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daddy-dins-girl · 8 months

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Talk Me Down

A fic requested by @anotherpedrolover

I was gonna wait until Frankie Friday (tomorrow) to post this, but this sweet human being has already waited like 2 months for me to finish this, lol, so here you go! I was asked to write a fic about insecure!Frankie who has some self-esteem/body image issues but after being with Reader (who is very appreciative of his body) he gets into it and develops a bit of a praise kink for it but but he hits a rough patch and gets into a dark place, feeling very undeserving of the love and attention Reader gives him. The person who made the request asked me to focus on his feelings and emotions when he is feeling bad and insecure (and specifically asked for some tears to be shed, lol) so I did my best to beat the crap out of Frankie (emotionally).

I hope this is somewhat what they had in mind and that they like it :) I've never really written anything like this (PWP queen over here) so I hope I got it right and didn't make Frankie too OOC. Hope you all enjoy it!

Page dividers provided by the gracious and talented @saradika-graphics

Ao3 link

My Masterlist Word Count: 9.8k Fandom: Triple Frontier (Frankie Morales x f!Reader) Notes: Pre/No TF Mission. Fic title is from the song of the same name by Troye Sivan. Warnings: 🔞 18+MDNI. Angst. Drama. Body Insecurity/Self-esteem issues. Praise Kink. Smut (pretty tame and not a lot, considering its me lol, but its there). Sad!Frankie. Mid-Life-Crisis!Frankie. Emotional hurt/comfort. Eventual happy ending. Established Relationship. No use of y/n. No physical description of Reader.

“Babe, have you seen my -“ you cut yourself off mid sentence as you turn the corner and your eyes land on your boyfriend, leisurely sprawled on the couch with his legs up on the ottoman, ankles crossed over each other and television remote firmly in hand while a baseball game plays in the background.

“Are you serious?”

“What?” Frankie asks, incredulous.

“We have to be at Will and Benny’s in like…” you pause to look at your watch. “Fifteen minutes! And what is that… are you eating the potato salad I made?”

“Was I not supposed to?” Frankie responds, forkful halfway to his mouth again already.

“Oh my god” You shake your head. You literally can’t with him today. You made that for the barbecue pool party today and now it was nearly half gone.

“Nevermind, let’s just go” you huff. You’re not in a great mood and maybe you’re being a little bitchier than usual thanks to this god awful heatwave but Frankie wasn’t helping matters any.

“I’ll be in the car” you grumble towards his general direction as you head out the front door. At least there’s A/C in the Jeep.

Surprisingly he doesn’t keep you waiting long. He’s shoving his slides on his feet as he hops down the front steps only a minute or so later and then jumps into the driver’s seat next to you, buckling his seatbelt and the two of you head out of the driveway.

“See, plenty of time” He grins at you when you pull up to the outside of your friends house a short while later with actually a few minutes to spare before your requested arrival time. You had attempted to stay mad at him, neither of you speaking more than one or two words the entire drive but now with that stupidly adorable smirk on his face you have no choice but to want to kiss it off of him. Despite your best efforts, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“There it is” his grin widens as he brings a hand up to pinch at your cheek and you playfully swat him away, trying and failing to hold back a little laugh.

“Baby I don’t know what you think we’re gonna miss anyway. It’s my birthday party. They literally can’t start without me”

“Francisco Morales, you’re going to be late to your own funeral, you know that don’t you?” You shake your head at him but the smile hasn’t left your lips.

“Oh baby we’re gonna be real late if you keep that ‘Francisco’ talk up” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at you and reaching over the center console to grab a handful of your upper thigh. “Maybe we skip the party all together, you give me my birthday present early, hmm?”

“Get out of the car you perv!” You laugh, giving him a playful shove. “Are you sure you’re turning 40 and not 14?”

“All right, all right I’ll behave” He sighs, hands up in the air to signal his defeat.

You’re glad he seems like he’s in a better mood so far today. He’s been a little off the last couple of days and you can’t say why. You’ve asked a few times if something was bothering him but he kept shrugging you off, insisting everything was fine. You chalked it up to maybe just work stress and are hoping now that the weekend is here that he’ll be able to just relax and have a great time with his friends.

Despite you being early, the party is actually in full swing on your arrival. You and Frankie let yourselves in through the back gate where the backyard is filled with several of Frankie’s (and now yours, you supposed) friends milling about. The ones you recognize immediately are his old military unit; Santiago, Benny, Will and Tom, as well as Will’s girlfriend and Tom’s wife. There are a few other people around you’ve definitely met before but can’t place all of them. Either way, you’re glad to see so many people have shown up for Frankie on his big day.

The space is decorated too with balloons everywhere, a giant banner that reads “Happy Birthday Fish!” and a big poster board is taped up against the side of the house as soon as you walk in that has pictures of Frankie and his family and friends all over it with the title “40 Years In The Making” written at the top in huge block lettering. You and Frankie both take a moment to look over the board before anyone deeper inside the yard notices you yet. There are a bunch of photos from his younger military days and even a few from when he was just a boy that have you gushing over him, telling Frankie how adorable he was and pinching his cheek for good measure. You spot a couple of pictures of Frankie having fallen asleep at a party (something he’s been known to do) with his signature ball cap pulled down over his face and beer bottle loosely gripped in his hand and those give you both a good laugh. There’s two photos of you and him together, you notice, and your personal favourite picture of Frankie - him flying his helicopter wearing a pair of Aviators, looking so sexy it makes you melt each time you see it.

You safely assume the wife and girlfriends of Frankie’s closest pals were mostly to thank for the decorating. If it were up to the boys there would be a folded table in the middle of the backyard with a pack of cards and a cooler full of beer and that would be it.

“There he is!” Benny shouts across the yard the moment he spots you both just inside the gate. He dashes across the patio and throws his arms around Frankie, nearly knocking him over in the process before landing a few hard slaps to his back. “Happy birthday ya old fuck” he teases, grabbing on to Frankie’s shoulder and jostling him slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be your turn soon enough” Frankie reminds him but Benny just shrugs.

“Always be younger than you though” he winks and that earns him a little shove from Frankie.

The rest of the greetings go more or less the same way, playful teasing or ribbing on Frankie for turning the big “4-0”. It gets old quickly but if it bothers Frankie he doesn’t let it show, just takes it in stride as he makes his way through the small crowd and says his hello’s.

By the time you get home much later that night you’re exhausted. It’s late and the day had been long (and hot in that blistering sun). Add to that you’re sober whereas everyone around you had been thoroughly wasted which made the night seem to drag on even longer. You wanted Frankie to have a great time, it was his birthday after all, so you offered to drive you both tonight and somehow that had turned into you offering to be an Uber driver for half the party so instead of it taking ten minutes to get home it had taken an hour.

“I’m beat” you announce through a long drawn out yawn, stretching tired limbs over your head. “You wanna come to bed with me, birthday boy?” You ask playfully, walking up to Frankie and looping your fingers through the belt loops of his tan cargo shorts to tug him a little closer, hoping he catches on that you’re not that tired.

“Think I’m gonna shower, I hate smelling like chlorine” he complains, gently taking your hands and removing them from his waist. “You go on, I won’t be long” he promises before leaning forward and planting a kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” you whine, a masterful pout displayed on your lips. “C’mon upstairs with me, while it’s still your birthday” you try seductively, hand reaching out to brush over the outside of his pants at his crotch.

“I said I want to shower” Frankie replies back, a little too curtly for your liking and his tone leaving no room for argument as he pushes your hand away a second time. You frown and the huff of disappointment you breathe out doesn’t go unnoticed by your partner.

“Baby come on, I’m sorry. I just don’t wanna go to bed smelling like chemicals. Go on up to bed, I’ll be right behind you” he says with finality and gives your hand a little squeeze before dropping it and heading off to the bathroom.

You sigh but let him go. Truthfully you’d been trying to drag him out of the party for hours, desperate to get him alone and all to yourself. You don’t know what’s come over you today but you felt downright needy for him, your hormones just off the charts and now he’s making you wait even longer when all you want to do is rip his clothes off and show him exactly how glad you are that he was born forty years ago today and by some cosmic twist of fate found his way into your life.

Once in the bedroom and settled into bed you hear the spray of water come to life in the bathroom down the hall and your mind can’t help but drift and think about Frankie, naked and in the shower. How the water is cascading down his broad shoulders to his soft tummy and strong, thick legs and a heat floods your body, going straight to the lower part of your abdomen. You loved his body and you weren’t shy about telling him either. You remember back to when you’d first started dating, the early stages of your intimate relationship. He was so shy around you at first, always insisting the lights be off or even leaving his t-shirt on when you’d have sex. It was all a mystery to you, how someone as gorgeous as Frankie could have self-esteem issues but you loved to remind him how crazy he drove you and how perfect he was in your eyes.

At first he got so embarrassed at your borderline worship of his body, refused to even believe you in the beginning but he warmed up eventually to the point where he loved it. Craved it, even, your praise of him. Though he’d never admitted to it out loud and always remained a little bashful about it, you could tell. Frankie was already a very generous, selfless and enthusiastic lover, but when you really got vocal with him (or better yet let your tongue and hands do the talking) of how much you enjoyed every part of his physical anatomy, Frankie could get downright animalistic with you and it brought the already amazing sex to a whole new level for you both. You had definitely uncovered a little praise-kink in your boyfriend that you don’t think he even knew existed in himself and honestly no sexual relationship you’ve had in the past could ever hold a candle to the one you and Frankie have created together.

You plan on using every weapon in your arsenal on him tonight to truly wish him a happy birthday he won’t soon forget. You’ll caress, kiss and lick your way from his prominent neck vein, his broad chest with just the lightest smattering of golden brown hair, take more than enough time for your tongue to appreciate each of his small dusty pink nipples before you continue down his sternum to where he gets a little softer. You’ll playfully nip and suck at the small expanse of flesh at his belly that protrudes just barely over his waistline, making sure to let him know with words how gorgeous he is, how hot he makes you, how he’s all yours. You just hope you get to have your fill before he takes his own. It had taken you a while to get Frankie to allow you to appreciate him the way you wanted to. He was always insistent on your pleasure and he still is to this day, but you’ve managed to strike a fairly delicate balance now for the most part, though you’ll admit there are days where Frankie comes home and he just needs you. You’ve come to recognize it on him and you’re glad to give him the reins when that happens, knowing that he’ll allow you to do the same when you need it. When you said Frankie was a generous lover you weren’t exaggerating. That man would spend hours with his face buried between your legs if you’d let him, and sometimes you’d let him do just that. But tonight was for him and tonight you need him. Need to show him how in love with him you are in a way that words just can’t do.

You have to press your thighs together just at the thought of him in the shower now, hoping he won’t be long so you can hopefully pull him out of this weird mood he’d been in most of the day. It started not long after you got to Will and Benny’s. Just silly, little things that just seemed to set him off to the point where he’d either pick a fight with you (or whoever else he happened to be talking to) or just get overly quiet and wander off by himself. You think back trying to think what could’ve started it all. He’d gone into the party in a good enough mood but soon after he started acting weird. The two of you barely fought, like ever, and here you were today in front of all your friends getting into a yelling match with each other about goddamn sunscreen of all things. And it wasn’t just you, he seemed overly quiet today around everyone, even his best friends who were more like brothers to him than anything and none of it made sense to you, you just hope now that he was home maybe he’d get out of his funk.

Your mind doesn’t have any longer to dwell however because Frankie emerges from the bathroom and into the bedroom, already changed into a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Your tongue absent-mindedly peeks out to swipe across your bottom lip at the way the wet curls stick to his forehead or how tiny droplets of water soak through the thin cotton of his dark gray t-shirt because he didn’t quite dry himself all the way off before tugging it over his head.

Not that it matters, you don’t plan on him wearing it long anyway.

“Finally” you smile at him from your spot on the bed and shuffle back slightly to pat down on the space next to you on the mattress. You pull back the bed covers to reveal that you’re wearing next to nothing, A black lacy bra and matching panties that really left nothing to the imagination. It was Frankie’s favourite on you.

“You didn’t have to wait up” Frankie says casually, looking down as he unfastens his watch from his wrist to toss it on the nightstand. If he notices your state of nearly undress during his brief glance in your direction he doesn’t say anything or even react. “Thought you were tired” he adds, feigning concern for your sleep habits.

“Read between the lines Morales, was just trying to get you into bed” you tease, sticking the tip of your tongue out at him playfully. He says nothing in response, just flips off the light and crawls in next to you but to your surprise just throws the comforter over you both and turns on his side and faces away from you as he scrunches up his pillow under his head until he’s comfortable and settles.

You frown, not that he can see you, but shuffle over to him anyway so you’re pressed up against his back and your arm slings around his waist. You stay still for a minute, waiting to see if he’ll take your less than subtle hint that you’re “not tired” but he just lays there, unmoving, and so you decide it’s time to take matters into your own hands. Literally.

Your hand slips under the hem of his shirt to rest on his soft belly and begins to gently explore. Fingertips dancing along the smooth skin and sparse little body hairs and moving over to his hip where you grab onto the small bit of extra skin there and massage his side but before you can go any further he’s grabbing your hand and pushing it out from under his shirt. He brings it to rest on top of his chest over the thin cotton of his t-shirt and just holds his hand over top of yours.

“Baby?” You breathe out into the blackness of the room, worry evident in your tone. Was he angry at you for something else now? You hadn’t even done anything for him to be mad at you about, you’ve been in bed the whole time.

“Sorry, I’m just tired” he mumbles into the pillow but you’re not buying it. Frankie was a bit of a night owl, not to mention it was a Saturday night, neither of you had work in the morning and the two of you always made sure to make the most of your weekend nights together when you could really take the time to make love the way you craved to all week.

“Hey,” you call out softly, grabbing for his shoulder and pulling it towards you so he’ll turn to face you. He lets you, turning halfway to you, onto his back and craning his neck to face you.

“Is everything okay? Are you mad at me or something?” You ask genuinely concerned. You try not to make it sound like you’re pouting because you’re not, you just need to know what’s going on with him. Maybe he’s upset about something, or maybe just a little too drunk to actively participate the way he thinks he should but you wouldn’t mind too much if he was, you certainly don’t mind taking care of him and you know he’ll more than make it up to you the next time.

He lets out a sigh and tiredly rubs at his eyes.

“Of course not. Come here, I’m sorry” he sighs once more and lifts his arm closest to you so you can snuggle into him, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm drapes across his middle again. He tilts his head down slightly to kiss the top of your hair but otherwise makes no moves to initiate anything further physically with you, just holds you tightly to his body.

“Are you really tired?” You ask quietly, turning your face slightly to nuzzle into his neck and plant little kisses there. You feel the little shudder that runs through his body and a smile pulls at your lips.

Maybe he wasn’t mad at you.

“I haven’t given you your present yet” you breathe into the warm flesh of his throat, tongue darting out to give a tentative little lick to the underside of his jaw and he rewards you with the slightest little moan, but it’s enough that you heard it and it encourages you to continue.

You begin to kiss and lick your way down the column of his throat while your hand leaves his chest to come down and gently palm him over his boxers and he instinctively thrusts his hips into your touch and you moan into his skin. You can feel him beginning to swell under your touch already.

“Mmm, can I take you out?” You murmur against his collarbone and he nods his head.

“Yeah,” he lets out in a breathy whisper and brings his own free hand down to help you shove his boxers down his thighs until he’s able to kick out of them.

Your hand wraps around his impressive length the moment he’s free from the confines of his underwear, slowly pumping him with practiced strokes and it’s not long until he’s fully hard in your hand and quietly grunting and groaning, your face buried in the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. You hate that his shirt is still on, your mouth not able to reach all the places it desperately wants to.

Your hand leaves him for a moment as you push yourself up onto your knees and swing one leg over him so you're straddling his hips, your hands resting on his chest overtop of the soft worn cotton.

“You can be tired baby, let me all do the work” you coo, leaning down to place another kiss to his jaw as you slowly grind your pelvis into his. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was just too tired or drunk to have the full cognitive function he needed but that was fine by you, tonight was for him anyways.

“Shit,” he groans, hands sliding under the back of your panties to grope the globes of your ass in his two large hands and he presses you down even harder against his groin just as he thrusts his hips upwards, the delicious friction causing a moan to escape your lips.

“Mmm, you feel so good” you whimper against his heated flesh as you nuzzle the underside of his jaw and into his throat.

“Take these off” Frankie practically growls, impatiently shoving your underwear down and with his help you manage to wiggle free of them. You both moan in unison when your lower halves press together again, this time with no barriers between you as his throbbing member slides through your slick folds with every calculated thrust of your hips against him.

“Baby you make me so wet” you giggle, hands roaming his hard chest and broad shoulders. “God you’re so hot” you praise, mouth latching back onto his neck as you trail hot open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat until you reach the collar of his t-shirt.

“Off” you gently demand, hands going to the bottom of his tee and beginning to push it upwards. You need to feel all of him, his warm skin on yours. Need to lick and kiss and touch every inch of him. “Let me touch you”

“Mnnmm mnmm” he shakes his head and without warning suddenly flips you both with practiced ease until you’re underneath him flat on your back and he’s on hands and knees looming over you. He grabs your wrists and hauls them up above your head, bringing them together so he’s able to hold them down with one hand against the top of the mattress so he can have one free and you giggle up at him.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re supposed to be tired, old man” you tease him but there’s no mirth in his eyes after he hears your words, no lingering smile on his lips. There’s desire, sure, but something else on his features. Subtle, whatever it is, but it’s there.

“Do you wanna fuck or not? Jesus,” he snaps. “I can’t do anything fucking right”

Oh, and there it is. It’s anger.

Your face scrunches up at his little outburst. That was not like Frankie at all. Not your sweet, loving, caring Frankie who adored you, this was someone else, someone you didn’t recognize.

“Get off me” you huff, easily wiggling your wrists free as he wasn’t holding too tightly and you bring your hands up to shove at his chest. His yelling at you instantly taking you out of the mood.

He does, immediately. He rolls off of you, grabs for his discarded boxers near the bottom of the bed and shoves them on. You do the same with your own underwear and also pull the sheet up to cover yourself, not wanting to feel any more vulnerable in front of him than you already do.

You have no idea what in the fuck that was all about, snapping at you like that when you thought everything was going rather well. He really was in a mood today apparently, and you didn’t care for it one bit. You’re already feeling overly emotional today, your period must be just around the corner or something.

The room falls silent. Frankie sits on the edge of the side of the bed, hands on his thighs and head hanging low while you lay back against the headboard, fingers twisting into the sheets, holding them around you like a shield. Tears well in your eyes, threatening to fall but you quickly blink them away before you bury your head in your knees.

“Do you want me to sleep downstairs?” He asks softly, the gruffness gone from his voice now. He sounds almost apologetic, though he’s still yet to apologize. He's not looking at you either, but your grateful for that at this moment.

You say nothing. Not trusting your voice just yet but the tiniest sniffle from your nose is near deafening in the stillness of the room. You quickly clear your throat in an attempt to cover the sound but it’s too late. Frankie’s head whips around back in your direction and he’s suddenly scrambling up the bed to wrap his arms around your lower back. Your legs lower instinctively to let him in and he lies over top of you with his head resting on your middle.

“Fuck, I’m sorry” he breathes out, voice muffled by the thin layer of the bed sheet as he buries his face into your stomach. “I’m an asshole”

“You’re not” you sigh. “Just - tell me what’s going on with you” you say calmly, hands now petting through his hair.

“Nothin’” he grumbles into your tummy.

“It’s not nothing, come on,” you try, a little softer this time. “You can tell me anything, you know I love you no matter what”

“Why?”

It's so quiet, so soft, mumbled against you that your ears almost didn’t even pick it up. Your heart breaks a little at the single uttered syllable.

