckled lowly.

"Damn... Haven't come so hard in like forever", your voice was hoarse when you spoke. Frankie laughed as well and sat up to wrap his arms around you.

"I aim to please", his lips found the side of your head. "I'm gonna need your help, if you don't mind", he whispered, kissing the top of your head again. You looked up at him with hooded eyes.

"You don't have to ask. I'll help you", you said slowly, your face expressionless despite your darkened eyes.

Frankie then leaned in to kiss you. Softly at first, then he opened his mouth to let your tongue in. Your hands went back to his hair, pulling slightly and eliciting a groan out of his mouth that died inside yours. He grabbed you and gently put you to lay on your back on the floor. You slightly pushed him away to look into his eyes.

"Don't", you whispered breathlessly.

"Don't what?", he asked, his own breath ragged.

"Don't be so careful", your gaze went down to his lips for a split second before going back to his eyes. "Stop being so gentle, I don't like it", your boldness made his heart skip a beat. For a moment, Frankie thought he had fucked up, that you weren't into him like he was into you. Then, you kept talking; "I want it hard", you felt your pupils widening instantly at your own words. So did his own. "Don't you want it hard?", you gave him a seductive look, your hand reaching out to grasp his erection. A sharp sigh left his mouth.

"Fuck yes", he breathed out. A small smirk formed in your lips.

"Then do it", you whispered, your voice just as seductive as your look. Your hand slowly rubbed his dick, until he pushed your hand away and turned you onto your stomach. You gasped once more at the cool feeling of the tiles against your skin. And you gasped louder when you felt him grip your hips to pull them upwards and thrusting roughly inside you.

Your hands retorted on the floor when you found nothing to hold onto. Cries of pleasure came from both of you as you lost yourselves in the intense pleasure of the moment. His thrusts only grew harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the shower. One of his hands gripped your hips and the other held onto your shoulder to keep you in place. Once again, you lost track of time and space, as if the world had vanished around you two. For a second there, you heard him moan louder than you, and then he spilled himself inside you with no warning, just like you had done not long before.

He tried to keep going, wanting you to reach your peak as well, but overstimulation soon got him and he stopped. You took a moment to catch your breath, then pushed him onto the floor on his back and got on his lap.

"What're ya—?", he was interrupted by your hand on his mouth.

"Shut up", you positioned yourself so your mound would be enveloping his now semi-hard manhood, but not pushing him inside you. "I wanna fuck you", you said breathlessly. His eyes lit up and his cock started to grow hard again as soon as he saw your intentions.

You started moving your hips back and forth, his dick rubbing against your clit as you chased your release. He tried to grab your hips, but you held his hands down against the floor so he couldn't move. That only made his desire burn brighter, and overstimulation soon got to him again.

Before you could think of a sentence to warn him of your release, he spilled his own on his stomach, and you exploded again —even harder than the last time— all over him.

Both of you collapsed on the shower floor without saying a word, the silence being filled with your ragged breaths and leftover moans. Frankie wrapped his arms around you and left feather light strokes on your back. The sudden gentleness compared to how hard he was fucking you just a minute ago made you giggle. You wrapped your arms around him as well. He giggled back, and it made you laugh a bit louder.

"What a way to comfort me", you chuckled, your voice muffled as you nuzzled your face against his neck.

"Well, I wanted to help", he laughed lowly, his own face buried in your hair.

You stayed in place, in silence, for a while longer. Soon enough, the guards outside the shower stalls knocked loudly on the door, urging the both of you to finish. Surprisingly enough, they didn't seem to have heard you doing your things inside the shower stalls.

Neither of you even thought of actually finishing the shower, and just got dressed, grabbed your towels and walked outside.

You were both escorted to your cells without saying a word. Only sharing smiles, giggles and nudging the other playfully whenever one of the guards would tell you to keep your mouths shut. Frankie gave you one last smile and whispered a "goodnight" when he took the turn to his cell. You replied with a smile of your own.

That night, you closed your eyes and fell asleep almost immediately. It was like you'd never had a nightmare before that night, and like you'd never have another one after. Your pains, your rage attacks, your negative emotions, they all went away that night, and seemed like they would never return.

At least most of them, with the exception of the pain in your legs that you tried to ignore the next day, to no avail.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you

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nebulanightsky · 3 months ago

Note

I personally adore Swadmare, I think theyre so silly and have such an interesting dynamic. I'm so sorry people have been super weird and making you feel bad about shipping them, because of a proposed moral dilemma.