“Hey,” you frown, grabbing both sides of his face in your hands and forcing him to look up at you. “Are you seriously asking why I love you? Where’s this coming from?” You ask, concerned. He’s been known to get down on himself from time to time but you’ve never seen him like this and it worries you.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rolls off of you, crawling up the bed to lay on his back next to you and rubs his hands over his face.

“Baby, talk to me” you press, turning to your side and curling up to his larger frame, hand stretching out to rest on his chest as your fingers play absently with the soft material of his t-shirt. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, 40 happened” he groans, hand doing a sweeping motion down his body. “I mean, look at this” he shakes his head.

“Oh baby trust me, I look at this every day” you counter, an appreciative smile playing on your lips as your hand gently rubs into his chest.

“This perfect,” you pause to press a kiss into his cheek. “Sexy,” another kiss to his jaw. “Man of my dreams”

“Stop” he huffs, gently pushing you away. “Just don’t… say shit like that. It’s not true” he argues, flipping over onto his side to face away from you.

You know when to push him and when not to, and now is not one of those times. You’ll let him have his moment, knowing if you get too in his face about it he’s likely just going to shut down and you need him to be open with you if you’re going to get anywhere. So instead you just leave him be, but stay nestled into his side, your hand rubbing small circles into his back and shoulder blades, just a soft gesture to let him know you’re here and not going anywhere.

Long minutes pass and after a while you think maybe he’s fallen asleep, until you hear it. It’s barely audible, but it’s there. The tiniest whimper falls from his lips, followed by a quiet little sniffle before he buries his face into a pillow in an attempt to cover it up and your whole heart breaks in two.

“Frankie, baby” you soothe, pulling on his shoulder and forcing him to turn towards you. Surprisingly he doesn’t fight it, just lets you roll him over and he instantly buries his face in your neck once he’s facing you, unable to look you in the eyes. But you don’t need to see him, you can feel the hot tears on his cheeks as he presses into you and you wrap your arms around his shoulders a little tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head as he lets his emotions out.

“I love you, ok?” You whisper against his chocolate brown curls, your lips pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He says nothing, just nods his head against you that he knows you love him and he knows he’s being oversensitive but he just can’t help it.

“I wish you could see what I see” you murmur against him, still hugging him tightly to your body.

Franky gently pushes back from you slightly, quickly wiping at his eyes and collecting himself before his red-rimmed gaze settles on yours.

“I’m sorry I’m in a shit mood and taking it out on you, it’s not fair and you don’t deserve it” he apologizes, shaking his head slightly. “I’m just feeling down on myself I guess and I dragged you into it and I’m sorry”

“Is that what’s been going on all day?” You ask, genuinely curious. You’re starting to piece it together now, all the teasing he’s put up with all day, how he only seemed to be snapping at you when you complimented him or tried to take off his shirt tonight. Not to mention all his friends running around half naked in just their swim trunks all afternoon, most of whom kept themselves in very tip top shape. Maybe Frankie had grown a little softer since the two of you have been together but you loved it on him, his ‘dad bod’ physique. He has nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of, as far as you’re concerned. But you suppose it’s hard not to feel self conscious when standing next to a shirtless Will, Benny or Santiago who all look like they could be models in some sort of hot firefighter calendar or something. None of them did anything for you though, Frankie would always hold your heart and your gaze, no matter who he was standing next to.

“I guess” Frankie sighs, fingers now picking at an imaginary thread on the blanket underneath you. “Sometimes I just wonder…” he trails off again and you frown.

“Wonder what?”

“Wonder what in the hell you’re doin’ with me” he sighs, throwing his hands up. “I’m a fuck-up. Forty years old and what have I accomplished in my life? I have a shit job, working for an asshole I can’t stand, flying tourists around and giving private lessons on the side to rich jerkoffs who don’t give a shit about learning anything about flying, just want a cool photo for their Instagram. Since I left the service I just feel like… Like I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing with my life anymore so I just haven’t done fucking anything. And you… god knows why you give me the time of day but you do and I just don’t ever feel like I’m enough. Least I could fucking do for you is go to the gym and take care of myself, god knows I need to eat healthier” He shakes his head and you’re unsure for a moment if he’s done beating himself up but before you even have a chance to articulate a response he starts up again.

“Like look at this!” He shouts suddenly, voice raised much higher than moments earlier as he rips his shirt off his head and sweeps his hand down his front. “How can you be in love with this, with someone who looks like this?! I… fuck’”

He doesn’t get any more words out, his hands flying to his face to hide his shame as he starts sobbing with how much hatred he apparently holds for himself and you can’t take it. You lurch forward, wrapping your arms around him and holding him as tightly to your body as possible. Thankfully he doesn’t push you away, just grabs onto you like you're his only lifeline, clinging to you with desperation.

“Frankie, my love, oh Frankie” you’re in tears now too, holding onto him for dear life so he can’t slip away from you. You won’t let him. Not this time.

You crawl into his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist and arms still around his neck like a needy spider monkey.

“I love you, so fucking much” you clarify, because you need him to hear you. “I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable. I know I can get carried away sometimes but I guess I just thought you were okay with it, thought we were both into it. But I’ve never lied to you when I tell you how I feel about you or your body. Do you hear me, Francisco?” You ask and after a moment he nods his head just slightly, just once.

“I am crazy about you, whether you believe it or understand it. But if it makes you uncomfortable when I express my physical attraction to you the way that I do, then I'll stop. Or, you know, try to. Sometimes in the heat of the moment it might just come out but you can remind me and I swear I'll do my best. Just tell me what you need from me baby, whatever it is I’ll give it to you. I can’t lose you Frankie, I can’t!” Your tears flow even harder and Frankie’s grip around you tightens at your words.

“I know, I know” he murmurs softly. “Too fucking good for me” he reiterates quietly, but not in an argumentative way like he’d meant it earlier, more like he can’t believe you put up with his shit but he’s so glad that you do. You think maybe your words have sunk in because he's not arguing with you anymore, not berating himself, just absorbing everything. You decide to leave it be for now. You've said your peace, now you can only hope he'll believe your words and take everything you've said into consideration to fend off whatever demons are feasting inside of him. All you want is his happiness and you know that you can't be the one to solely give that to him, that he needs to find it within himself as well, but you're damn sure willing and hoping that he'll take the support you give him and that he'll let you be there at his side to continue to take on this journey of life together. If he wants to find a new job, or a new career even, you'd support him through that in every way you can. You'll do whatever is in your power to get him through this and you just hope now that he knows that.

You hold each other for several minutes, neither of you saying anything further, just taking whatever comfort you have left to offer one another. You don't push him for any more communication, assuming if he's not speaking it's because his thoughts are still a little all over the place and he still hasn't quite worked it all out for himself. He'll talk about it again when he's ready and whether that's tonight or tomorrow or next month, you'll wait for him. He's worth the wait, there's no doubt in your mind about that.

After a while Frankie shifts you both until he’s lied down on his back on the bed with you half draped over top of him and eventually sleep overcomes the tears and emotions and your breathing evens out as you both drift off within minutes of lying down, the full events of the day finally taking its toll on your weary bodies.

When you wake again the sun hasn’t quite risen to the sky but you know it’s only minutes away, not hours. You feel like you didn’t sleep at all. Your head is pounding like you’re the one who finished a gallon of tequila last night, not your boyfriend and his friends. Frankie is beside you, though you’ve more or less switched positions. You’re fully on your back with Frankie’s arm draped across your middle, his face buried into the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder and he snores softly. You’re glad he’s sleeping peacefully, god knows he needs it. You carefully extract yourself from him, needing to get up and use the bathroom, tossing on a pair of shorts and a tank top. As you pad across the plush carpeting and out to the hallway your mind spins a hundred different directions as you think about yesterday, about last night. You were both highly emotional but truth be told you’ve felt off for weeks. More tired. Bitchy. And you know you’ve been taking it out on Frankie even when he’s the last person that deserves it and who knows, maybe he thought you’ve been trying to push away from him and last night he just tried to do it himself before you got the chance to and he let his insecurities get the better of him. Of course that wasn’t your intention, you’ve never felt for anyone the way you feel about him and you meant every word last night when you told him you can’t lose him. You’ve just been a mess lately and you can’t really explain it other than you know it’s nothing to do with Frankie and certainly not his fault, he just takes the brunt of your ‘crazy’ because he’s the closest person to you. You don’t know what the fuck has been going on with you unless…

Shit.

You practically sprint the rest of the way to the bathroom down the hall, tossing open drawers and cupboards and medicine cabinets in a flurry as you look for that precious little white stick that might explain a whole hell of a lot that’s been going on with you.

“Hey” you softly call out from the doorway of the bedroom, leaning up against it with a large glass of water in hand. Frankie slowly stirs. He’s on his stomach now and raises his head to look at you through sleep-bleared eyes, wayward curls falling across his forehead.

“Hey” he rasps out, voice no doubt shot from all the talking and yelling and crying from last night.

This is what the water was for.

You cross the room and he immediately throws the blanket open, inviting you into his warm cocoon as he slightly sits up against the headboard. You hand him the water as you settle in next to his large warm frame and he chugs the entire glass in record time.

“Ah, thank you, I needed that” he says, clearing his throat and then reaching past you to place the glass on the nightstand before he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, his chin resting atop your head.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur into his chest, hand coming up to draw small shapes against his clavicle.

“Like a bit of a first class idiot, if I’m bein’ honest” he sighs and you squeeze your arms around him a little tighter.

“Don’t, babe” you tut, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You were feeling a lot yesterday and it obviously needed to come out. I’m glad it did. We need to be honest with each other, you know?” You tell him, tilting your head to look up at his face. He flashes the tiniest smile at you and leans down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose before you settle back against his chest.

“Some of the things I said last night though, I didn’t even mean. Not really…” he trails off, shaking his head like he’s trying to get his thoughts in order.

You push back from him slightly and up into a sitting position and turn to face him so the two of you can have a real conversation.

“Like what?”

He shrugs shyly and looks away, fingers fidgeting with the blanket around his waist. You hear a mumbled ‘dunno’ fall from his lips. You have a pretty good idea what he’s getting at but know that he’s too embarrassed to say it himself so you help him out, scooting a little closer and placing a hand on his naked chest before you let it slowly drift lower, fingertips dancing across his warm soft flesh and his eyes close and he lets out a content little sigh as he feels your hands on his body again.

“Last night I thought that maybe… I sometimes make you feel uncomfortable when we’re in bed with the attention I give and show you... Was that just insecure Frankie talking?” You ask softly. His eyes are still closed but he nods his head. Your hand rests on his stomach and you slide it upwards again and wrap it around his neck, your thumb brushing back and forth behind his ear.

“Sorry I basically called you a liar last night. That wasn’t fair of me” He tells you sincerely, finally opening his eyes to look back at yours. “I know you love me. All of me. God knows why, but you do” he finishes with a teasing smirk.

“I do love all of you. Every inch. And sometimes I just love showing you how much I do” you shrug.

“I know. And if I’m bein’ honest… I do… y’know, like it. I really like it. I just, yesterday, I don’t know what came over me. Just feeling sorry for myself I guess and wasn’t feeling… up to par, for you, and I guess I got a little too much in my own head. Shit I don’t know, guys teasing me all night, I probably had too much to drink and looking at those stupid pictures of me from when I was much younger and took better care of myself just had me feeling not very good about myself”

“Frankie, baby,” you begin, shifting your position so you can swing one knee over to the other side of his hips so you’re sitting on his lap on your knees facing him while he rests against the headboard. His hands immediately go to your hips and rest there, just holding you, while yours go to his shoulders.

“You never have to doubt for a moment how I feel about you. How I desire you. I need you to hear me on that” you tell him, staring into his eyes in hopes he doesn’t get too embarrassed and turn away from you again. To your delight, he doesn’t. He holds your gaze and his thumbs absently draw small circles on your hips. “I am in love with this Frankie, the one right in front of me. To me he’s sweet and perfect and yeah, he turns me on. Like, a fucking lot. So sorry, but you’re just gonna have to face facts, and thems the facts” you conclude teasingly and he lets out a little chuckle.

“Understood” he nods once before he pushes forward slightly and his mouth latches on to the side of your throat, gently kissing at your inviting flesh. Your head falls back and your hands travel up to hold the back of his head, fingers running through soft chestnut curls.

“There’s something else you said last night…” you begin, trailing off slightly as Frankie’s hot mouth on your skin attempts to distract you.

“Mmm?” He mumbles into your neck, not letting up from what he’s doing as he licks and nips and sucks at the supple flesh of your throat.

Despite wanting nothing more than for him to continue, your hands go to his chest and you gently push him back. He falls back against the headboard with a quiet thud and looks at you with a hint of confusion and worry in his gaze.

“You said you haven’t accomplished anything since leaving the military and well… I just wanted you to know that I am currently in possession of evidence that you have accomplished something very special. Might even be the most important thing you’ve done in your life” you shrug and he raises a curious eyebrow at you.

“Possess… what? What do you mean?”

Rather than spell it out for him, you take his large hand in two of yours and bring it to rest on your stomach, his palm flat across the span of your belly. It’s probably too early for a ‘bump’ just yet but you hold his hand there all the same and within seconds you watch as the realization dawns across his face. At first his brow furrows like he’s confused but then they perk up and his face splits into a giant grin that reaches his eyes and causes them to crinkle at the corners.

“Baby are you… are you serious?” He asks for confirmation and you simply nod your head.

“I mean, I think so. I’ve been feeling kinda off for a while and you my dear boyfriend were too sweet to call me out on any of my crazy shit” you add teasingly and huffs a little laugh but shakes his head. “Then it all kinda clicked into place when I woke up so I took a test this morning and it was positive” you shrug. “I’ll have to make a doctors appointment to be su-“

You don’t get the rest of the words out before Frankie is on you. He surges forward pressing his mouth to yours in a firm kiss before he moves to start peppering tiny little kisses all over your face and neck until you’re bubbling over with laughter as his facial scruff tickles your throat with his frantic movements.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, eyes welled up with tears as he pushes back from you to stare into yours. He needs to hear you say it, make sure he’s not dreaming this moment. You had a close call together once before, hence the left over pregnancy tests in your bathroom cupboard but nothing came of it. Neither of you expressed disappointment or relief over the false alarm several months back, just kept on with your lives but now it felt different. At least for you. You felt… ready. Excited, even.

“We’re having a baby” you confirm, wide grin across your lips, ecstatic that Frankie is happy with this news.

“Oh my god” he breathes out, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you tightly against his chest so he can bury his nose in your hair. “I'm gonna be a dad?”

“You’re gonna be a great dad” you clarify.

“Oh my god” he breathes out again, pulling you back tightly against him one last time.

“I’m so glad you’re happy about this” you blubber through a few tears, squeezing him back just as tightly. You really weren’t sure how this news would go over, especially given the events of last night and how Frankie currently felt about his position in life but you are incredibly relieved at how happy this news has made him. You weren’t planning this, like at all, but you suppose when you have as much sex as you and Frankie do, no matter how careful you are, it’s bound to happen.

“Of course I'm happy” Frankie murmurs into your shoulder. “I’m so fucking happy” you can feel a few stray tears fall against your skin and you smile, holding him impossibly tighter.

You stay there for several long moments, just letting everything sink in before Frankie speaks and breaks the silence. It’s quiet, muffled into the warmth of your skin as his face stays buried in your neck, but you hear it.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?” You breathe out in shock. You heard him, you know you heard exactly what he said, but… is this really happening?

“Will you-”

“I heard you” you quickly interrupt, gently pulling back from him enough so you can look at each other again. You put both hands on his face, searching for any traces of regret like maybe he just blurted that out because of the endorphins coursing through his body but he looks back at you only with pure love in those giant brown irises of his.

All the same, you need to be sure he’s absolutely sure and not just doing this because he thinks it’s ‘the right thing to do’. You want him to marry you because he wants to marry you, not because of any obligation he might feel. To be honest you’ve been waiting for a while for him to pop the question, you figured you’ve been together long enough, living together even for a while now but it hadn’t happened yet. You try not to feel too over excited that he’s asked you now, in case it’s for the wrong reasons, but you can’t help but feel how your heart practically soared the moment the words fell from his lips.

“And?...” Frankie asks hopefully and you realize it’s been several long seconds without you actually giving him an answer.

“Baby,” You sigh, your gaze glancing down for a moment and you feel his shoulders drop a little, like he’s already anticipating you saying no to him. “I would marry you in a damn heartbeat but… I just don’t want you to ask me now because you think you have to. This is a lot, I just don’t want to put any more pressure on you. I don’t expect you to suddenly feel ready to marry me because of this”

You try desperately to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. If he agrees with you and takes it back you won’t be mad with him but you know your heart will be just a little bit broken.

“Wait right here” he suddenly pipes up, taking your hands and pressing them into your lap before he extracts himself from the bed and runs over to the closet. You watch him closely, not exactly sure what he’s up to as he scavenges around at the top of the closet for a moment, rooting through a box you recognize that holds some of his military achievements that he said he didn’t want to hang up or have on display, a chapter of his life he had closed.

He seems to find what he’s been after and scurries back over to the bed, crawling across it on his knees until he’s back in front of you again and presses a small blue velvet box into your hands. You flip the lid open and a soft gasp leaves your lungs.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this” he shrugs. “I bought it weeks ago and I wanted to, you know, plan something big for you and then ask you but, I mean, what’s a bigger moment than this, right?”

Your eyes well up again (happy tears this time) as you stare down at the beautifully crafted diamond engagement ring that sparkles brightly despite the low lighting of your bedroom. The band is a beautiful rose gold, your favourite, and the cut of the diamond and style of the ring is one you’ve been dreaming about since you were a little girl. Clearly Frankie paid attention all those times you happened to pass by a jewelry store together.

“You’ve had this for weeks?” You ask through your tears, still not believing it, your dream actually coming true. Not only was Frankie asking you to marry him, but it was his idea and something he’d decided on long before he knew you were pregnant.

“Yeah I guess I’ll have to call off the marching band and the flash-mob dancers now though” he teases with a smirk. “Unless you want me to take it back and-” he goes to reach for the ring but you snatch the box out of reach, clutching it to your chest.

“Not on your life pal” you playfully threaten.

“Can I at least put it on you then?” he laughs. “That is, if you’re saying yes? Wait, let me…” he trails off and scoots off the bed again only to kneel down on one bent knee beside it. He reaches up and turns you so you’re facing him and a huge dopey smile spreads across your lips as you watch him want to do this at least somewhat properly. If anyone asks later you’ll leave out the part where he’s half naked when he popped the question.

“May I have that back, just for a second?” He asks and you oblige him, handing back the box.

He begins with saying your full name and your heart practically flutters in your chest as you take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure and get through this without being a weeping, blubbering mess.

“Would you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?” he asks, slight tremble in his voice from his nerves and all you can do is give him a face splitting smile before you frantically nod your head and yank him up from the floor, crushing your mouth to his.

“Yes I’ll marry you Francisco Morales” you murmur against his lips between hungry kisses. “About damn time” you tease and he laughs at that as well. He knows he probably should have done this sooner but he’d been waiting to save up enough money to get you the perfect ring he knew you deserved.

Frankie regretfully pulls away from your mouth to carefully pull the ring from the box and place it on your finger before he holds both your hands in his and lets out a big sigh of relief.

“You make me so happy” he confesses, leaning down so his forehead rests against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever given you any reason to doubt that, but you’re the best thing in my life. Best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure that you and this little one feel the same way about me”

“I will always feel the same way about you Frankie” you promise, eyes slipping shut as another tear escapes which Frankie gently brushes away with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re sure you’re still gonna love me when I’m even more of a pain in the ass in a few months than I am now?” You ask playfully and Frankie huffs a laugh but nods his head affirmatively.

“We’re locked in now baby” Frankie affirms, gently twisting the ring around your finger. “It’s you and me”

“Plus one” you add, looking down to your tummy and Frankie laughs.

“Plus one” he confirms. “And maybe down the line… more than one?” he asks playfully, moving a little closer and nuzzling into your throat before he begins to plant hot little open-mouthed kisses there. You laugh wholeheartedly, your head tossing backwards. Leave it to Frankie to learn five minutes ago that you’re barely pregnant and already asking you if you want another. You really did love him with all your heart and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier than in this moment.

And it turns out that was the truth, that was your happiest moment, until about seven months later a new one replaces it as you hold your beautiful daughter in your arms for the first time. Frankie is at your side with his forehead resting against yours as a tiny hand clutches around one of his large fingers, the one that happens to have a shiny gold band around it now, and tears flow freely down his cheeks. He’d barely gotten there in time for your unexpectedly two-week-early delivery, but he’d made it. Thankfully he was well enough known around the hospital by this point that they allowed him to land his bird on the helipad on the roof before he jumped out and let his co-pilot take over for him as he rushed inside to find you.

It turned out Frankie had found his calling not long after your little unexpected surprise all those months ago. His reflections on the direction his life was going, coupled with your exciting news of having an addition to your family, gave him the push he needed to have his career together in a way that was both rewarding and challenging to him and after a few months of long days and intense training he was accepted into the local Red Cross chapter’s Search and Rescue Program as a Lead Pilot. He loved his job again. He was proud of what he did and most importantly knew that his family could be proud of him too. It allowed him to give back and to serve his community and country the way he always felt he was meant for, except now he could do it and still be home in time for dinner most nights, not shipping out to god knows where for months at a time as he had done in the service.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Morales” the doctor beamed at the two of you, though neither of you could take your gaze off the tiny bundle in your arms long enough to look back at her. Frankie mumbled a polite ‘thank you’ towards her before pressing a kiss into your temple.

“You did it baby” he murmurs against your skin and you can feel the smile spread across his lips.

“We did it baby” you correct him, turning your head just slightly to press a kiss to the underside of his chin. “We made this beautiful, perfect angel” you sigh, nuzzling back in towards your daughter, inhaling that euphoric ‘new baby smell’ you’d up until now only read about but now completely understood.

“My girls” Frankie sighs, heart swelling with content at how goddamn lucky he got in his life.

“Thank you for loving me” he confesses, lips pressed to your temple.

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @suzdin @iamasaddie @boliv-jenta @chronically-ghosted @vabeachazn @anotherpedrolover @axshadows @pedroshotwifey @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings

#frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction

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aliorsboxostuff · 5 months

Note

Hi! If your requests are open I have one! Just saw ATSV yesterday and its rotting my brain agsisghagdh anyways-

An M!Spider!Reader who is one of Miguel's trusted agents with a tendency to overwork himself to make sure that his teammates are kept safe and ignoring his own health in the process. This understandably makes Miguel very concerned but this man cannot healthily express this are you kidding? What I'm saying is classic troupe of patching you up while scolding you in Spanish and then maybe they kiss a little bit and well if you want to make it a little spicy I wont stop you >:]

Thank you very much! Genuinely makes my gay little heart happy when I see writers like you who exclusively write for gn/male readers, y'all are the backbone of the x reader community fr 💜

A/N: im so sorry this took so long this was months ago but a mf forgot and wow here i am yippee!!!! As usual, if yall find any spelling mistakes pls inform me as i’m always praciticing this damn 2nd language lmao. Lets see if my writing skills is still any good LOL enjoy!! <333

Careless

Tags: Miguel O’hara xM!Reader, Spidey!Reader, Lyla, Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy, Spider Society, No Smut, Kissing , Fluff, Reader is another spiderman, Soft!Miguel, slight OOC, patching up, healing fic, non-graphic description of wounds, mentions of blood and cuts

Yet, with all that said, Miguel likes to remind himself that no spidey truly comes home unscathed.

Ever since the new guy joined the team, he quickly rose in the ranks and became Miguel’s right-hand man. He’d usually go on patrol, jumping from one universe to another with the man as they capture and contain anomalies like the bugs they are. Miguel puts his trust in him, well, as much trust as a man like Miguel can put in someone. But despite the short time the newbie has been in the Spider society, he has managed to capture Miguel and most of the Spider people's hearts so easily.

He’s a comet that passes by the compound. Each time he returned from a mission, the spiders would gather around him, congratulating him on another successful mission and inviting him to drink or eat together. A aswarm would always gather around the portal they knew he would come out from and each time, without fail, he would emerge to cheers and smiles. It wasn't like everyone else wasn't doing a good job, they were all doing what they were supposed to, but somehow the newbie was liked all around, solidifying Miguel’s slowly growing infatuation with him.

But despite the trust and praises he gets, a spidey doesn't come home unscathed, not every time. Sometimes he’d come back from one of his solo missions with a broken rib or two, bruises in more places than necessary, a torn muscle here a twisted ankle there. He’d limp his way into the infirmary, an army of other spideys following him in worry yet he’d dismiss them easily with a simple wave and a; “It’s nothing guys, I’ll be fine,”

Miguel hates it.

Whenever the man goes on missions with the leader of the society, without fail, he will come home with nothing more than one or two bruises that would heal in a couple of hours if not minutes. Miguel would roll his shoulders back and the man would simply shake his head furiously like a dog before prancing to greet his waves of fans. Miguel didn't need to pay attention to him unless they were doing teamwork. He would run around by himself, track down the anomaly with him, and they would contain it easily and transfer it back just as easily.

He might not look like it, but when Miguel brings a teammate with him on duo missions, he’s expected to cover their back and vice versa. Miguel will break any skull that dares to hurt his team and he hopes for the same response from his teammate. The newbie never disappoints.

Miguel would find himself enraged, almost cornered by an anomaly, and there come’s Prince Charming with a devastating kick towards the anomaly’s side which sends it hurling into another building. Miguel appreciates their duo missions, the main reason he puts himself with the newbie.

Not to mention, he makes a great team leader too. He’s carried out several missions with the younger ones, mainly Miles and Gwen, and despite it all, they always return successfully and with a snack in hand. When he goes on missions with Hobie, they’d somehow come back with a new intricate playlist created and when he goes on missions with Pavitr, they’d come back with pockets full of trinkets ready to give them to the other youngins. All in all, a solid team leader.

Yet, with all that said, Miguel likes to remind himself that no spidey truly comes home unscathed.

—

You were on a mission with Miles. One of your duo missions with the boy, rare considering Gwen usually tags along. But today she’s got a mission with Pavitr and Peni, which leaves you and Miles for some quality Dude Time.

It was a sunny day in the universe Miles and you dropped in. As the two of you swing from building to building, talking about Miles’ thing with Gwen and laughing at how embarrassed he gets, continuing the topic to buying a new Lego set for Pavitr and Hobie as the two of you swung past a Lego shop, when suddenly the anomaly reveals itself.

Another variant of Doc Oct holding themselves up with their extended metal arms. You can handle a Doc Oct alone, and with Miles helping you, the mission was expected to be so easy you were already thinking about what to have for dinner.

But things don't always go according to plan, does it?

It strikes 8 pm when Miguel gets a notif from Lyla that an arriving portal was opened into the containment site of the compound. The man clicks his tongue, dropping from his platform before making his way to the site. Every step he takes he leaves his foul mood like a repellent, making the other spidey avoid him, cutting the middle path of the other spideys like a blade. His scowl is not helping his case either way.

The last portal should've been at 6 pm.

The door slides open, and a slight hiss rings out into the room. Inside the evenly lit expanse of the room, he easily spots yours and Mile’s spider suits in between all the other anomaly's dingy outfits. Miguel takes a breath before he stalks towards the two men, their backs to him.

“Ugh, my rib is killing me,” You groan, pressing in the code to store the anomaly in its cell.

“You're telling me, this bruise is going to be a pain in the butt to heal,” Miles sighed, holding his left arm. “But if it weren't for you, man, I’d be dead meat,”

“Oh come on Miles, none of us knew the guy would send a gas truck our way,” You scoff. The terminal beeps and the thrashing anomaly is contained.

“The fact that it burned on its way towards us was also something we didn't expect.” Miles laughs at what you said as you find yourself cringing. You knew there were going to be burn marks on your leg.

“No, but seriously, thanks for covering me back there, I thought we’d-”

“You thought you’d what?”

Miles practically jumps into your arms as the both of you screams. You shut your eyes and it seems like Mile’s did the same before a stern cough makes you peek through your eyelids. There, in front of you, stands a solid wall of muscle and anger. Miguel has his arms crossed, eyes so sharp it could cut a mountain in half. The slight scowl on his lips would be cute if it weren't for the pure bloodlust as he gazes down into you, making you gulp.

“Heeeeeey Miguel,” Your pathetic excuse of a smile was met with nothing but him deepening his frown. Okay alright yup.

Miles awkwardly scuffles down your arms. He coughs into his fist, pulling at the edge of his suit. “Hi there haha…”

Miguel stares. “The last arrival portal should've been at six.”

Not a sound from you or Miles. Miguel holds back a growl.

“You two are late.”

“Right, ‘m sorry Miguel, I promise this would be the last time, it was just that- See me and Miles here; we didn't realize that this Doc Oct was gonna be slightly more insane than the others-” You ramble, Miles quickly nodding along.

“And haha, well, one truck lead to another and next thing ya’ now, bam! We got uh… hurt,” A nervous chuckle left your lips. Miguel replies nothing.

“B-but! I covered Miles from the fire! So he only got a couple of bruises, I promise the kid is fine and it wasn't his fault either so let’s just-”

“Enough.” He barks. You practically clamped your mouth shut.

The doors hisses open again and Gwen comes running in, worry on her face. She sighs in relief as he spots Miles hiding beside you. “Miles! Thank goodness you’re okay!”

Miguel turns as she runs and wraps her arms around the boy. “You came back so late!”

“I’m sorry Gwen, things got a bit out of control,” Miles pats the girl back reassuringly. “I just got a bit beaten up, nothing I can't handle,”

Gwen pulls back and grabs the boy's face before turning it left and right and up and down, her eyes scanning like a hawk. She deems it enough as she stops, hands firmly holding Miles’ arms. “You always say that,” She sighs.

You can't help the small relieved smile on your lips as you watch the two teens catch up with each other before Miguel makes a gesture with his hand.

“Gwen, go take Morales into the infirmary.” He says as he nods to Lyla that popped up on his brace. “And make sure he doesn't get out of bed for the next two days.”

“What?! But it’s barely a scratch-”

“Now, Morales.” The man stares them down until eventually, Miles relents with a sigh and lets the girl usher him into the Infirmary's direction, the two of them shuffling next to each other, Gwen's arm around Miles.

You hear something along the lines of ‘detention’ from Gwen as she laughs before the door slides close, leaving you with an enraged lion in its territory. You gulp as Miguel fixes his red eyes on you.

“You. Come with me.”

And that's how you find yourself walking down the halls of the many living quarters of the compound. You followed silently behind Miguel’s broad shoulders, in any other day you would find it hard to resist not ogling those massive arms, but tonight Miguel was practically a walking beacon of rage. The smallest misstep would make him burst and thats the last thing you want to happen.

“Miguel, I'm sorry, okay?” You try, catching up to walk beside him. “I promise this will be the last time I’ll come back from a mission late, plus, I won't bring anyone else with me too if I ever do it again. I swear this won't hap-”

His sudden halt catches you off guard and you bump against him. You scratch the bridge of your nose with a slight frown from the impact. The dimly lit hallway made it a slight challenge to read the nameplate but you managed to make out ‘O’Hara’ and with that, your stomach drops.

“Um… Miguel, this isn't my room…”

The door opens. The room is pitch black.

Miguel makes his way inside. His red eye glows before he commands; “Sit.”

Fear brought you to sit on his bed, not a crease in sight which only struck your fear deeper into you. You could hear your heartbeat, terrified for what's to come. The worst thing Miguel could do would probably chew you out in the comfort of his room, away from any possible witnesses, and then maybe take you out of commission for a while as your punishment.

You gulp as the man sets something beside you. It was a box, hard to make out what it was but it seemed heavy. Miguel clawed and the large hand extends towards you and you screw your eyes shut, hell did you pray to any god that was willing to listen to you so please please please-

“Bring your face closer.”

Huh?

Cautiously, you open your eyes to Miguel’s face inches away from you, a warm light bathes over his features, making the lines of worry and fear evident. “Let me see your wounds.”

You blink, once, twice, owlishly, making the man before you sigh and cup your jaw softly. He turns your face to inspect it before he brings his other hand which wipes your fringe away from covering any other possible wounds.

He hums. “Looks like just scratches.”

The mystery box turns out to be a first aid kit. Miguel flicks it open and rummages around in it before he pulls a couple of bottles and bandages out.

“Take off your suit top, we need to treat that burn before it gets worse.” He demands. You cough before awkwardly peeling off what's left of your suit before dropping it on the carpeted floor. You need to get that repaired.

You couldn't bear to meet Miguel's eyes. Not when he’s kneeled in front of you, his usually intimidating body looking small as he’s hunched over. He looks tired, his frown is a mixture of worry and annoyance, but there is something beneath it. Something you don't dare to think about but you know. You always knew. From the first day, you finally managed to see that crack in Miguel’s hardened exterior, you’ve been scared to make another move toward him. Behind this wall of a man, is a heart guarded with spikes and what he has in his eyes right now as he’s wrapping a cooling pad around your arm is something that petrifies you.

“Next time you’ll be doing missions with me and me only. I won't be assigning you to any other spiders until you learn to take care of yourself,” He huffs, unveiling another roll of bandages. He pulls at your shoulder which makes you turn slightly.

"Fucking hell, ¿cómo puedes ser tan descuidado? You run around saving everyone else but who’s going to save you, huh?" He huffs, wrapping the last of the bandage slightly too tight which makes you wince. He notices but does nothing.

Once again, he holds your chin between his fingers as your gazes suddenly meet. Miguel growls with how you won't meet his eyes, firmly pointed anywhere but into Miguel’s red eyes. He sighs before letting you go as he takes out some ointments. He puts the substance on your cheek and under your slowly blackening eye, then down your jaw where you know a pretty bad bruise taints your skin. You feel his movement slow before his hand rests on your nape, sending jolts of warmth through your body.

“Cuídate, ¿eh? Cuídate." His voice devastatingly soft.

Confusion and a steady wave of feelings start at the bottom of your heart, which only worsens as you finally find the courage to look at Miguel. To your surprise, his eyes are wider than usual, pools of crimson oozing with care as he scans your features. His thumb rubs at the base of your skull. “I can't lose my right-hand man.”

He sighs. “Please, necesito que estés seguro por mí,"

You inhale sharply. Without realizing it, he's practically inches away from you. Your heart races, beats out of your control when Miguel rubs your nape again.

“Miguel…?”

A beat passes. Silence.

Before Miguel growls roughly and promptly stands, taking the med kit with him. He makes his way to what you assume was his wardrobe. Panic rises beside you, making you wave around your hands. “I- Um- Miguel please I didn't mean to- Oof!”

Something was thrown at you. Something soft and large and is this hit shirt and… boxers?!

“Change your clothes. You can't sleep in those.” Miguel points out, his scowl now a pout on his lips.

“But-”

“I'm not saying this twice.” He growls before he slides into the bathroom and leaves you in his bedroom along with the pile of his clothes in your arms.

You slowly look down at what you're holding. Carefully, you slide off what's left of your suit and drop them in a discarded pile before pulling on Miguel's clothes. To no one's surprise, you're practically drowning in the shirt. His boxers barrel fits you and the first goes over your tighs easily. You feel smaller even for your height and stature, but it feels… safe.

The door of the bathroom slides open to reveal Miguel standing with slightly damp hair as he's drying it off with a towel and in nothing but gray sweats. Something grows within you and it’s definitely something else besides your heart.

“Ah, you're done,” He glances toward you before setting the towel down neatly. He saunters to the side of his large bed, pulling the covers off before sliding in. An arm keeps the cover slightly open, before he raises an obvious brow.

“Get in here and sleep,” He huffs.

You jump and quickly slide beside Miguel, careful to keep an inch of a distance. But that was deemed unsuccessful when the man beside you pulled you to his side, and his arm wrapped protectively around your middle which made you drape your hand over his chest. Before you can squirm, he locks his chin over your head with a content sigh.

Shit, he really is a giant lion. You sigh.

“Sleep. You need your rest to heal.” Miguel’s voice purrs through you while you're practically glued to his side. You chuckle slightly before pressing a peck just below his jaw.

“You sleep too.” You smile. “Good night Miguel.”

You hear Miguel hum before he presses his lips to your crown. “Good night.”

Translations:

how can you be so careless? = cómo puedes ser tan descuidado

Take care, huh? Take care of yourself. = Cuídate, ¿eh? Cuídate.

I need you to be safe for me, = necesito que estés seguro por mí,

Reblogs are appreciated <3

#miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x m!reader #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x gn!reader #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #across the spider verse #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fic #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel o'hara fluff

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hyperfixatedonthisnow · 1 year

Text

Nightmare’s solace

*Not my GIF.

Nikolai Lantsov still has me in a chokehold so i wrote another thing. This one features one of my favourite fic tropes and also has a smidgen of plot this time so its a bit longer. Based more on show Nikolai who I feel is a little bit softer around the edges than his book counterpart.

Summary: You find yourself spending the night with your secrect crush, the King of Ravka and as luck would have it, there’s only one bed *gasp* ;) He comforts you after a nightmare and one thing leads to another.

Word count: 4.5K ish

Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. Mild angst/comfort, mention of nightmares, smut, fem!reader, P in V sex, protected sex (because resonsible adults), maybe slightly OOC Nikolai but that’s just because he’s too stupid to realise reader wants him as much as he wants her :D

All mistakes are my own.

You shuffled into what was presumably the world’s smallest room, silently cursing the innkeeper. Most of the limited space was taken up by the bed, which itself was small. There was a dresser squeezed into the corner and a short, uncomfortable looking couch pushed against one wall. “Perfect,” you huffed sarcastically, dropping your bag onto the bed. You did a quick sweep of the room and then the tiny adjoining bathing room. When you turned back, Nikolai was standing near the side of the bed. The King was uncharacteristically silent, a frown etched into his features. Tamar followed closely behind him and she let out a low whistle as she took in the room. There wasn’t even enough floor space for the four of you to be in there at the same time, so Nadia waited just outside the door. “Cosy,” she joked, waggling her eyebrows at you from the doorway and you snorted a laugh. Nikolai’s frown deepened. “You cannot seriously be expecting all four of us to spend the night in this sardine box?” he muttered incredulously. “Of course not,” Tamar answered cheerfully as she moved past him to check the window locks. If she had noticed the King’s unusually sullen mood, she didn’t comment on it. “Nadia and I will be in our own room across the hall.” “Oh. Right. Of course. Just the two of us then,” Nikolai said, sounding vaguely strangled. You tried not to be offended. “No need for us all to be together, no one knows us here. Besides, you can handle yourself, so protecting you is a one woman job really,” she explained with a grin. Nikolai nodded but his expression was still grim. Satisfied that everything was secure, Tamar pulled the drapes shut and turned to you. “We good?” She questioned. You shrugged, “I guess so.” Nikolai opened his mouth as if to protest, but promptly snapped it shut again when he saw you looking at him. He folded his arms over his chest and turned his attention to the bed instead, glaring at it as if it had personally insulted him. “Okay then, we’ll see you both in the morning,” Tamar said as she moved to leave.