They are magical skeletons? They aren't even blood related? They both have no memory of their previous lives pre-corruption? Like, really, you can interpret the ship however you want.

...It's not weird if you don't make it weird, honestly.

I'm sorry if that's overstepping, but goodness I saw that post from June and I hate to see people literally killing your fun. :c

Hello, It's nice to hear that someone understands where I'm going through. Honestly, people have their own different perspectives of what they see of this ship, and what they see is a Dream + Nightmare ship = as a bad thing, even in different versions. For me? I never actually see Swadmare as a 'sibling troupe' in the first place, because I know the little details of these characters that mostly people forgot that the real Nightmare is already gone, that thing is just mindless Corruption who pretends to be him, and same goes to Swapdream Dream.

I honestly wanted to try and explain this to some of my mutuals on Facebook, but when I saw there were people attacked another poor random dude who just happens to ship Frisk with Sans on FB, they even explained it very well in their own au that this Frisk is an adult, and still got attacked by many because of what others say "nobody cares about your own headcanons, people will always see Frisk as a child." I kinda agree with that, BUT THATS NOT THE POINT. 😭

After I witnessed that fiasco, imagine that would have been me, trying to explain my own perspective of Swadmare. Will people care about the details? I don't think so, people will always see this ship as an in€est, and I get it okay.

But the amount of hate I get in the past, truly makes me feel 10x bad about myself for shipping something so problematic, even I never consider them as sibling related in the first place.

Nobody is forcing you to like it, heck, I'll never force anyone to ship something that they might feel uncomfortable, and I don't want that.

I like to tend to keep things to myself, unless there are people who are interested.

I still like shipping Corrupted x Swad, but just not mentioning it much, I'm afraid there will always be someone who just randomly just jumped behind my back and started attacking me. However, it will be hard for me to keep up.

Thank you for your kind words and your concerns about this little issue I got, necropathys. Have a nice day/night.

Gosh darn this awfully long..

#nebula ask #swapdream #swadmare #og nightmare #i respect those people who disliked Swadmare

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 10 months ago

Note

I saw some mini asks around M6 and Mc children and was wondering if I could get a mini ask for how the M6 would react if theirs and Mc's child's patron arcana is the devil.

Bonus if the kid is already showing a sly streak by doing stuff like, wording agreements so they can stay up later than their actually allowed or getting an extra bit of candy. Nothing serious and when push comes to shove their genuinely a good kid just a bit sly and with one of the worst patron arcana's.

The Arcana Mini-HCs: M6's child has the Devil for a patron

Julian: he's less bothered than you expect him to be, and it's really because the only history he has with the Devil is after meeting you and then successfully defeating him. he knows his knowledge of the arcana is nothing like yours, though, so he often checks in on your opinion of how things are going so he can be an attentive father

Asra: the most deeply disturbed out of the M6. they lost their parents to the Devil, they indirectly lost you due to the Devil's dealings, and they are terrified of losing their child to him as well. at the same time, he wants nothing more than to empower them to live as they please. he'll love them unconditionally, but warn and strengthen them as well

Nadia: she does worry about her child, but she also has a deep faith in both of your abilities after you faced the Devil down together. your child is the combination of you two - she's certain they have what it takes to manage it! she makes sure to train their critical thinking skills and reinforce their independence and moral compass all the same

Muriel: oh, he's bothered by it, but he's more bothered by the fact that it's the same patron as Lucio. his worst nightmare is his own child being twisted and misled into the same fate as the man who wrecked his life. his protective side comes out strong, and he's quick to let your child know that they are loved and to teach them kindness

Portia: her interaction with the Devil is limited to meeting him after he had shrunk to a baby goat. not only is she not too concerned, she told her kid about how silly his "chibi" form looked as soon as they could talk and they like to tease him together. you're still careful to remind them that deception and trickery are slippery slopes, though

Lucio: he's not so much disturbed as he is anxious. sure, by the time he started his new life, the Devil wasn't much of a threat to him any more, and he's not one to dwell on the past. he has learned the dangers of playing with deals, though, and he doesn't want to see his child repeat his mistakes. he wants them to create their own destiny

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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pedroscurls · 1 year ago

Text

Third Time’s A Charm (Part 3).

Character(s): Frankie “Catfish” Morales , Reader (female, second person POV) Summary: You and Frankie have a very serious conversation. Word Count: 1,962 Author's Note: This was a very personal chapter for me. Like I’ve mentioned before, Frankie reminds me a lot of my partner (who is a retired Marine), so writing this was special. I know in the movie we don’t really see the effects of being retired veterans trying to become civilians again (mainly only Tom and briefly Will in the beginning), but it’s something I plan on exploring more of, especially with Frankie. So, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It’s literally on the beginning of what I have in store. Warning: Mentions of combat-PTSD symptoms, drug use, and implied cheating.