“Sleep tight,” Nadia added in a sing song voice, and Tamar gave you a wink on her way out. You flipped them both off behind Nikolai’s back. They knew you had a thing for him and they weren’t exactly subtle about it, you wouldn’t have been surprised if they had chosen this room on purpose — especially since Tamar was the one who had volunteered you for this mission in the first place. You crossed to the door, securing the lock and sliding the security bolt into place, then perched yourself on the edge of the bed. Nikolai was agitated, pacing back and forth in the limited space. The lack of confidence was so unlike him, you wondered if he was afraid.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be safe here,” you tried to reassure him, “I know what I’m doing, and Tamar is just across the hall.” “I’m not worried,” he huffed, still pacing unhappily. “Uh huh.” You only just managed to hold back an eye roll, “Then what’s your problem?” He stopped, his eyes flicking to yours momentarily and away again as he heaved a put-upon sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bed, and you did roll your eyes then. “Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, “I know it’s not ideal, but I’m sure we can manage to share for one night.” He stared at you as if you’d said something utterly ridiculous — like you’d suggested he move to Novyi zem and take up a career as a circus clown. “Absolutely not.” “We’re both adults here your highness,” you reasoned, but his expression only darkened. “Oh come on, a little cuddling never hurt anyone. I’ll even let you be the little spoon if you want,” you teased, trying to lighten his mood. “I — we — I mean— I don’t —“ he spluttered, his face flushing red. You couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he was. You had never known the silver-tongued King to be at a loss for words. He fixed you with a disapproving glare as he finally managed to gather himself. “That would hardly be appropriate,” he said haughtily. You bristled at the condescension in his tone and his holier-than-thou attitude. You were only here in the first place because he had seen fit to plan a secret visit Shu Han. Technically, you were a Grisha teacher, not a royal guard, and it wasn’t strictly part of your job description to serve as his protective detail, but you owed Tamar a favour and the King had wanted to take a limited group who would not draw attention. Your part-Shu heritage made it easy for you to blend in and you were powerful enough, and had enough combat experience, to be able to defend yourself as well as him should the need arise. “Suit yourself,” you shrugged, grabbing a pillow from the bed and tossing it at him with a little more force than necessary. “If you don’t want to share, you can take the couch.” “Fine,” he muttered, catching the pillow with both hands before it could smack him in the face. He set it down on the couch and grabbed his bag, stalking off into the bathing room. You heard the water running as you rooted around in the dresser to find a spare blanket. You draped it over the back of the couch and then started getting ready for bed in an effort to distract yourself from thoughts of Nikolai Lantsov, King of Ravka — naked and wet, and just a few feet away. You loosened your hair from its tight braid, combing it through with your fingers, but when you opened your bag, you realized that you had somehow forgotten to pack nightclothes. Fuck. Cursing under your breath, you deliberated briefly but ultimately decided there was no way you were sleeping in your kefta or your bra. You stripped down to just a thin undershirt and panties, and climbed into bed, snuffing the nearest candle to dim the light and pulling the covers up to your waist, just as Nikolai emerged from the bathroom. He was barefoot, dressed for bed in a faded Ketterdam University shirt and grey sleep pants. His hair was damp and free of product, falling naturally onto his forehead instead of his usual swooped style. Seeing him so undone was odd, it felt intimate, and you couldn’t help but stare. Interestingly, Nikolai seemed to have the same problem. His eyes raked over your form and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze lingering on the swell of your breasts far longer than could be considered appropriate. The heat of his gaze was like flames across your skin. He took a step towards you, but then suddenly he seemed to come back to his senses. He swiftly averted his eyes and turned away, heading for the couch instead. He bent over to place his bag on the floor and your eyes were drawn to his ass. You struggled to tear your gaze away from the smooth, tanned skin of his lower back, now on display where his shirt rode up. He met your eyes as he straightened and the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement when you blushed, quickly looking away. He cleared his throat as if to speak, but you beat him to it. “It’s late,” you said curtly, embarrassed, in light of his comment about inappropriate behavior, to be caught so obviously checking him out — even if he had been doing the same. “We should get some sleep.” He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your tone but he inclined his head in silent agreement. Laying down on the couch, he adjusted his pillow and pulled the blanket over himself. He must have been uncomfortable. The couch was so comically small that he had to curl himself up to fit, but he was stubborn and since he’d been so vehemently against sharing the bed before, you didn’t bother to suggest it again. He reached over to snub out the candlelight. “Wait,” you mumbled, a thought suddenly occurring to you. “I uhh.. I guess I should probably warn you.” You rubbed the back of your neck self-consciously. Nikolai stared at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue and you felt your face heating up again. You couldn’t not tell him if you were going to be spending the night in the same room though, so you swallowed down the feeling of humiliation and ploughed ahead. “I have... nightmares, sometimes. It’s not really a big deal, but I can get pretty upset and I don’t want you to freak out if it happens.” A look of concern flitted across his face but he didn’t say anything and you were grateful for it, you didn’t want his pity. “Bad memories,” you shrugged, “from the war, you know?” you finished quietly, lifting your eyes briefly to meet his. The war that had killed your family, destroyed your home. The war that had seen the Darkling murder your friends. The war that had forced you to see and do things so terrible that even now you could not speak of them. Nikolai did know. He had been a soldier too, after all. He understood why the things you’d been through might haunt you, and on a personal level, he knew what it was like to be tortured by memories of the things you had done, of the people you couldn’t save. He nodded his head sympathetically. “Ok, well, goodnight then,” you mumbled awkwardly as you settled yourself down, curling up on your side. “Goodnight,” Nikolai replied softly. You tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position or quiet your mind, The King’s close proximity and the fact that you had shared your secret with him combining to make it almost impossible for you to fall asleep. You lay awake in the dark, listening to the sound of his deep, even breaths until you eventually managed to drop off. Sometime in the middle of the night, you sprang bolt upright in bed, a choked sob tearing its way from your throat. Your heart pounded, the terror of the nightmare fresh in your mind. Nikolai appeared beside you almost instantly, his hand rubbing gentle circles over your back.

“Shhhh..” he soothed, his voice low and rough from sleep, “It’s okay, it was just a dream.” You reached out blindly in the near darkness until your hands found his solid form, clutching at him desperately as your tears began to fall. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest without hesitation, tucking your head under his chin. He was sleep-warm and he smelled faintly of cologne. You turned into him, burying your face in the soft cotton of his t-shirt and allowing him to envelope you as you cried. You trembled, struggling to get yourself under control and he squeezed you tighter still.

“It’s over now,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.” Nikolai held you until your sobbing had subsided and your breathing started to even out, then he pulled away, moving to get off the bed. You grabbed his arm to stop him. “Stay,” you pleaded, fear bleeding into your tone, “Please.” He turned back immediately, pulling you into his arms again without argument. He stroked your hair lightly as he held you and he didn’t push you to talk. His quiet strength was comforting. Eventually, you calmed enough to realize how pathetic you must seem, clinging to him like a child. You let go, fisting your hands in the sheets at your lap and steadfastly avoiding his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, mortified. “Don’t do that,” he said sternly, putting one finger under your chin to tilt your head up. “You have nothing to apologise for.” He gave you a reassuring smile as your gaze flicked up to meet his in the dim light. His brow was furrowed with concern, but his eyes held no judgement, only empathy. His hair was askew from sleeping and his smile was crooked, giving his handsome face a boyish quality. His t-shirt was tight across his broad chest and biceps. The sight of him made your breath hitch, he had never looked so appealing as he did right then. He reached out to tuck a stray lock of your hair back behind your ear. It was a simple gesture, but the unexpected gentleness of his touch and the kindness in his eyes made you well up again. “What can I do?” Nikolai asked helplessly, as your tears spilled over once more. “Make love to me,” you murmured, slipping your hand under his shirt and running your fingers lightly along the strip of skin just above his waistband. His muscles twitched under your fingertips. “Help me forget.” It wasn’t fair of you to ask it of him, but in the moment you didn’t care. You needed something to chase the demons from your mind and he was a good man. Honest and kind. You knew that you could trust him not to hurt you. There was a wet patch over his heart where your tears had soaked through his shirt and you covered it with your hand as you leaned in towards him, pressing your lips to his. He froze for a fraction of a second, but then he was kissing you back, opening his mouth to you when you licked along his lower lip. He cupped your jaw with one hand, his touch feather light. He allowed you to take full control, and you did, sliding your free hand into the short hair at the nape of his neck as you tangled your tongue with his, using your grip to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. You were both breathing heavily when you parted and you could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under your palm. He was silent for what felt like an eternity, his inner conflict playing out across his face.

“I can’t,” he said finally, but he didn’t move away. His heart was still racing and he swallowed thickly, his eyes drawn back to your mouth. He wanted you too. “You can,” you insisted. Lowering your head, you kissed and licked your way from the exposed skin near the collar of his shirt, up his neck to nip at his pulse point. He sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed and his fingers lacing through your hair almost against his will. Sensing weakness, you moved to straddle him. He let out a surprised grunt as you settled yourself firmly in his lap, his hands instinctively dropping to your waist. You nuzzled along his jawline to nibble on his earlobe, grinding your hips against him and he groaned, turning his head to find your mouth with his. He kissed you hungrily, his grip tightening on your waist as he rocked up into you. You could feel his body responding through the layers of fabric between you and when you reached for the hem of his shirt, he let you pull it up and off over his head. You claimed his mouth again as you ran your hand down his bare chest and abdomen to palm his growing erection through his pants. You swallowed the sound he made as his hips canted up into your touch, but then suddenly he was pulling back and carefully pushing you away. This time it was him who mumbled an apology. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “For what?” you frowned, confused. “I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t be taking advantage.” “Pretty sure I’m the one trying to take advantage of you here,” you chuckled wryly. “You’re not thinking clearly,” he sighed, running his fingers through his sleep mussed hair as he turned away, “You’re upset, and vulnerable right now.” Your stomach churned with embarrassment at the look of distress on his face. Obviously you had read things wrong and this was his attempt at letting you down gently. He probably wasn’t even attracted to you and even if he was, hadn’t he tried to say no? Yet here you were, practically forcing yourself on him. He was a King and you were a nobody, what right did you have to demand this of him? “I’m sorry,” you mumbled guiltily. You felt your eyes fill with a fresh wave of tears and you bit your lip, trying - and failing - to stop them from falling. “I get it, you’re not interest—“ “It’s not that.” Nikolai frowned, cutting you off mid sentence. You shook your head. “It’s okay, I understand.” “No. I want to,” he insisted, “Believe me, I do.” He reached up to cup your face in his hands, swiping the wetness from your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs in a display of tenderness you hadn’t been expecting. “I just — I don’t want to be a regret,” he admitted softly. “Never,” you whispered fiercely, meeting his eyes. “This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about this,” you confessed shyly, “I want this, Nikolai, I want you,” you assured him. He searched your face for a moment, his hand still caressing your cheek. Then he leaned forward tentatively, closing the gap between you. His lips were soft, his kisses slower than before as his tongue explored your mouth, hesitant at first but gradually growing bolder. You wondered absently if it was the use of his first name that had persuaded him. You raked your nails through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and he growled low in his throat. His hands left your face to trail down your sides, rucking up your sleep shirt to find bare skin. You broke away from him momentarily to remove it, leaving you in just your panties before him and he muttered a curse under his breath as he looked you over, his eyes darkening with desire. Reaching out to pull you back towards him, he slanted his mouth over yours once again. You moved to lay back against the pillows, pulling him down with you and he followed without resistance, propping himself up on his elbows to keep most of his weight off you. You let your hands roam his back and shoulders, touching everywhere you could reach, as his lips and tongue worshipped every inch of the skin now on show for him. His ministrations were unhurried and gentle, as though you were something to be savored, something precious. The thought made you feel emotional again and you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the sensations instead. He kissed his way open mouthed down the expanse of your throat and over your collarbones. When he reached your breasts, he swirled his tongue over the hardened nub of first one nipple and then the other, before he continued his downward path, licking and kissing slowly over your rib cage and across your stomach until you were whimpering and writhing beneath him, your hands tangling in his hair. He nosed at your center through the damp lace of your panties and you gasped, your hips lifting off the bed. He turned his head, suckling at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh — hard enough to have your hands tightening in his hair and a moan escaping your lips, but not quite hard enough to leave a lasting mark. He paused for a moment to draw a ragged breath and you felt his lips quirk up into a smile against your skin as you tugged on his hair impatiently. He moved back, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and you lifted your hips to help him as he pulled them down and off, tossing them to the floor. He slid his hands up your legs, his thumbs rubbing in teasing circles, slowly inching higher as he kissed a line from your knee back up towards the apex of your thighs. His lips bypassed the place you wanted him most, moving to leave soft, teasing kisses across your hips and lower belly instead, but his hand stayed it’s course and when it finally reached its destination, he gave a self-satisfied hum to find you slick and ready for him. He levered himself up so that he could slide his tongue into your mouth as he slipped two fingers inside you, rubbing perfect rough circles over your clit with his thumb at the same time and you moaned, your back arching in pleasure. Impatient to have him inside you, you reached down between you to free his erection, pushing his pants down past his hips and over the curve of his ass so that he could kick them off the rest of the way. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. You wrapped your fingers around his length and began to stroke him, enjoying the heavy weight of him in your palm. You kept your rhythm steady, your grasp light but not teasing and he moaned, his hips bucking instinctively, chasing the delicious friction of your hand. “Protection?” he panted, and you nodded, releasing him reluctantly so that you could reach over the side of the bed for your bag. You rifled through it until you found what you were looking for and then you turned back to him with a triumphant smile. He kissed you soundly as he plucked the condom from your fingertips, tearing open the wrapper without preamble. He pulled away briefly to roll it on, giving himself a few firm strokes and then he was settling himself between your thighs as if he belonged there. He paused momentarily, searching your face for any sign of hesitation, but finding none. “Yes,” you whispered in answer to his unasked question, pulling him in for another kiss as he flexed his hips, filling you slowly in one smooth, perfect motion that had you gasping his name. He dropped his head to your shoulder, groaning as he withdrew almost entirely, before surging forward again into your tight, wet heat. You clutched at him desperately, one hand at the nape of his neck and the other on his ass, fingers digging in to his flesh, urging him closer still as he began to move, establishing a long, languid rhythm that had you both panting. You wrapped your legs around his hips and he hiked them higher, making you moan as the change in angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper.

He lifted his head to look at your face as he quickened his pace, withdrawing again and plunging back into you, harder than before, your sweat slicked bodies sliding against each other as you moved to meet his thrusts. Already, you could feel the pressure building in you, could tell that your impending orgasm would be earth-shattering. He dropped his head again, his lips grazing your shoulder as you began to tighten around him. You felt like you were drowning in him, the current pulling you under and you surrendered to the feeling, knowing you weren’t alone in it. He breathed your name against your skin as his rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he began to lose a grip on his control. “Come for me,” he pleaded, his voice rough with the strain of holding back, and you obliged, crying out as the world fractured around you, white sparks clouding your vision and your entire body buzzing with pleasure. Your hand tightened in his hair, tugging his head back up so that you could claim his lips with your own. He thrust once, twice more and then he stilled, following your over the edge into endless bliss, his mouth still on yours. Finally he broke away from your kiss, panting as he collapsed onto you, trembling with the aftershock of his orgasm. You lay tangled together, a mass of sweaty limbs, as you both caught your breath. After a long moment he shifted, pressing his lips against yours again, softly, as he pulled out. “Be right back,” he murmured. He got up from the bed and you turned onto your side to watch him go, admiring the view of his naked ass as he padded to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and relieve himself. You rolled on to your front, stretching like a cat, your muscles aching pleasantly. When he was done, you got up to take your own turn in the bathroom. Despite how sweet he had been with you during sex, you were still somewhat surprised when his trademark swagger did not reappear afterward. Instead, when you returned from the bathroom, you found him hovering awkwardly at the side of the bed, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d expect him to go back to the couch. He was still gloriously nude but with pants in hand, clearly debating wether or not he should get dressed. You smiled as you brushed past him, running a hand down his arm and placing a kiss on his shoulder as you gently tugged his pants from his grasp, dropping them to the floor. Then you pulled back the covers and got into bed, moving over to make room for him. Still he hesitated before climbing in, and then he lay rigid and silent beside you, propped up on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. For a split second, you worried that it was regret that had him so tense. Perhaps he thought this had been a mistake. Your heart clenched painfully. It wasn’t just any one night stand for you and it hurt to think he might not feel the same, but then his eyes met yours and you saw the vulnerability he was trying to hide. You suddenly realised that he was afraid too. His uncertainty was both unexpected and incredibly endearing. It was almost laughable, that Nikolai Lanstov could think that you might reject him. You shuffled closer, lifting his arm and placing it around your shoulders so that you could snuggle into his side. He didn’t protest, so you started making yourself comfortable, tucking one arm under yourself and slinging the other low across his belly. He shifted slightly, and you took the opportunity to rest your head on his chest, tangling your legs with his under the covers. When he didn’t relax under you though, you started to second guess yourself and you moved to pull away. His arm tightened around you immediately, keeping you in place. “Is this ok?” You asked softly, tilting your head up to look at him. He nodded, pressing a kiss into your hair as he trailed his fingertips lightly up and down your arm. “You’re sure? Because I’ve been told we shouldn’t cuddle,” you teased and he snorted a laugh, the tension finally leaving his body. “It would hardly be appropriate,” you mimicked in an almost perfect imitation of him, and he had the good grace to blush even as he rolled his eyes. “Yes, totally inappropriate,” he sighed in mock seriousness, but he was smiling as he dipped his head to kiss you. He was beautiful like this, soft and unguarded, now completely relaxed in your embrace. Your heart stuttered in your chest. If he wasn’t careful, he might be very much in danger of making you fall in love with him. “That’s a shame,” you lamented, pouting at him, “I guess that applies to sharing a bath too?” “Hmmm. I suppose I could make an exception,” he said, in the same haughty tone he’d used earlier. You laughed and he gave you a lopsided grin in response. “Later,” he said, pulling you in tighter against him as you settled down to sleep.

#nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai smut #Grishaverse #nikolai lantsov #shamless smut #but there is a hint of plot #mild angst #nightmares #comfort #soft!nikolai #fem!reader #Zoya is my queen but not in this fic

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silverzoomies · 1 year

Text

Antithesis

james patrick march x reader smut

warnings: smut, slow burn-ish, oral sex, one-sided pining, devotion, body worship, hand jobs, slight choking, pet names, oneshot

word count: 7640

a/n: my apologies if james seems at all ooc here. i try my goddamn hardest to keep characters as close to their source material as possible. but, when it comes to self indulgent smut, sometimes you gotta pull a few strings!!! oh, and i'd also like to apologize for the long length of this fic. and for how abruptly it ends hdsghkjdshkgsg it's a mess, sorry !!

bonus note ig: in 1920's slang, a "goof" is an idiot. james basically thinks of you as naive and dumb here. sorry!

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March doesn’t dislike you. “Dislike” is much too strong a word.

No, he tolerates you. Dare he think it, he might even be somewhat…fond of you. The two of you were born nearly a hundred years apart. And so, as expected, you were the absolute antithesis of one another. March built himself from the ground up. He started with little to nothing. Carrying with him a background he so dreaded to recall. Childhood memories best left buried deep. Never to see the shining light of day again. March walked with a prestigious elegance. Something all but lost to the world in modern times, he thought. He was high-class. New money incarnate. Fancy, social affairs and aesthetic, art-deco decor were his most treasured hobbies. Amongst his other, more…contentious interests. And you. What were you?

Some little goof. You poor thing. Your story was quite the tragedy, really. Born almost one hundred years later to middle class stock. An entirely different world from the one in which March knew. Your arrival to the hotel Cortez was…unfortunate. You were the embodiment of innocence. Overly polite to a fault. Kind to the staff and the hotel’s mysterious residents. Never going out of your way to disturb a single soul. And you always made sure to apologize for the times you did.

And like all lives brought to the Cortez, yours ended there. A shame. A pity. Truly. What a waste. After you died, you drifted aimlessly for a while. Exploring every inch of the hotel you could. Bearing witness to the unspeakable horror that burned like scorching fire from inside. The hotel Cortez was nothing short of the infernal regions made earthly.

Even so, you weren’t the least bit fazed by this fact. Death changed you. It changed your moral perspective.

But you were missing something. A purpose. Every soul, lost adrift, needed purpose.

Liz knew all.

She knew everything about everyone. Including you. You’d sit at the bar, talking to her for hours on end. About your life. Liz’s life. The lives of the Cortez’s other, ghostly residents. She’d tell you of the hotel and its history. And you learned all there was to know. But in sharing your deepest thoughts, desires, and fears, you’d been a little too open. And Liz learned enough that, had a curious party asked about you? She could easily act as an informant.

You were a poor sap. Harboring a deep rooted, psychological need to please.

In death, you told Liz, you wanted nothing more than, simply…a person. Someone to dedicate yourself to entirely. Someone to love, to adore, to spend all of eternity caring for. Such an innocent desire, from such an unsullied soul.

You heard of him only in passing. James Patrick March.

You knew of his murderous atrocities. And you’d heard whispers of his bloodied history in hushed tones. Liz told you of everything March built, and what he’d become in the process.

March assumed you thought nothing of it. Nothing of him. Because at the Cortez, he was often that. Nothing more than a rumor. Only making himself present whenever necessary. Any other day? He remained a chilling, ghost story. And that’s all he’d been to you.

Until the two of you crossed paths, that is.

March was polite and courteous, as he always is. And the soulless, empty void of his dark eyes met yours. Pure, beautiful, and innocent. The two of you couldn’t have been more different from one another. You, his polar opposite. If he were the infernal reaches of hell itself, you were the luminous kingdom of heaven.

Whatever you felt for him, it must have been instantaneous.

Because suddenly, your sorrow dissipated. A lifetime of suffering and anguish faded away into thin air. And finally, you were free. Joyous. You, the little goof. Your demeanor somehow became all the more polite and inviting. Ironic, really. Considering…the source of your happiness was the very personification of evil itself.

You’d skip around the hotel with a spring in your step. Greeting everyone who passed you in the halls with a chipper, sunny disposition. Parading around in those loose-fitting clothes. Your skin decorated in ink reminiscent of your rather quirky interests. Appalling, if you were to ask him.

You were vexatious. And yet…

March found he appreciated your company.

You really were too sweet. Sickeningly so. Like cavity-inducing candy. Truly good at heart. There wasn’t a hateful, nefarious bone in your body. But you were deeply loyal to a fault. It was a weakness that kept you chained. It held you down. Never allowing you to reach your true potential. March could see it. He saw right through you, straight into your delicate soul. He saw your aura. Unsullied purity.

March learned all he could about you from Liz.

And once he had, he felt the need to test your unbroken clarity.

He showed you everything. Every secret. Every piece of gory history which revealed his past, his life’s purpose, his true intentions. The never-ending, torturous suffering he brought upon the innocent lives of the world. He confessed to you his killings. Even going into the dark, gritty details. March stared you down with an empty, far off look in his shady eyes. An uncanny gaze. And he expressed to you all his crazed, degenerate passions.

He expected you to react accordingly. Like any soul so pure and unblemished as yours should.

But death…

Death truly did change you. The hotel Cortez? It corrupted your moral code.

Perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe you weren’t as innocent as you often seemed.

You treated his passions like any other hobby. And you engaged in conversation about them casually. Beaming the brightest, most curious, smile. Your eyes glimmered with genuine interest and fascination. And March found he was more than happy to share that part of himself with you. Delighted to discuss his exploits with a newfound friend. A trusted friend.

He did long for someone to talk to…

And it was then, he realized. He knew. He was woefully fucked.

Because you. Naive, little goof that you were…

You’d found your purpose.

The one person whom you’d give your undying devotion, for forever and into eternity.

No one, not a single soul in the hotel had expected it. When you sat at the bar, sipping on your sweet sodas instead of anything alcoholic (ever the carefree babe, you were). You spoke of having ‘found’ your purpose. And there were smiles all around. “ Ooh’s ” and “ Aah’s ” exchanged through hushed gossip. Who could this person be, they asked themselves.

Imagine the residents’ surprise once they put two and two together.

Of all people. Him? Really? Were you mad as a hatter?

From then on, you followed March everywhere. Attached at his side like a leech. And though he considered you a dear friend, you weren’t much more to him than a loyal dog. You offered your help whenever you saw fit. And, somewhat reluctantly, he allowed it.

To his surprise, March found you respected his personal space. You’d disappear when he found your company too overwhelming. Sometimes, you were gone for days. Or even weeks. Off to explore the hotel again. Or to drift aimlessly as you did in the days before you’d found him. Uncertain as to what you should do in your lonesome. Sometimes, you’d listen to music. Clamorous racket of the modern era.

And eventually, always, you returned.

Sometimes, March found he missed your presence when you were gone.

And despite the admiration you carried for him, you valued March’s love for his dearest wife. The Countess. Often, you’d go so far as to listen to him drone on and on about her. And he could. If March were allowed the opportunity, he’d speak of her for centuries. He’d reminisce about his most cherished memories of her. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. When March had his monthly dinners with his dearest, you felt it necessary to assist. You were insistent upon it, actually. Helping alongside Ms. Evers, you did what you could to make those nights as grand and romantic as possible. And when he banished Ms. Evers, you didn’t hesitate to take over entirely. Every one of those special nights, you were there to help him prepare.

Once the dinners themselves started, you’d run off. Leaving the pair undisturbed. And he wouldn’t see you again until the next morning.

One night, March sat across from the countess at the table. She glared at him with a half-lidded, miserable expression. But March missed this glare. Because he’d been busy watching you leave. He smiled, raising his glass to you. And you waved him off, wishing him luck, before closing the door.

At that very moment, he made a decision.

The next night came, and there he sat. Present at the dinner table again. Only, you were his cherished guest of the evening. Dinner lay before you both. Though, in death, you never ate. March watched with a grin as you sipped some champagne. You fluttered delicate lashes his way. Devotion leaking like tears from your eyes. A delighted smile played across your lips. One always present in his company, he found.

“Darling! I assume you’re wondering why it is I’ve called you here tonight, hm?” He posed the question rather excitedly.

Your pretty, doe eyes widened at that. You poor thing. Your cheeks burned in a flurry of rose red. Even in the dim, candle-lit light of the room. Even at a distance, across the table, March could see your blush clear as day. He smirked into his glass.

Never, in all the years since the two of you met, had he ever addressed you as darling.

The effect this seemed to have on you was very much apparent. He could see the shift in your expression. The way you’d fallen breathless under his cold-blooded gaze. March couldn’t help but find your obvious desire for him…amusing.

“Uhm…y-...yes. Well…sorta? I figured this was just another…casual, hang-out night for us!” Your quiet, timid voice spoke aloud.

March lowered his glass, and he hummed.

“Casual? I suppose one could consider this casual, if they’d prefer.” March said, “All the same, I’ve called you here because…I have a proposition for you!”

“Wh-uh…what kinda proposition, sir?”

“Let’s not dance around the matter any longer, dear. Simply put, I’m well aware.” He said.

Confusion overtook your delicate features, and your brows knitted together. March sat still in his seat with a knowing smirk. You tilted your head, bringing your own glass down to the table.

“I’m…confused. You’re aware of what, exactly?”

“Why, that you’re in love with me, of course.” March stated.

Your eyes widened further. March caught the awkward movement of one of your hands. It trembled where it lay on the table. And when you spoke again, you did so shyly. Your voice was as soft as the pink in your cheeks.

“A-Am I?” You dared to ask. As though he hadn't known all these years.

March’s knowing grin spread wider. A dark, domineering color washed over his eyes. And he fixed you with an intimidating look. One that could so easily kill, had you been anyone else. Even in death, you felt your stomach twist in fluttery knots at the sight. You dropped your bashful gaze to the table, too nervous to look him in the eye. You were being avoidant, March knew. And your denial only heightened his desire to bait you.

“I’m not stupid, old friend. For how long?” He asked.

“Since…” You swallowed nervously, shrinking in on yourself, “...the moment I saw you.”

March’s expression remained unchanged. His cold gaze unblinking.

“All this time?”

Taking a brave chance at looking him in the eye, you glanced upward. And you were met with that empty, black gaze. Pools of ink, much like an abyss, stared intensely at you. You didn’t need to say anything further. His suspicions were confirmed then. March’s brows pressed together in thought.

“I…see.” He said, and he brought his hand to his chin, “Well, in all those years? You’ve proven yourself undoubtedly loyal to me. You see, so often, when Ms. Evers was around. Though, I did care for her. She had these…maddening tendencies. She’d express her apparent distaste for my darling wife. And she was incredibly passive. Selfishly so.”

As March spoke, his tone shifted. Infected with a venomous sting, and unbridled hatred. His other hand, resting on the table, clenched into a fist.

“As you’re aware…Ms. Evers…she deceived me. In the name of love, was her excuse. Such a…disappointing betrayal.” March lingered on the statement for a moment longer.

He snapped himself out of his spiteful rage. Blinking, March perked up. And his handsome grin returned.

“But, you! You’re quite the opposite of her, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you say? Never once have you said an unkind word. You’ve always been so polite to my dearest Mrs. March. And so generous to me! I can't recall you ever acting selfishly. And for that, I must tell you, I am profoundly grateful. It's so dreadfully difficult to find someone you can trust these days.”

“O-Of course!” You nodded, speaking in a gentle tone, “I guess…I just don’t really care if you-uh…if you never feel the same way I do. Being by your side, sir…getting to see you every day…”

Dreamily, you sighed. Like a dame in a daze of infatuation. The sweetest smile graced your blushing face.

“To see that smile of yours. And those eyes…” You sighed once more, “To hear your heavenly voice…that’s enough for me.”

You allowed a little…indulgence to slip through your confessions. Admiration and adoration for March permeated within your every word. Looking at you, he could practically see with his own eyes the unconditional love scorching with a passionate fury in your eyes. He might’ve even felt for himself your amorous desire. It exuded like pheromones from your admittedly fetching body.

He almost found it…endearing.

March blinked, clearing his throat. He tugged at his collar.

“Yes…I trust your devotion knows no earthly bounds, my dear.” He said, bringing his hands together before him, “Which is why, I’d like to present to you…that proposition! I’m nothing, if not a man of mercy. And if anyone is more than deserving of my mercy, it’s you, old friend.” March pointed to you with a ring-clad finger. And curiously, you tilted your head. “If you recall…before my dearest passed? She and I often had those dinners together. One night a month! They were…so very special to me. Truly a gift. The only thing that kept me balanced in this endless, monotonous purgatory of my own design. …Such a treat it was…to share at least…one night with my beloved.”

“It must’ve been nice, sir. Especially after she passed? To have her around more often? I know that meant everything to you.”

“It did.” March smiled fondly. And yet, as quick as it came, his adoring smile fell.

A broken-hearted melancholy plagued his ghostly features.

“Though…our time together has…diminished these days. She avoids me anymore. Hasn’t spoken a word to me in…weeks. Do you know that, at last night’s dinner? She didn’t say a goddamn thing! And again, she’s run off in search of…the pleasures of other men…”

March stared off, his dead-eyed gaze dropping to the table.

“It’s a….barren feeling. The most desolate ache I’ve ever endured…” He confessed.

Sympathetic, little goof. You looked at him then with an expression of sympathy, and opened your mouth to speak. March interrupted you before you could even begin. The very, last thing he wanted was your pity. At the flip of a dime, March perked up once more. He clapped his hands together loudly, suddenly appearing chipper. Beaming a wide, uncannily sweet grin.

“But nevermind all that, darling! What I’m proposing…is of a similar nature. For you, if you’d like! If it’d satisfy your deepest, perverted desires? Then, for one night a month…I, James Patrick March, owner of the hotel Cortez and America’s most infamous executioner…am all yours!”

Your eyes flew open wide. Like a precious, vulnerable creature under the gaze of a vicious predator. And your darling face…it burned an even brighter shade of red. March’s smile crooked up into a smirk. Addicting it was…this influence he seemed to have over you. Precious thing.

“Wait…wh-...what??” You waved your hands, “Oh, no, no, no! I couldn’t ever ask that of you, sir! Please, really! Don’t even worry about it! I’m not-...I don’t have to have you in that way to survive our purgatory together!”

The silence that overtook the room was deafening. In the background, the ticking of an old clock rang on. Along with the distant, alluring melody of a gramophone. John McCormack. Roses of Picardy. March stood up after some time. And slowly, steadily, he made his way to you at the other end of the dining table. He approached you wordlessly, eyes like obsidian focused entirely on your own. Analyzing and observing. Once close enough, he reached a large hand out. His palm fell to your shoulder, squeezing you in a firm grip. Leaning in, March spoke in a low, gravelly tone.

“Are you suggesting that you’re…ungrateful? You do realize this is…a gracious gesture…coming from a man of my status…” He didn’t break eye contact with you for even a second. March’s grip on your shoulder tightened, “...don’t you, little one?"

Despite the menacing nature of his actions, you let your eyes so shamelessly trail up and down his fancily-dressed form. And March saw all of it. Every movement of your eyes. The motion of your throat as you swallowed. The not-so-subtle way you leaned into his touch. How your thighs pressed together as if to relieve some…personal tension.

He raised a brow. Curious.

Your eyes sparkled innocently up at him. And again, you fluttered those delicate lashes.

“I’m not ungrateful, sir! I’m so honored. I mean, obviously, I’m honored! But…” You scoffed, as if in disbelief, “But, me? I mean…come on… you ? With me??” With a soft huff of a laugh, you looked down at your lap, “But…I’m not…Mrs. March. I’m…nothin’ like her.”

March hummed a sound which suggested his pity for you.

“You’re right. You’re not…” He muttered in monotone, “You lack everything my dearest Elizabeth has. Her grace. Her ethereal elegance. She…is a creature of divinity.” March paused for a beat, “But you’ve no confidence nor class, I’m afraid. You’re more…a being of the mundane.”

Again, a sinister loathing invaded his gaze.

“But…unlike Ms. Evers…wretched, old bat…” He growled.

A wild grin spread across March’s lips, his teeth sinking into them. He brought his other hand to your chin, gently tilting it upward. Upon your face, he caught a broken-hearted frown.

“You, darling…” He hummed, “You have been blessed with certain…more pleasant qualities…”

His hand on your shoulder grazed a thumb across it. March let his eyes drop to your figure, as if to suggest something. And in that instant, you felt your lifeless heart skip a beat. As though your soul were springing to life again. Born anew.

“I…have?” You furrowed your brows, “So…what you’re sayin’ is…this is you settling? For someone lesser?”

March hummed again, considering your words. He pulled both hands from you.

“I prefer to think of it this way. In return for your undeniable devotion and loyalty throughout the tenure of our friendship. I’m giving you the opportunity to be with me. Consider it a reward, if you will. However you wish, my dear. One night a month, you can have me. Romantically. Physically. Intimately.”

“Uh…okay…wow! That’s-...that’s…very kind of you, sir.” You stared up at March with those doting eyes. Biting your lip, you hesitated to ask, “So…wh-...when would we-uhm…when would we start?” A pause, and you nervously stammered over your words, “I-if I were to-uh…accept your…generous proposition?”

Immediate eagerness. Exactly the response he’d suspected from someone as smitten as yourself. March leered down at you smugly, his eyes falling half-lidded

Desperate, little thing, weren’t you?

“Tonight, if you’d prefer! Or…any night of your choosing. Whatever you want, darling. I insist. This courtesy is entirely yours.” He suggested.

A moment of contemplative quiet passed as you thought it over. And March watched you like a hawk, patiently waiting. Though, he already knew exactly what you were going to say. Even before you’d made a decision. The rosy color blooming darker in your cheeks ultimately gave you away.

“T-Tonight then? If you’ll…have me.” You stammered, “I’m honored, sir.”

March wanted to laugh. To boast that he could read you all too well. But calmly, he nodded.

“Very well!”

He walked off then. March pulled at the fabric of his bowtie, tugging until it came completely undone. Following that motion, he shrugged his jacket off. Folding it neatly and setting it aside, he moved to unbutton the first, few buttons of his dress shirt. March disappeared into another room, out of sight. But you heard his familiar, smoky voice call out.

“Come!”

Hesitating, you stood from your seat at the table. And with tiny, careful steps, you followed the sound of March’s voice. In a vintage loveseat, you found him waiting. He sat with his chin in his hand, a cigarette burning between two fingers. His legs were spread open wide. And he patted his lap.

“Best not to waste anymore time, dear.”

“Wh-...What are we doin’?” You asked, looking down at your hands as you fiddled with them.

Poor dear. You were standing in the room so timidly. Looking innocent, and so very delicate. Like a frightened, fluffy, little deer. Easy game, for a hunter like March.

“Isn’t this what you want?” He took a drag of his cigarette, his tone low and vibrating. March spread his legs open further, “Don’t be bashful, now, little one. I’ll only bite if you ask it of me.”

You seemed hesitant. Fearful of making any sudden moves. But, with a facade of confidence March knew all too well you didn’t possess, you approached him. And you lowered yourself into his lap slowly, struggling to maintain eye contact. Eye contact was one of March’s many, gifted talents. And being such a shy dame, you could barely keep up. Once snug on his lap, you took time to admire March. Carefully, you trailed your hands down his chest. And you let your trembling fingers brush the fabrics of his perfectly tailored clothes. Clothes once deep-cleaned of blood-stains by the very maid he considered an abomination.

Your hands moved upwards, first tracing over the bloody slit in his neck. Before cupping his cheeks for only a moment. You brushed a small thumb over one of his dimples. March smiled at you, hardly invested in what you were doing. Allowing you to have your fun. You touched March with careful, delicate movements. Handling him as if he were your most precious, priceless treasure. You looked at him as though you couldn’t fathom the reality before you. As though being with him like this was a foggy, distant dream. One you’d never ask to wake from.

Daringly, you leaned in. And you let your cool breath ghost over his lips.

“A-Are you sure about this, sir?” You asked, timid as ever.

March appeared unbothered and uncaring. Yet, admittedly, he felt somewhat curious of your next move. How far could a shy, innocent thing like you take this…intimate interaction? March assumed you’d clock out after a bit of heavy petting. With an equanimous smirk, he nodded.

“Positively certain.” He muttered, “And please, while we’re together like this, darling? Do call me James. You can forgo the formalities.”

You blinked, amazed. Looking into his eyes with all the love and adulation in the ever-expanding cosmos. Marveling in his presence. Your nose brushed his, and you leaned even further in.

And you kissed him.

It was a clumsy, graceless kiss at first. But as you continued, you found your confidence. A heated flow enveloped your every movement. And for the first, few kisses, March didn’t reciprocate. He kept a hand at the armrest of the loveseat. His other occupied with that cigarette. He didn’t care to touch you yet. But as your kisses drew him in deeper, as you mewled little noises into his lips…March found himself giving in. One of his large hands found your hips, squeezing there first. Before moving to wrap his arm around your back. He pulled you in close. And you ran your hands up through his hair. Freeing those irresistible curls of his.

Finally, at long last, he kissed you back. And in that instant, you drank in the motions of a man far more cultivated and refined than you could ever hope to be. In a thousand lifetimes, you could never live up to his status. And yet, he kissed you anyway. If you could taste, his lips would’ve tasted of champagne and nicotine.

“Wow-” You breathlessly gasped into his lips.