“Do you love me?”

The question shocked you, but you looked up at him with sad eyes. He couldn’t be asking you this question, especially when you knew that he was aware of what your answer would be.

“You know the answer to that, Frankie.”

He sighed, pulling back for a moment. “So you do.”

“Just because we aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean that I’m gonna stop caring about you.”

“But why?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“Are you asking me why I still care about you?”

He nodded. His eyes were sad. Part of you wondered if there was another meaning behind this question and so you reached out to rest a hand on his chest. Frankie immediately leaned into you and let out a quiet sigh. You could feel the weight he was carrying on his shoulders, the pain that lingered. Frankie was hurting and you didn’t know why.

“Frankie,” you whispered. “What’s going on?”

Frankie looked up at you. He wanted to melt into you, wrap his arms around you and just tell you all of the things that were bothering him. His mind was all over the place and the cocaine… Well, it put the nightmares and negative thoughts at bay. Temporarily, but when he came down from his high, the emotions came at him full force. He knew better than to turn to drugs as a way to forget, a coping mechanism, but lately, it was just too much for him to handle.

“Nothin’. Let’s get you home.” So, he pulled away from you and walked around his truck to enter the driver’s side. You watched him carefully as he bit at his lower lip anxiously. You climbed in and shut the door behind you, reaching for your seat belt as your eyes remained on him.

He didn’t say anything else. He buckled his seat belt and pulled out of the parking lot of the bar, making his way back to your apartment.

The energy between the both of you had shifted. The tension had disappeared. The desire lingered, but the concern you were feeling and the anxiety Frankie was experiencing outweighed it all. So, when he finally pulled up to the curb of your apartment complex, you reached over to rest a hand on his forearm. You didn’t say anything, didn’t want to pry or push him to talk, but resting your hand over him and running your thumb in circles across his skin brought Frankie comfort.

“Thank you for the ride.” You whispered.

“I’m hurting, hermosa.” He admitted. His hand clenched into a fist and you felt the muscles at his forearm tighten underneath your fingertips. “I can’t sleep and when I do, the dreams I have… They’re not great.”

You sighed quietly, removing your seat belt and turning your body so that you were now facing him, giving him your full and undivided attention. “Frankie,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“And my lady,” he added, glancing over at you. “Victoria,” Frankie corrected. “We’re not doing so great. She’s angry at me all the time and honestly, I don’t blame her. My license got suspended, so I can’t fly and–”

You interrupted him. “Don’t tell me, Frankie…” You said quietly. You knew that when things got too rough, he turned to drugs or alcohol as a way to temporarily forget. To him, it was a temporary band-aid that wouldn’t stick, that wouldn’t stay on. It had been rough the second time you got back together because you had seen it firsthand, experienced how his addictions not only affected him, but those around him.

Frankie just nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” You asked sincerely. You continued to rub circles along his forearm, hoping that you were providing some comfort. “Is it coke?”

Frankie nodded, looking away ashamedly.

“Frankie,” you sighed.

“I’m two months sober, haven’t touched it since.” He added. “But it’s hard. I just feel– I just feel like I can’t get anything right.” Frankie looked over at you, tears stinging his eyes. Up close, you could see the pain written all over his features. It was an all too familiar look you had gotten used to seeing whenever Frankie had flashbacks or whenever a painful anniversary would be near.

“Is that why you asked if I still loved you?”

Frankie shrugged. “Maybe, but also because I’m genuinely curious.”

You rolled your eyes teasingly. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you, Frankie. Our chance–,” you sighed. “We never did quite get the timing right, did we?”

Frankie shook his head. “I guess not.”

“Listen,” you said. “You’ve been down this road before and you came out on top. You can do it again. You can get through this again.”

“Yeah, but what if I can’t?”

“You will.”

Frankie looked at you, head tilting as he moved his hand to capture your own. He gently played with your fingers before he slowly laced them together. He felt relief wash over him, like the weight he had been carrying was slowly lifting from his shoulders.

“You really believe that?”

You nodded. “I believe in you, just like how I believe in the rest of the guys. Sometimes,” you said, looking down at your entwined hands. “Sometimes we get to a breaking point where we feel like we’ve hit rock bottom, but the important thing is to get back up and crawl your way out of it. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you get back up. Always, Frankie.”