A flash of fire burned in his lidded eyes, and he peered up at you. March let out a soft, vibrating chuckle.

“Eager are we, darling?”

“Uh…” Poor, little goof. Still so lost in your lovestruck daze, “I just-”

The urge to kiss March again proved far too much for you to resist. You leaned in again, capturing his skilled lips in another flurry of deep kisses. And when you pulled back, you shook your head. For a moment, you simply stared at March. Taking in his ghostly features. Admiring his handsome face, his black eyes, the curls of his hair.

“Thank you, si-uhm…James. Thank you. I…never imagined…you’d ever let me touch you. Let alone k-uhm…kiss you like this…”

He chuckled again, humming a deep noise in his chest. The sound sent a spark of something gratifying straight to your core.

“I told you, didn’t I? I am, after all, a man of mercy…”

You brought a hand up to his cheek, stroking it gently with soft fingers. March noticed that, whenever you touched him, you did so as if he were a timeless lover.

“You most certainly are…” Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his forehead, “...so gracious.”

March hadn’t expected you to wiggle backwards. And where did you think you were going? Were you giving up already? Giving into your paranoid worries? You let yourself sink off his lap and onto your knees. Scooting your way across the carpet and in between his legs, you gazed up at March with those lovely, doe eyes.

“You know…I’d do anything for you, don’t you James?” You trailed your hands up to his trousers, your fingers fiddling with the buttons, “...is this alright?”

To say he was caught off guard by your boldness, would be one hell of an understatement. His innocent, pure-of-heart, little goof? Submitting to him on their knees so easily like this? How had he never suspected this of you? March’s empty eyes widened, watching you from above with a dark, predatory gaze.

“If it’s what you so desire, then…do continue. I’m not going to stop you. This is your night, little one. Don’t you remember?”

You stared at him for a moment longer, uncertain of yourself. Before finally working the buttons of his trousers open. Bringing a small hand through the slit in the fabric, you felt around. And your fingers brushed across-

An adorable gasp escaped your lips.

You…hadn’t expected him to be hard. If the surprised, embarrassed look on your face was anything to go by. Because surely, the James Patrick March himself couldn’t possibly be aroused over someone as mundane as you. Could he?

Sucking in a slow breath, you continued. Your fingers snuck their way through the softness of his undergarments. A bit of movement, and you pulled his thick cock free. At the sight of the twitching length, those sparkling eyes of yours lit up brightly. Beaming, as if mesmerized. You were practically drooling over his cock. And you’d barely touched it at all.

March’s breath hitched from above. He watched you attentively, focused on the movement of your small hand. It stroked and squeezed around the thickness of him. Somewhat skillfully, he’d have to admit. Almost as though you knew exactly what you were doing. How is it that here, touching him intimately, you weren’t the least bit clumsy?

You bravely tilted your head upward, meeting his darkening gaze.

“You said…I could do whatever I wanted?” You asked. Your tone had fallen considerably lower. It sounded seductive, even, “May I sing your praises, James?”

March had never heard you speak in that tone before. He hadn't realized you were even capable.

Wordlessly, he nodded. You gave a few more firm strokes of his cock, leaning in to kiss the tip gently. And as the soft wetness of your lips brushed it, you hummed. Reveling in every second you had March like this. Even in such a filthy, perverted position. With the head of his leaking cock at your lips. Your eyes glimmered, acting as windows. And your complete devotion for him shined through like the light of the sun. Holding eye contact (when did you get so good at that?), you generously peppered his cock in mouthy, wet kisses.

“Just let me worship you, James…” You sighed, dragging your free hand down one of his thighs. Your nails drew lines into the fabric, “Let me appreciate you. That’s…really the only thing I could ever ask for.”

He kept watching you, occasionally taking long drags from his cigarette. March found himself in awe of your boldness and honesty. Though, if there was one thing he knew about you for certain. You were always honest with him. Turning your attention to his aching cock, you pushed the head past your lips. You lapped up the bead of precum leaking from the tip, mewling in pure delight. Suckling for a few beats too short, you pulled away by an inch.

“You…are the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. Did you know that, James? Have I ever told you? I could stare at you all day. Every day. Forever, if you let me. You’ve got the most stunning, beautiful, brown eyes…”

You paused in the midst of your praises to push the tip of his cock past your lips again. Letting your tongue dance around it, you stroked the remaining length with your hand. And just when he thought you might give him more, you pulled away.

“You can’t imagine how thrilling it is to have those ferocious eyes looking down on me right now. Oh, and I absolutely adore your smile. How full your lips are. Kissing them was like a gift of temptation, straight from the depths of hell. And I am in no way deserving of such a thing…”

March was steadily beginning to lose his composure. That calm, unbothered demeanor of his teetered on the edge. Threatening to fall with every cutesy noise you made, and every flick of your tongue. With each confession of your deepest admirations, he felt himself breaking. March knew you loved him. He knew you found purpose in serving him. And yet, somehow, he hadn’t been aware of the extent at which your worship of him ran. He took another drag of his cigarette. March’s free hand found your hair, and his oversized palm settled there. He didn’t yet tug, but merely braced himself.

“No modern man dresses nearly as elegantly as you do. Those men at those high-class fashion shows? The ones they have here? They can’t even begin to compare. It’s almost intimidating…how refined and elegant you truly are.”

You halted your confessions, only to take the entire length of his twitching cock into your mouth. Moaning around it, you sucked hard. Letting your tongue drag along the underside, across pulsing veins. You pulled off all over again. And March’s grip in your hair tightened only slightly. You continued to stroke his cock, spreading the wetness your tongue left behind.

“You’re so intimidating. So good at striking fear into those around you. But, god…it only makes me more attracted to you. You’re intoxicating. I can’t get enough of you…”

Breaking eye contact, you focused on his cock. You stopped to admire the heavy weight of him on your tongue. And you had the nerve to giggle with the innocence of a dame in church. March remained speechless. He stared you down as you took his full length into your mouth again. Your praises fell short for a bit. Instead, you were fixated on pleasuring him with more enthusiasm. Your movements slowly grew rapid. But as you edged him further, you popped off. You nuzzled his soaked, aching cock with your cheek. And once more, you giggled. It was infuriating.

“I wish you could hear your voice. Fuck…your voice. Your accent. It’s to die for!” The smile you gave him radiated purity, and you bit your swollen lip between your teeth, “You’re to die for. Y’know? I’d die for you. Over and over again.”

Dragging your tongue up and down his cock, you peppered it in more, loving kisses. And you fluttered those pretty lashes.

“As many times as you wanted me to. If I could die by your hands, James, I would. If it’d make you happy? If cutting my throat and watching the life drain from my eyes would satisfy you…”

March’s grip in your hair tightened even further, clenching around your soft locks.

Who knew his little goof could be such a shameless sycophant? Groveling over his deviant passions.

He was growing immensly impatient. You’d carried on this little charade of praises for far too long. When you lowered your mouth over his cock, March guided you. With the rough hold he had on your head, he forced you down. The action caught you by surprise. As the tip of his cock pressed into the back of your throat, you gagged, squeezing around the head. And a pleased grunt erupted off March’s tongue, cigarette smoke rising from his lips. Reaching over the arm of the loveseat, he put the cigarette out in an ashtray. And while doing so, March kept his half-lidded eyes, dark as burning coals, on you. His throbbing length filled your throat, and you took all of it. Every inch. You squeezed his thigh hard with a hand, letting your fingernails dig into the fabric of his trousers. As you clawed at his thigh for purchase, a wicked grin spread across his face. Salty tears stung your pretty eyes. They poured down your flushed cheeks completely out of your control. An embarrassing display. March’s breathing picked up in pace. He jerked you backwards, pulling you off his cock by your hair. Generously, he allowed you a moment to catch your breath. Not that you needed it, really. Being dead and all. Smirking down at you, he sank his teeth into his lip. And upon his pale cheeks, you caught the slightest hint of a pink hue.

You’d never once seen March blush on account of something you did.

“Y-You were…you were saying, darling?” March, usually so well spoken, stumbled over his words.

With a smile, you returned to your previous motions. Dragging your tongue lazily up and down his cock, you stroked him with a hand.

“U-Uhm…” That timid nature of yours returned. Perhaps on account of his manhandling? But you fought to shake it off, “Y’know somethin’ else I love about you, James? That look in your eye. I can’t even describe it. When you’re feelin’ bloodthirsty? When you’re thinkin’ about unleashin’ hell? You look divine like that.”

His gaze turned colder then. March’s fingers dug fingernails further into your skull. And the gesture was near painful. He didn’t seem to care, even when you hissed in response to the sting. Your puffy lips and mouth were drenched in drool. And your hair! His rough handling left it frazzled and wild. You looked an absolute mess of yourself. And in any other circumstance, March would’ve found it repulsive. At this moment, however…

“That…storm in your eyes. The passion that rages on once you’ve taken the life of another. There’s somethin’ so…irresistible about it. Makes me wish I could’ve dropped on my knees and worshiped you like this sooner.” You covered his cock in those mouthy, sloppy kisses, “I just want to submit myself to you, James. Let you have all of me.”

“Really now? Is that how you feel, little one? Truly? ” He spoke suddenly, catching you by surprise.

His fingers curled harshly into your hair, and he pulled you back in a rough, swift motion.

“Enough of this.” March said, “I realize, I said before, this was your night. And you should be the one calling the shots, with me at your leniency. However, since you seem to want my attention so desperately, darling. You’re going to listen to me now.”

You stared up at him with a wide-eyed, sinless gaze. And you didn't dare to say a single word. Good then.

“On the floor. And strip yourself bare for me, would you?” He commanded.

You let yourself fall backwards. And with the motion, March’s grip in your hair loosened. He let go, keeping his eyes on you, as you scooted back along the carpeted floor. The rough surface burned the skin of your elbows. But in death, it didn’t matter. Come tomorrow, you'd be left with not a single mark. Zero evidence of the night's events. Hastily, you shed your clothes. Your fingers trembled with every movement. March followed, standing slowly from his seat. He watched as you laid yourself naked and bare before him. And he pulled down his suspenders. His pants followed, leaving him in those soft undergarments. March hadn’t yet removed his dress shirt, and he didn’t bother to now.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, crawling over you with an animalistic gaze in his eyes. Immediately upon reaching you, he kissed you deeply. Drinking down every surprised noise you made in response. Your noises. Those mewls and squeals. He wanted to hear more. He had to hear more.

March wasn’t the fondest of missionary. But that devotion, that love, that worship bleeding profusely from your eyes. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of it. March found he needed to look at you. To watch you. His hands trailed down your body, touching you with precise grace. Each touch started with a delicate brush of his fingertips, steadily growing rougher. And there you were, pleasured by the hands of a murderer with almost a hundred years of practice behind him.

As he looked you over with those dark eyes, he could see you slipping so easily into madness. Submitting to him, an eternal ghost of pure malevolence.

And you were pushed even further over the brink once March buried two, long fingers in your cunt. All without a single warning. No preparation. He shoved his digits deep, watching you with a devious smirk. You breathlessly moaned, and your slick walls squeezed around his fingers. March knew every angle at which to twist and press his digits. Only to spur more of those lovely noises out of you.

His long, dexterous fingers pulled themselves from your cunt, and you longed for more. You ached for him, whining pitiful, little protests. And your desperate desire was soon satiated.

In one, rough motion, March forced his cock through your folds. He buried himself deep in a single thrust, growling a rough noise in response to your screams. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him. And you pulled March closer, inching him impossibly deeper.

He hadn’t been this…intimate with another person in…what felt like a millenia. Having his cock buried to the hilt in the tight plush of your cunt…it was enough to make him lose it. March had to take a moment to gather himself. Before he began harshly drilling you into the floor. And the rug underneath you burned painfully against your skin. Though, in this position, you couldn’t help but find the sensation extremely gratifying.

Your screams were all the encouragement he needed. And you begged him to fuck you harder. To vent all his pent up anger and fury using your fragile body as his aid. March gazed down at you, his eyes carrying a near sinister edge. The pace at which he fucked you grew vigorous and unrelenting. A jolt of pleasure shot through your core suddenly, as March pressed his deft fingers to your clit. Rubbing slick, generous circles against the sensitive bud, he soaked in the sight of you falling apart underneath him. Your precious moans were like music to his ears. March cooed quiet praises in a rugged voice, encouraging you to give in. To succumb to the sweet allure of release. He knew you needed it desperately. All the pent up desire you'd carried for him for so long must have felt torturous. A man of mercy, he was. He couldn't allow you to suffer like that any longer. Not after all you'd done for him. After having been so loyal.

He felt your release, as it hit you like a rushing wave. Your walls constricted around his cock in a tight pull, and your entire body trembled. Those delightful screams of yours were more than likely heard across every floor of the hotel. But March's mind was much too hazy with pleasure to care. He wanted the world to hear you. For you to let them all know just who it was you'd submitted yourself to entirely. And as you came down from your high, sobbing soft cries. You met his eyes. Tears rained down your cheeks, and you shivered under his cold gaze. How vulnerable you looked...

One of March’s large, veiny hands found your neck. He squeezed with so much strength that, had you been alive; he easily would’ve cut off your circulation. However, in death, the ache that came with asphyxiation felt like euphoria. Under the pressure of his fingers and hands, you were ascending to the stars. Or, rather…considering you were getting mercilessly fucked by a devilish being such as March? Perhaps a more accurate comparison would be: March was dragging you violently down to an all too pleasurable circle of hell itself.

His cock hit your cervix with a few more, harsh thrusts of his hips. And you were left to suffer the ache of overstimulation. As he squeezed your neck hard enough to leave bruises, and tight enough to kill any living person. March reached his peak. A thick warmth burst from his cock, overflowing you from deep inside. His release filled you up until it leaked from your folds. Purity and innocence sullied. You were his little goof now.

You probably expected March to pull out, now that you received exactly what you wanted. Surely, March would move away from you. Only to clean up, redress himself, and go about his business. Keeping his distance until the next month came. And…he thought he’d have done the same. March didn’t care for you on a deep level of any kind. A loyal dog. That’s all you were. A follower. Indeed. A naive, not-so-innocent, little goof. Who also, just so happened to be completely and utterly in love with him.

And March was not at all enchanted by your obsessive devotion. Why would he be? There was only one woman for him. His dearest wife. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. If anything, you were simply a means of distraction. Easy company in light of his most lonesome days. His old friend. You weren’t graceful. You weren’t classy. You were, at your core, his polar opposite. Of course. Yes. In the euphoric haze of post-orgasmic bliss, he'd almost forgotten.

But even so…

March found he couldn’t pull himself from you. For a few moments longer, he kept his softening cock buried inside your slick walls. There he rested, on his knees, staring down at you from above. His gaze was much less blackened. Instead, replaced with a warm brown. Leaning forward, March buried his flushed face in your shoulder. He nibbled the gentle skin of your collarbone, breathing out his exhaustion.

He chuckled a hushed, but maniacal noise. The vibrations of which tickled your bruised skin. Not to worry, those bruises wouldn’t be there tomorrow. Some possessive part of him wished they would be, though. March raised his head up, looking down into your eyes with a soft, more than satisfied smirk. The curls of his hair fell even more loose upon his head. And once more, he leaned in, only to brush his nose against yours.

“You know…” He mumbled in a croaky whisper. You felt him slowly, gently thrust his hips forward, “...the night is still young, little one. And there’s so much more the two of us could do together…should you be interested...”

His lips met yours in a kiss far too intimate for a casual session of coitus. And you kissed him nervously back, as though you weren’t allowed to indulge yourself. That familiar sense of naivety and purity claimed you all over again. And for whatever reason, it made March want to kiss you more. To envelop you entirely, all his own. His old friend. His little goof. Poor, not-so-innocent sap.

Maybe he was...a little fond of you.

Only a little.

#james patrick march x reader #james patrick march x y/n #james patrick march x you #jpm x reader #jpm x y/n #jpm x you #smut #american horror story #ahs

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lanterns-and-daydreams · 5 months

Text

Forbidden Fruit

A Grayson Hawthorne x oc fic

Warnings/notes (regarding the whole fic) : slight cursing, sexual innuendos, no smut, MLM, friends to enemies to lovers, might be a lil ooc (forgive me first fic ever if you dont count 'Wine and Woes'), i also changed Cassian to a human instead of a faerie, also, it's gonna be a little slow, please bear with me.

(please heed that this only a work of fiction, so do not be influenced by it, and for the love of God don't do anything that's happening in this fic.)

(trespassing is not a light matter, especially when you're breaking into a multi-billionaire's house. Doing this will have its consequences 🙏💀)

Word count: Idk man, lots of words here 💀

Summary: Grayson Hawthorne had always wanted to be like his grandfather. He had never been in the business of making friends, until he meets someone who is going to turn his life upside down, and possibly make his brain short circuit

Prologue

Part 1

"your ego is bigger than Jupiter itself. Your IQ on the other hand, is the complete opposite"

"i know you ain't talking like that when you don't know what basic slang is, blondie"

"i prefer doing more productive things than spending all my time on such uselessly mind-consuming pieces of media"

"........ This is why you have no friends and no bitches"

"i have you." Grayson smiled, something he rarely did "maybe that's all I need."

Pre-Timeskip

Grayson Hawthorne was not in the business of making friends, much like his grandfather, Tobias Hawthorne. Even though he was only 13 years old, he relied on himself, he did not ask for help. Grayson knew he was extraordinary, his grandfather had made sure he knew.

He was prepared for every possible outcome in every possible situation. Or so he thought, until he was face to face with a rather unusual looking boy

Unusual in the sense that the boy was wearing muddy overalls, his fluffy brown hair had leaves and twigs stuck in it. His smile is too big, too bright, much like the sun shining overhead. Grayson's eyes trail down the short boy's appearance, hes holding his hands out to Grayson, holding two red geraniums in them. The geraniums are muddy too. Grayson's face scrunches up looking at the filth.

"Who are you?" Grayson glares at the boy "And how did you get in here?"

For anyone else, Grayson's glare would have been terrifying. His silver eyes making them uncomfortable in their own skin. But this boy? He kept grinning, and holding out his flowers. The audacity he had to ruin Grayson's peaceful garden time agitated Grayson.

"My name is Cassian!" Cassian smiles brightly "Whats yours?"

Grayson did not want to answer, this boy's innocence was.....annoying, but he did so out of politeness, and perhaps the hope that maybe this boy would leave if he knew who he was talking to was far superior.

"Grayson" Grayson introduced himself "My name is Grayson Hawthorne."

Grayson did not see any flash of recognition in the boy's midnight blue eyes. That agitated him more. First, this boy had the audacity to interrupt his peaceful garden time, Now, he didn't even know who Grayson was?!

"Woah! You have a cool name! Grayson. Gray, like your eyes" he says in awe, as if he had never seen gray eyes before

What was Grayson even supposed to say to that? Grayson frowns at Cassian. Hoping that maybe he'll see the obvious annoyance and leave. But Grayson's hopes were nothing if not futile, because Cassian just smiles at him.

Instead, he just tells him something Grayson does not want to know

"My last name is Moonbeam!" he smiles

Cassian Moonbeam? What a ridiculous name..... Grayson thought

It was also not a name Grayson recognised, so one, this boy was not from a prominent family, and two, he was not a worker's son. Since those children never approached Grayson, knowing who he is.

"You do realize that you're trespassing, right?" Grayson raises an eyebrow, looking down his nose at the boy

Cassian cocks his head to the side a little "Trespassing?" he says, expression neutral "but there's only one of me, wouldnt that make it unopassing?" he grins

This boy..... Grayson's mind comes up with a few rude words, but he decides to keep them to himself.

Instead, he calmly says "That wasn't funny"

"it wasn't meant to be."

"How did you get in here?"

"i slid through the tall border thingy" Cassian points at the tall border that separated the woods from the estate. Grayson's eyes slid from the metal border back to Cassian

"And no one saw you? Not even one of the guards? And how in the world did you manage to slip through the gap?!"

"oh. Um. Well, i kinda watched the guards routine a lot, so I slipped in when they were away." Cassian grins "And it's not that small of a gap. Plus, I'm small and lean"

Grayson was so done with this kid and this whole conversation. He wanted this boy gone

He sighs and states "Trespassing, especially onto the Hawthorne estate, is a crime"

Cassian's grin disappears and he cocks his head to the side "Crime? Are you saying the police are gonna arrest me?"

"im saying they can if they are notified"

"Then let's not tell them." Cassian slightly juts out his lower lip

Grayson was appalled. Things like this should be notified. So no one else creeps onto the territory. Tobias Hawthorne was a man whose head multiple people wanted. Grayson didnt know who those people were or why, but he knew that with power, came risk.

"Are you seriously telling me I shouldn't tell someone that someone trespassed onto the territory?!"

Cassian shrugs and Grayson wants to strangle him, instead, he sighs exasperatedly

"How old are you?"

"11. Why?"

"Doesn't that explain so many things" Grayson says sarcastically and rolls his eyes

"What does that mean!?"

"Nothing you should be concerned about considering the situation you're in. How do you even plan to get out of here?"

Cassian looks a little confused "Huh? What do you mean? I'll just go back out the same way I came in"

Grayson scoffs "Thats not what I meant. Now, hypothetically, I don't tell on you, but do you really expect to just leave without a scratch? One of the guards could see you as you're trying to get out. Fate isn't in your hands"

Cassian pauses "But I already have scratches"

Grayson grits his teeth "Those are not the kind of scratches I'm talking about, Cassian"

"Doesn't matter." Cassian frowns slightly "What about you? How old are you?"

"I have no reason to tell you" Grayson replies dismissively, pauses, and then says "13"

The smirk on Cassian's face is smug "oh, so you're a baby. Like me"

"Baby?!" Grayson looks offended "I am not a baby!"

"You are" Cassian leans forward, and with one muddy finger, boops Grayson's nose "Boop!"

That's it. How dare this....this commoner touch him?! It was bad enough not knowing who he is, now this?!

"Do that again-" Grayson starts to threaten, but is cut off with another boop to the nose "Wha-"

"You said 'do it again' " Cassian smirks cheekily

"I swear to God-" Grayson takes a deep breath, composing himself. It was not like him to lose his temper over something like this "Do not do that again. Now, state your business for bothering me"

"Flowers." Cassian holds up the geraniums "For you."

Grayson paused, processing this information "......"

"you trespassed onto Hawthorne property to give me flowers?!"

Cassian nodded excitably

"You are either exceptionally smart or extremely stupid" Grayson sighs "i do not want your flowers"

"ill forgive you for calling me stupid, since I want to be your friend."

"i do not want you as a friend. Why would you even want to be friends with me?"

"Because you're a loner with no friends to bring you flowers" Cassian shrugs

Grayson had to admit, that stung. He did have so-called "friends", but he never was close with them, so they were more like strangers that he knew. But was he going to admit he didn't have friends to Cassian? Absolutely not.

"i have friends" Grayson grits through his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. He was getting impatient.

"No, you don't. I would've seen them if you did" Cassian says smugly

Grayson pauses, inhaling a sharp breath "you were stalking me?"

"i wouldnt say that," Cassian takes a step closer as Grayson takes one back "More like, saw you sitting here alone everyday as I passed by."

"And if i dont believe you?" Grayson says, internally prepared for a fight

"Well, I'm already here and giving you flowers. Red, right? Your favourite color?" he holds up the flowers again

"Youre a wierdo," Grayson slaps his hand away "i dont want your flowers."

Cassian frowns a little "oh. That's okay, maybe you hate these ones. I'll bring you some more tomorrow"

"Do not come back" Grayson grits

"im gonna" Cassian places the flowers at Grayson's feet, stands back up, looks at Grayson, shoots him a mischievous grin, and boops his nose again, making Grayson's nose officially the most booped part of his body.

Grayson opens his mouth to finally curse but Cassian starts running away "Oh, no, you don't." Grayson runs after him

But Cassian is surprisingly fast, and dodges Grayson multiple times

"We're playing tag, now?" Cassian snorts a laugh

Grayson realizes what's happening and stops dead in his tracks and frowns, glaring at Cassian.

"Leave." he says, barely holding on to his anger

"Why-" Cassian begins, but Grayson interrupts

"Leave before I tell on you. I'm giving you a free card once, don't expect it again" Grayson takes a breath through his teeth

Cassian slowly blinks at him, but then smiles softly and says "Okay! I'll figure out how to get out by myself next time"

Grayson watches as the boy sneakily watches out for the guards, and then darts into the woods without being seen, and eventually vanishes out of sight.

Grayson lets out a huff of irritation, and begins to walk back to the House, when he notices the muddy geraniums on the grass in front of him.

He hesitates for a second before picking them up.

I'll just throw them away, it doesn't matter. He thought

But a small part of Grayson, that he desperately tried to push away, wants to keep them. He doesn't want to admit it, but he really did not have any friends to bring him flowers. He was still suspicious of the boy, but he decided to see where all of this would end.

But for now, all he had to focus on was getting inside, taking a much needed shower, because of that pesky boy, and then attend lunch with his brothers and Grandfather.

Prologue part2

Tagging:

@never-enough-novels @pink-mask-06

@x-liv25-jamieswife

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euphoric-dramione · 7 months

Text

January Dramione fanfic wrap-up *with links*

FULL-LENGTH:

Waifs and Strays by kyonomiko: very cute fluffy fic where draco is a cutiepie pine marten.

& Obey, Till Death Do Us Part by LongtimeLurker1111: his could’ve been a dark romance, but instead hermione decided to stay with “phin” theo and i just don’t understand it. the worst part wasn’t rapist draco bc he was the bad guy, it was rapist “phin” theo who was supposed to be good smut was nice at first.

Brand New World by NinaBinaBallerina: i loved loooved the beggining of this fic. then after they graduated and she found out she was pregnant i kinda lost the plot. i read until the point draco wanted her to move in with him while he was married to astoria and then i just skimmed until the epilogue.

In Silence And Submission by gillianeliza: this was a cool smutty bdsm fic, it had some nice things but i just think the writing was kinda wonky? nevertheless, very much enjoyed reading this.

The Fever by Flightglow32: this was supposed to be a smutty novelette but the smut happens in the very last chapter and only last five pages and we skim through the smut scenes like we’re a train on schedule and i just don’t understand why? especially because the fic was so sexual in its themes so why was the smut so lackluster??

Draconian by Noelle: It was like a really fluffy wartime with not-so big stakes, at first i thought how stragely whiny and crying hermione was all the time, but then we started to slowly find out what happened to her. I didn’t feel very much towards this story but it was entertaining and very readable.

Uncoffined by lady_of_clunn: it was nice, but due to the dubious ethics i’m quite conflicted of how i’m supposed to feel.

Damaged Goods by slytherin_after_dark: look, i know i had dnfed this when i had read only like one or two chapters, but lemme tell you how much i loed this fic when i picked it back up! it was all i needed - spicy, entertaining, angsty, with toxic but possessive and loving draco. although hermione felt ooc, it didn’t dim the reading experience.

The Politician's Wife by pir8fancier: this was so realistic, the romance was subtle but powerful, the little bit of smut we got was fantastic. also, it was incredibly well-written.

Seasons Pass (To This Ass) by mighbewriting: didn’t love it, but it was short, so i read it in one night. the smut was realistic as in how sex works but it wasn’t great smut if you know what i mean. loved draco’s quidditch player physique.

More Than One Way To Win by scullymurphy: i loooved the fake dating in this one, it was short but had all the scenes, i really liked it, although i wish there was more plot for after they got into an actual relationship.

Safe Home by khakis: cute kinda short kinda omegaverse story with draco as a werewolf but the werewolf part doesn’t play a huge part.

Breed by RoseDeVents: sooo muuuch breeeding.

The Curse of Malfoy Manor by alwaysaclaw11: a nice retelling of beauty and the beast, but it didn't leave a lasting impact on me.

Our Girl by geoblock: hands down the best smut i’ve ever read, and it's hermione x draco x theo x BLAISE

Innocent Monsters by itscometothis: very fluffy, but then draco gets depressed and a lot of attention is paid to his depression which i don’t mind, but it was a bit triggering. so not extremely fluffy, even though on of the tags was “tooth-rotting fluff”.

ONE-SHOTS:

Belladona by NinaBinaBallerina

(What’s a kink?) Between Friends by morriganmercy

Bond by spicyxpisces

Tell Me by GardenAtTwilight

Keep Me Safe by Skyfire2459

Perfect by CaityBell

Fourteen Days by its_banannaz

Marked as Mine by LilithShade

WORKS IN-PROGRESS:

Let The Dark In by senlinyu

The Sun, The Moon, The Truth by pinkinku

House Pet by NinaBinaBallerina

(all three of these are pretty dark and ansgty and VERY well written, i usually don't read wips)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #fanfiction #booktok #fanfic #books #high reeve #ao3 wrapped

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messrmoonyy · 1 year

Note

thinking ab ‘holiday spirit’ w jackson! tess where r sees decorations cause maybe they decorate for the holidays and its cute and sappy and romantic and maybe a private proposal (SAPPYYY))

ur writing makes me shrivel into a tight little warm ball AHHHH much love!!

Christmas in Jackson

Tess Servopoulos x Fem!reader

A/N- messrmoonyy being soft again????? Not writing filthy smut???? Oh???? Lmao look. I wanted this to be a drabble. I got carried away. Though it is still short but. This absolutely helped me kick my writers block in the ass so thank you for that! Hope you enjoy this sickeningly tooth rotting fluffy fluff of my beloved Jackson Tess and hopefully this little thing will give me the motivation to go back to my other requests

This is a ‘ follow on ‘ kinda to my fic holiday spirit but it can be read alone

Warnings- none. Other than Tess is slightly OOC because she’s very. Very. Very. Soft.

Word count- 3k

Navigation | TLOU masterlist | AO3

Reblogs and comments are always welcome and encouraged. Support your fic writers <3

You loved Christmas. You always had done for as long as Tess had known you. Always forcing her to celebrate it with you in that dingy little Boston apartment, using the handmade and ancient decorations she had gotten from Frank, and a few other things she had picked up on the market of Boston. She still hadn’t fully admitted to you the things she had traded for a few of the items. In fact she’d threatened the people she had traded with that if they dared breathe a word of it she’d come for them in their sleep.

She didn’t need people thinking she was soft after all.

But that had been then. And now? Well. Now she didn’t care if people thought she was soft. She would happily let people think that cause who cared now? She had no one to be tough for. She had no reason to hide her emotions for you away from prying eyes.

Of course she hadn’t let herself go so easily but you had been in Jackson nearly 4 years now. And she had managed to shake most of her QZ ways.

She hadn’t really liked Jackson at the start, couldn’t get used to the new way of life. Too familiar with running things her way back in the zone. But seeing you safe easily brought her around to the idea of staying there. Seeing you happy and not having to constantly fear for your safety… it was a relief to say the least.

Though the generosity of the people felt alien to you both, you seemed far more willing to accept it than she was. She didn’t like the charitable gifts left on the porch. The breads and pies and even a casserole once. The shirts the boots. You had always had a gentler heart than she, had always been so much more… hopeful for peace.

You were the reason any of your little group was there. The reason Ellie was a part of that group in the first place. It had been your willingness to hope and think positively that had convinced her to take Ellie to the fireflies. And you two could make Joel do anything you wanted so he followed without much convincing when you all agreed to head for Tommy in the process.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when you accepted the gifts. When you tried to mingle in with the town, telling Tess it was beneficial. And she supposed it was.

And of course, what seemed to be the most important thing to you, was that Jackson didn’t go half’s when it came to Christmas. Maria and the council went all out, string lights and multiple decorated tress. Handmade wreaths on doors and Christmas cookies. They even had Christmas movies for the weekly movie night.

Tess didn’t understand the hype. Didn’t understand why anyone would want to celebrate Christmas in the current climate. But she loved you. And you loved Christmas. So it had grown on her over the years. And she guessed there were worse things to celebrate. A holiday to celebrate peace. And joy. Something she had so been lacking.

The first Christmas in Jackson you had actually cried at the sight of the town, eyes watering as you’d walked down the Main Street of town and saw the lights, saw the tree. She’d almost welled up herself just watching you. Which was stupid.

She’d never quite understood why you loved Christmas so much, she didn’t know what past memories you were holding onto that made it so important to you. She’d never asked either. If you’d wanted to tell her you would’ve by now. You were nearing 2 decades in each others company and you both still had things you kept from the other, that was how things were now. People had new life’s and they had to keep their old ones to themselves. For their own piece of mind and sanity at least.

Her own Christmas memories were fuzzy. She didn’t remember much from her childhood, had blocked it out as much as she possibly could. And the Christmas memories she had from before the outbreak that she could remember? Small hands decorating the low branches and silly little kids toys that flashed and beeped and that she more often than not forgot to purchase batteries for… she didn’t like the think about those ones.

But the ones with you she liked. The ones with you making her dance to Bills mothers ancient cassette of Christmas songs, kissing you in the flickering glow of the string lights, trawling through every damned abandoned building in the zone she could get to with the excuse of looking for stuff to sell. Only to be searching for a gift for you. A book you might like. A piece of jewellery that wasn’t entirely rusted or broken.

She liked those memories.

So she indulged you. She let you get giddy like a little kid, let you yank her around the whole town each year to see the decorations. Once Maria had found out of your love for the holiday she’d enrolled you in the decorative committee and you took joy in showing which wreaths around town you had made. And she followed you happily, a smile on her face, noting how she had never seen a smile like that back in Boston.

Year 4 in town was no different, she had let herself be given the tour around town, had commented on every wreath you had pointed out. She’d even let you drag her into the Bison for dinner and watched in amusement at Ellie as she tried and failed to hide the fact that she was head over heels for Dina.

The walk home was peaceful. There was that fine misting of snow in the air, the kind that told you a heavy snowfall was incoming. It seemed to sparkle under the lights as you both walked, arms linked with your gloved hands trapped between your bodies in an attempt to keep them warm. She’d told you fingerless gloves were a dumb idea. But Ellie had given them to you two years ago for Christmas and so you wore them every winter since.

You had always been Ellie’s favourite. Maybe it was because at first you had been the only one that’s immediate response wasn’t to shoot her in the face. Had tried to see reason in why Marlene would hand over an infected kid. You had been the one to grab Ellie’s arm and pull her along, Tess’ own deeply buried ability to hope and see the positives of life worming their way out as she followed.

Ellie had stuck to you like glue. And even now that she had grown into that stage of being a teenager where she was almost an adult, moody and acting as if she didn’t need her pseudo family around her… she still let the childish side of her out around you.

But maybe you had that affect on everyone. Made them happier. You certainly made her happier. She would never let herself be so pathetically sappy and soft around anyone other than you, the kind of soft that made Joel tease her and made a younger Ellie wrinkle her nose in disgust at the affection.

It was almost annoying actually how easily you did it.

“ heavy snow on its way “ you mused, looking up at the sky “ gonna make that mountain patrol hellish “

“ I can ask Joel to swap with us? “

“ no no it’s fine. The mountain routes have to pass through that village with the library. I wanna find a new book “ maybe that would be a good idea. Maybe she could find a little extra something to give you for Christmas.

The pile under the tree in your living room was growing bigger by the day, you’d had to move some of the lower hanging ornaments up a few twigs to stop them catching. You’d organised it perfectly. A pile for Joel. A pile for Ellie. A pile for you. A pile for her.

She was growing ever curious on what exactly you had gotten for her. And where you were finding them too. You were incredibly sneaky. You could go on patrol together and bring stuff back she’d never even noticed you pick up.

Like the monstrous singing Santa that sat on the fireplace for the last two Christmases you had found in a store in one of the towns on patrol. It had been well preserved, still in its box in the back store room with a bunch of other things you had told Maria about to be collected for town. But you had taken a small stowaway into your bag

Tess despised it. She hoped and prayed each year you’d plug it into the socket and it’d stop working. One of its eyes was slightly off centre and more than 20 years in a store cupboard had meant the voice box was a little off. It was creepy. But you liked it. So she put up with it, but it was always the first thing to go away.

Maybe one year she would gift you a hammer with the precise use being to smash that fucking Santa to pieces. Not that that would ever happen.

Maybe she could find something else to replace it.

Tess watched you as you walked together, the fine snowflakes catching on your eyelashes and sticking to the woolen material of your scarf. Eyes practically sparkling as you looked at all the decorations along the street.

Some kids had built a snowman, others had pushed piles of snow together and had clearly been sliding down it. She looked back down at you again, the smile on your face as you passed the snow creations.

The cool air had kissed at your skin, redness glowing on your cheeks and nose. She never got bored of looking at you. In 20 years she hadn’t. And she knew another 20 could pass and she would still be no closer to being tired of how you looked.

“ sweet “ you said softly, knocking her from her admiration, and she looked down to follow your line of sight landing on an old couple also returning from the bison. They had stopped to kiss under the mistletoe hung above their door frame, the sweet small kisses that old couples did. The familiar kind “ that’s gonna be us “

“ old, married and tipsy on Tommys questionable mulled wine? “ she teased, though deep down it did make her heart swell. She’d never thought about getting old with you before Jackson. She didn’t think she’d last that long. Thought she’d be infected or dead in a ditch somewhere, or laying with a bullet in her skull because she had lost you. She’d never thought you’d get old together. But now she did. Now she thought about it. Thought about dying from old age and not infection.

Thought about being safe and content for the rest of her days. With you right at her side.

“ weird to think about getting old huh?” You asked as if reading her mind

“ I’m already old “ she sighed. She wasn’t much older than you she could count the gap on her fingers, but she seemed to be taking it harder than you were. She felt ancient some days. The cold affecting her aching bones. Back in the QZ that would have scared her. Now it didn’t really bother her that much. Only when she thought about the possibility of leaving you behind.

“ shut up. I’m trying to be romantic “ she gave a small laugh and shrugged

“ okay. Forget the old. What about the marriage part? “ she asked, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop herself.

Marriage had been on her mind for a while. Which was absolutely ridiculous. The world had ended and she was imagining what it would be like to call you her wife.

God she had gotten so soft. Joel would never let her hear the end of it.

Marriage wasn’t really… a thing anymore. But there were ways. Maria and Tommy were married after all. And so many other couples in town. And she didn’t want it to be a big deal. She wasn’t the sappy romantic type. Not the type for big crowds watching her display her affections so openly.

But she wanted you to be hers. In more so than just words.

She even had a ring. Had done for months. She had found it when snooping around the lockers in the Lodge on patrol with Joel. Only rich, fancy ass people went to fuckin ski lodges. She knew she’d find something interesting left behind. She didn’t even know if it would fit you. Or if you’d like it. Maybe she could find an old necklace chain for you to wear it on instead. It’s not like the rest of the marriage would be traditional anyway, so why should the ring?

But it was stupid. Of course it was stupid.

You gave a small laugh at her words and shrugged.

“ careful there Tess. Almost sounds like you’re asking me to marry you “

“ maybe I am “ she heard you stop in your tracks at her answer, slipping out of her embrace and she came to a halt too, a step or so ahead of you. The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, her brain forcing her to voice her desire to have you as…. Hers. Properly.

“ Tess “ she turned around to face you, your cheeks and nose were even more rosy from the cold, or was it blush? Your eyes wide and watery. She couldn’t tell if it was from the cold air or your emotions either. Maybe it was both “ are you serious? “

She shrugged in some attempt to appear nonchalant about the entire thing in case you thought it was stupid.