Frankie bit his lower lip. “Maybe,” he said stubbornly.

“Stop,” you said. “If I have to pull you out of it myself, I will.”

Frankie smiled at that. It was something that his wife would never have the patience for. She had always told him to get over it, that this will pass, and it only frustrated him even more. Sure, neither you or his wife had been in the military, served overseas, seen the things he had seen, done the things he had to do, but there was one main difference between you and his wife, Victoria.

You showed empathy and even when things got too difficult, you led with your heart, with patience, and you stuck by his side even when it hurt you.

Victoria had started out that way, but as things got more serious and more intense and she got to see firsthand how Frankie dealt with his flashbacks or nightmares, her empathy started to lessen and lessen. She just couldn’t understand that these things don’t just go away. And maybe that was part of the reason why he started using again. Yes, he had Benny, Will, and Tom to talk to about these things, but when your home environment isn’t all that supportive, it just does more damage than it does good.

But Frankie couldn’t even blame Victoria. He knew that he was difficult, that being with him meant that his baggage would follow. Part of him just wished he had known this sooner before making a lifelong commitment to a woman who believed that his PTSD was just something that could go away.

And you… Frankie felt at home with you. A home he wanted to be in. A supportive, loving, and understanding home. He didn’t have to feel like his emotions were a burden on you, instead, he felt comfortable and willing to talk about what he was feeling. You provided a sense of security, a safe space for him (and even the rest of the guys) to open to you. Even when Frankie told you some very horrific stories, he was surprised to see tears in your eyes. And when he apologized and tried to comfort you, he was taken aback by your reaction.

“I’m not crying because of the other person, Frankie,” you said, staring at him. “I’m crying because you had to endure all of that.”

“It was my job,” he replied quietly.

“I know, but I can’t imagine the toll it takes on you.” Then, you reached out for him and wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace, afraid to let him go. “I promise that I’m always going to be here, no matter what.”

That was the first time Frankie cried in front of you. All the emotions that he had bottled in finally came bursting out. The feeling of your arms around him, your genuine reaction to his admittance of a certain job he had to do overseas… He didn’t realize he was holding his breath, afraid that it was going to scare you away, and when it didn’t? Frankie felt a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“I promise that I’m not going anywhere, Frankie. I’m with you, always.”

“I love you,” he blurted out. Frankie sighed. “I know that I shouldn’t say it, especially since I’m married, but I– I don’t think I ever stopped loving you either.”

“Frankie,” you sighed. “We can’t. You know that.”

“I know,” he replied. “I’ve just been doing a lot of reflecting over the past couple of months and seeing you tonight just brought back a lot of emotions for me.” Frankie glanced over at you before his eyes dropped to look at your hands.

“We missed our chance, Frankie…” You whispered, slowly removing your hand from his. You wanted this as badly as he did, but you didn’t want to hurt his wife, to be the other woman who ended a marriage. “I’m always going to be here for you, but–”

Frankie sighed, interrupting, “Not in the way we both want. I get it.”

You looked at him, noticing how he wasn’t meeting your eyes. You could tell Frankie was deep in thought, so you reached out for him again, but this time, resting your hand gently on his chest.

“I’m here, Frankie. Not going anywhere, okay?”

He looked over at you, eyes soft and filled with regret, sadness, and pain. “Yeah, let me walk you to your door.”

Once you both left his truck, Frankie followed you to your apartment, watching as you grabbed your keys from inside of your bag. The silence that consumed the both of you was filled with tension, filled with the possibilities that this could be more.

“Good night, Frankie.”

He sighed and reached out to rest a hand on your hip, pulling you into a tight embrace. Frankie’s arms snaked around your waist and his eyes fell shut. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face against him. Having him hold you like this again, feeling his strong arms wrap around you, and his scent filling your senses… It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that there would be consequences if you both just gave in.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat and you tightened your arms around him even more. “I love you too.”

“I have a lot to think about,” he admitted.

Slowly, you pulled away and looked up at him. Your arms remained around his neck and his arms stayed around your waist. You were so close to him, so close that you could just inch yourself forward to press your lips against his, but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“You have Colombia with the guys,” you replied. “That’s where your focus needs to be.”

Frankie nodded in agreement, leaning forward to gently press a soft kiss on your forehead. He let his lips rest there for a moment, tightening his arms around you even further to bring you flush against his body.

“You can call me if you need anything, okay?” You whispered, your eyes falling shut.

Frankie nodded and reluctantly pulled away, moving his hands back into the pocket of his pants. “Good night, hermosa.”

—-

Part 4.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed

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