“ nothings really… ‘ legal ‘ anymore. But Maria told me about what they can do here and… it was stupid I’m sorry. Too much of that shitty Christmas ale. Come on let’s go home it’s cold “ she held her hand out to you but you didn’t take it. Still standing there shell shocked.

She was embarrassed and didn’t exactly know what to do in the situation. Her old self would never have ended up in a position like that. And for the first time in years she craved Boston again. She wanted to be back to her stern and hard self, the self that could hide her embarrassment easily. That wouldn’t have been asked the question in the first place.

“ you didn’t drink anything “ was all you said, grabbing onto her hand finally and yanking her towards you.

Your lips were freezing as you kissed her, your fingers the same. Icy fingertips slipping to the nape of her neck as she melted into you, tugging you closer by your waist. She’d happily shake off her embarrassment by kissing you. Even if your cold hands did feel like they were giving her frostbite.

She let you kiss her until you had to pull away, your breaths coming out in small white puffs between you both.

“ ask me again “ you whispered

“ I don’t remember asking you in the first place “ she teased, earning her a slap to the arm from you. But she was cold enough that she was certain she was numb from the neck down and didn’t even feel it.

“ ask me “ she scanned her eyes over your face. Your beautiful, beautiful face. The face that had been looking back at her for 20 years. The face of the only person in the world she trusted more than herself. The face of the woman she loved, the face of the woman that had made her realise love was possible even in the shitty disgusting world she lived in.

Your face. You.

“ you wanna marry me? “ your smile was brighter than she’d ever seen, your eyes watering again. And that time she didn’t tease. She meant it. She did.

“ sorry I didn’t quite.. didn’t quite get that what was that? “

“ sweetheart- “

“ I’m sorry? “ she couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips, shaking her head at you in amusement. Her embarrassment had vanished, knowing you weren’t making fun of her. You genuinely wanted to say yes. To agree to her stupid little idea.

“ marry me? “ she asked again, cupping your face in her hands your face was as cold as the rest of you.

“ what was that? “ she pressed kisses across your face with a smile, grabbing you by the waist again and pulling you back when you tried to squirm out of her grasp as she kissed every inch of your face she could get, pulling you back against her as you giggled.

“ marry me “ she said against your ear, voice soft and gentle “ as good as you can right now. Marry me? “

“ I’ll marry you “ you whispered, turning around in her arms and holding her face in your cold hands again “ in whatever fuckin way you wanna “ she kissed you again before she could do something pathetic like cry, holding you tight against her and wrapping you into the warmth of her jacket with her.

She wondered what a sight you both looked like. Standing there, kissing in the snow like a pair of lovesick teenagers. And she wondered what her past self would’ve thought. What 10 years younger Tess would’ve said about kissing you in public, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed her mind. What 15 years younger Tess would’ve said if she knew the woman she was pretending to have no feelings for was now agreeing to marry her. What would pre outbreak Tess have said. That Tess that had a son and had married her husband because it was expected. Because she had fallen pregnant young and it was what seemed like the best thing to do. That had loved her husband so much but deep down had known it wasn’t what she wanted.

If 10 year old Tess, that proudly declared to everyone she met that she was never going to get married. That marriage was for idiots and love wasn’t real. If she knew… If she knew that even in the face of a fucking apocalypse, she would find you. And would learn that yes love might still be for idiots, but it was real. So very real. And that you would make living in the middle of hell bearable. That you would make her carry on. Make her live.

She couldn’t help but wonder.

#I’ll be back to my regularly scheduled h word posts soon lmaooooo #tess servopoulos #Tess servopoulos x reader #the last of us #tlou Tess #tlou hbo #tlou #x you #fluff #the last of us fanfiction #Anna torv #other characters for exposure:#joel miller #ellie williams #sapphic

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ivy-loves-chocolate · 1 year

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Let's say that some "no way home" shit is happening and the universe collides and stuff, and instead of multiverse villains coming in the main one, the boys just discover AO3/Tumblr/Wattpad, etc.

Would chuckle and try to hide his smile. He would also blush when he read steamy stuff. He is amazed by how many people he is shipped with and would spend nights reading fics about him.

He would make an account to mostly keep his favorite works. He would also try to write some stuff with him, thinking it would be easy since it comes from the source, but people say it's OOC.

"Well, story of my life..." Thus, "@the-story of-my-life" was born. He gets sued by Capcom for copyright infringement. Poor guy can't catch a break, even in another universe.

Also, his hair has its own fandom.

First, what the fuck is a "ship" and why people are "shipping" him with Chris? His eyes widen at the intense NSFW content made with him and his archnemesis, but the "x reader" stuff boosts his ego.

"They know me so well, it's amazing." He'd say it with pride in his tone.

It turns out he doesn't need a virus to mind control anyone, a shirtless picture would do just fine. Thus, "@realalbertwesker" was born on Twitter.

Why people ship him with his archnemesis is beyond him. Still, he quickly falls into addiction and stays up all night reading fics about him. They just put a smile on his face.

He is shocked to see how many people got him right. They got his preferences right—how he cuddles and what he likes to eat—and goddamn, even his dick size is accurate.

"Am I that transparent?"

No, Chris, we are just obsessed. You're hot.

Why is everyone calling him a "DILF"? What's a DIFL? And why is Mia either dead or divorced in almost all fics?

After some quick research, he laughs out loud, finding all of this hilarious and quite enjoyable. He likes all the fics, both SFW and NSFW, and he has no shame reading steamy things next to his wife.

He is addicted to slow-burn fanfiction because it keeps him hooked, and he lives for the drama. He starts a Wattpad account to write his life story: "Ethan Winters: from ordinary guy to mold." Everyone says that it’s OOC.

This man never thought he'd be worthy of being simping material. Still, his ego is increasing with each fics he reads about him.

He has a Tumblr account called "@ask-heisenberg-203". He also buys many checkmarks using Miranda’s credit card. He really wants the rainbow.

He lives for the "x reader" stuff mostly because he feels loved with all his flaws.

He is a ladies' man and would be so proud to see all the fics and headcanons about him.

He can’t stop blushing at all the cute headcanons, and he even submits. His username is "@definitely-not-carlos" and he reblogs content about himself or Jill.

He lives for the spicy stuff, and at some point, he writes too (from personal experience).

Let’s face it, he makes a Tumblr account just to write fanfics about himself. Luis is a very good writer and gets many followers in a short time.

"My, my, these people are very horny. And why is everyone shipping me with Sancho?" He said after reading a few smuts that it's ok 'cause he likes the attention he gets.

"Damn, Leon looks good in those thongs..." He would say that after seeing some pictures. He thinks of getting a tramp stamp too because if it looks good on Leon, it would look stunning on him.

Taglist: @rokurodokuro @shadow-wolf510 @skylar-todd @lunarastrobabe @alewesker

#resident evil #carlos oliveira #leon kennedy #albert wesker #chris redfield #luis serra #ethan winters #karl heisenberg #shitpost

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mthofferings · 1 year

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FestiveFerret

See FestiveFerret’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Email: [email protected] Discord: festiveferret Tumblr: festiveferret

Preferred organizations: - Assistance Dogs International - Girls Who Code - Innocence Project - Médecins San Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) - National Disaster Search Dog Foundation (See the list of approved organizations here)

Will create works that contain: Romance, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, rom com, non-power AUs (college, coffee shop etc), a/b/o, dub-con, pining, tropey nonsense (soulmates etc). If you’re not sure if I’m up for something, please contact me! I may be open to doing a sequel/timestamp to one of my fics, but it’s not guaranteed (especially for collabs) so please check first if that’s what you want. My wheelhouse is tropey romance with angsty pining and Big Moment get-together at the end and meet-cutes with lots of fluff and banter.

Will not create works that contain: Underage (T-rated high school AU is fine, no graphic underage or one under/one over-age situations), non-con, torture (this is fine if it’s a setup for H/C or an otherwise happy ending, but I won’t write torture porn with no resolution–writing pain, I can do!), dark/evil, unhappy endings, permanently unrequited feelings, death, fantasy/medieval AUs, OOC, CW fix-it (or anything at all about the Accords), anti-Endgame (including fix its for stuff you didn’t like about it), bathroom kinks, age play, daddy kink, pet play. Again, contact me if you’re not sure!

-- Fic or Other Writing --

Auction ID: 1153

Will create works for the following relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU, Ultimates Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - MCU Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark - MCU Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton - MCU

Work Description: I’m offering a custom fic written to your prompt. It will be at least 3k words long, but is unlikely to be longer than 5k. I like to be involved with my prompter, so if you’re someone with a lot of ideas who likes to ramble about your favs and see those rambles included in a story, I’m your ferret! I can also work with short prompts and no input, but there’s no telling where the story will end up. I like to take tropes and flip them on themselves. I’m happy to have more than one pairing in a fic, but I won’t end any of the pairings I write in favour of another’s endgame (reach out to me if you want to know which characters I'm happy to use as the "bad ex"). There are some fics of mine that I may be willing to write a sequel or timestamp for (please check first) but I’ll be less flexible about which prompts/ideas I accept for those, if any. I can do shippy AUs of movies, but as this is a short fic, it likely can't be the whole plot. I don’t write gen or friendship fic, but I will write established relationship. I prefer not to write pure porn/pwp, but I can add a bit of smut if you like. By request, my winner will have access to my wiplist/plot bunny hutch, if you don’t have a prompt of your own, and can optionally pick one of those. If you have any questions at all about what I will or won’t write, please contact me! I have examples of all the ships on my AO3 and you can see full fics between 3-10k here plus all my ficlets here

Ratings: Teen, Mature, Explicit

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

#FestiveFerret #auction: fic #mth 2023

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plasticfangtastic · 1 year

Text

Can We Be Lonely Together? Ch. 12 3/3

A Homelander X Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader but male leaning for crackship reasons. this is also a Supe! reader fic

Author's note: YAY!! thank you for making it to the final part of the final chapter, hope y'all like it... there's an epilogue coming btw but its short thankfully! LONG CHAPTER ahead! warning! thank you for reading and I can't wait to drop the 2 fics I got in the works, one is just HomeAsh smut and the other just pure Homie fluff. previous chapter on #my fic tag and #can we be lonely together? tag in my blog.

R18+ Child death mention, child murder, gore, mild gore, murder, smut, Homie OOC towards Ashley, rape mention.

Chapter 12

Cont.

The morning after was without struggles, a new routine set itself after medication and breakfast now the cats needed your attention.

Homelander was still silent, still far away– but John did his best to look strong without his brother’s guidance, yet unable to stop hoping to see his brother's reflection.

You took to work, he said nothing about you entering the labs to pick up supplies, he even gave you his blessing, ensuring the security cameras were off during your shopping spree, the thought of you killing excited him greatly, pent up arousal still burning his loins as all you could muster after last night spat, was a quick fuck in the shower before bed and some head before breakfast, he had cummed but he wasn’t satiated.

Insufficient by all means, you backed up against his hips, the hot water reddening your sensitive skin, squeezing as he threatened to leave only for his hips to smack yours to reassure you that wasn’t going to happen, pumping a single thick load without leaving a bump, you cleaned him with your tongue, making sure to get every nook as he sheltered you poorly from the shower.

Your tongue flicked him awake, squeezing him with all your might as you pumped him messily, letting him watch as you pleasure your throat with his member, leaving him in awe as your nose got tickled by a small tuft of hair, his hand firm against your head as he groaned and hissed as your teeth rubbed his sides awake, holding hands as he came making sure to swallow every splurt and licked every drop you’ve spilled, before he could return the favor– Ryan woke up, so you cut it short this morning.

And then the cats protested, they complained a lot, demanding things after only being here for a day, but you and the kid seemed too happy to please.

It was to be a long day, he worried.

No calls during lunch break, or smoke break, no messages to remind him to eat and that a glass of milk was not a meal.

He knew you had the day off but he still expected something, you failed to reply to any of his messages.

He could feel something pressing against him.

It would be eight o’clock and you still haven’t called home, it was past nine and your phone kept leading to voicemail.

It was almost ten when Ryan asked about you, as he prepared to go to bed, Homelander reassured him that you were at work at Dolores’s restaurant, ordered him to keep the fort and headed out.

He hadn’t want to think about it but his mind betrayed him, did you lie? Were you with somebody else? who the fuck where you with!? his chest puffed the more and more he thought of that nameless woman, you wouldn’t. He was better looking, wealthier, smarter and high specs than some OnlyFans thot– were you trying to get back at him? Even after you forgave him? But the more and more he huffed, the nearest wall cracked deeper under his fist.

He felt that squeeze in his heart.

You've said you liked the difficulty.

What made this cheap mudperson difficult?

His throat grew an impossible knot, he felt againts the hall wall as he headed away from his apartment, resting his temples as he lost control of his heartbeat.

Boars had tusks to shred you, to impale you, to bleed you with, after all.

There you were lying cold in some rat infested alleyway, the stench of your rotting corpse hidden by putrid piles of rubbish, and wet bitumen.

There was you still crawling, still clinging but too far away, too quiet to catch anybody's attention– not that anybody would care in this city.

He choked, his mind racing and the ringing in his ear painfully loud at the thought of you calling for him behind red gargles, claws shred his insides.

Heading downstairs to Analytics to find one of your co-workers. Your phone stopped ringing and sent him straight to voicemail.

The man looked up, seeing the alarm in his expression, he was tense and shaky as he took the back of the chair, leaning slightly towards him, the man squeezed his bladder as the back seat cracked under Homelander’s grip.

“Give me the last known location for this cell phone.” He showed his screen to the man– now!”

He jumped and began checking the data, not questioning his motivations or why Homelander had that number saved in his contact as ‘Fiancee’ ; it took a couple of impossibly long minutes before something pop-up.

“It says that is–

“Soho. I know the place…”

Pantingly he looked away, his ears ringing too loud, and each movement felt tight, what could’ve possibly been there left for you? He caught himself as his eyes attempted to squeezed some weakness out of him, as his suit became unberably itchy.

“This phone hasn’t been active since it got there… no tower has picked it up afterwards, sir.”

“Good work. if it moves you call me.”

He was gone before the other man could even muster a response.

In minutes he had crashed on their lavish patio, it’d be another minute until Kent emerged from inside the house.

“I knew you’ve come…” he flashes your phone, the screen cracked– but I can’t help you.”

“Where the fuck is Y/N !?” He growled, illuminating the darkened patio.

“Pusher came by my office around two… by six I was handed this by an old colleague at the Times.” He smacked his lips– I was hurt.”

Untucking a newspaper roll from under his arm, Homelander didn’t care, his eyes glowing brighter than before, illuminating the skin around his eyes giving Kent a glimpse of veins and skullbone.

“God… are you here because you miss that ice queen?”

“My calls keep going to voicemail– even the burner phone.” He muttered– "I can't get ahold of them.”

“Hot damn– I told Pusher to leave you because you were never gonna last… seems I was wrong... you just wouldn’t leave unscathe. You ain’t going to find Y/N, they're gone, probably already got a new name and passport– you think you’re special? Let me guess Pusher said they’ll marry you?”

The light faded slightly, as Homelander shoulders stiffen, watching the arrogant prick get closer.

Thinking of that woman again, your bff would know if you two...

“Before you was a cute aspiring writer, then the librarian, there was a rich baker too, some hot married thing, one who cheated on Pusher so the idiot buried the bitch alive and then had Dolores find them after they clawed their way out, and right before you there was this wannabe self-made trustfund kid– Pusher loves you, cherishes you but the moment you stop acting like the character in the movie they made about you… is goodbye. Unlike them you can’t be killed by traditional means.”

He threw the newspaper at his feet.

“You and Pusher?” John asked, the more this snake spoke the more he wanted to see it choke on its own tail.

“God did you hear anything I just said? Ours was complicated… our relationship is more than… yours, but not at the moment. Altho Pusher did leave you this– took a good chunk of the liquid you had and put in an off shore account, made it seem like an everyday transaction for you, the info its in the note app… something about making sure Vought couldn’t fuck you over. It's not all of your fortune but you and the kid won’t need to think about your grandkids working either.``

Homelander took the phone off his hand.

“I’m not like any of those worthless–

“You’re different? You are not– Good luck finding the idiot… sorry about Vought, tho.”

The way Kent’s body thud against the tiles wasn’t as cathartic as he’d hope for– the slow wind flicked the pages of tomorrow morning’s edition of the New York Times, in big bold letters “The Great American Disgrace.” he crook his head as Kent drowned, as his mind processed the missing half of his body and agonized.

Glad that this married asshole was away from his pumpkin, he had spent too much time with you… it didn’t seem right, anyhoo.

He wasn’t like any of those low born mudpeople, he was divinity incarnate, a higher being, you were of the chosen few— so there was no surprise that simpletons did not keep your attention for long– he was better than all those nameless cocksuckers. He was the fucking Homelander but you didn’t answer his calls, this phone who vibrated with a hundred missed connections for some reason had his money, looking around on the device, you also had a few other disturbing things, all of the devices on his name and others close to him were being monitored by you, he ignored it for the moment.

He took the newspaper, seeing a massive photograph of a familiar boy, smaller print in bold highlighted words ‘Operation Patriot and First True American’ the words: inhumane, organized child murders, illegal human experimentations– repeated themselves, but above all… his name… his deadname, the sequence of numbers and placeholders. The entire front page was thousands of letters describing horrific findings… by 7 am the whole country would see this picture of him.

Just a small thing, holding a blue blanket, taken from a security camera, of him alone in a sterile room.

The other images were of his mother sitting alongside two other women, their bellies swollen and their eyes glazed, in drab hospital garbs. Then little kids he had never seen, images of higher quality than those drab 80’s photos.

Homelander sat on Kent’s bench, he had forgetten how to breathe until he was done reading the whole front page did his lungs lived again, flicking to the next one, more images, more names, more women he vaguely remembered, faces, smiles, bodies… names.

Only a few meters from him were a bundle of sleeping children but all he had of his were these grainy images– of little girls with his lips and little boys with his hair, some looked nothing like him until he stared just hard enough to see his chin or ears.

A quiet wail escaped his lips, as he cried into his hand, his eyes flowing endlessly, the more awful words he read, the more Homelander ears rang. Wobbly knees lifted him, catching sight of the illuminated 7, refusing to believe all of this… he wouldn’t crumble… not yet… not until he felt safe.

He had to protect John, that was his purpose but who was there to comfort him.

Now when he wanted to burn it all.

In a large penthouse Stan Edgar laid asleep.

Jumping as he felt the weight of his bed shift, in the dark he saw red, at the edge of the bed, just watching him without breathing, no hiss escaping his lips– just Homelander… or something worse watching at him with the stillness of statues.

Edgar took his glasses, finding this sight just as unsettling, not that he let it show, a part of him expected this visit sooner than later.

Homelander and him stood like this for a very long minute, until his arm creaked handing him the newspaper.

He turned the gold table lamp on his glass side table, his bed a velvety plush thing, and his sheets disgustingly expensive.

Homelander muttered nothing, no sound, no movement, he was more projection than physical entity, for once Edgar’s heart rate did pick up at the sight of him, this was not his petulant child. Homelander watched his demeanor break as more and more of his idiot brain processes the information.

“I won’t let you kill yourself, nor am I going to kill you. I want you to see your empire and your legacy burn in front of you… and when you finally could feel even an ounce of my pain… then I’ll watch you beg me to kill you.” he whispered.

“Homelander…”

“The CIA is outside your door– you won’t be doing an Epstein on me, either.”

“This has nothing to do–

“ Your name over and over… Madelyn’s, Jonah, the other cunts in the labs… you… all of you… on page 3”

He stood up with freakish smoothness, his hidden hand threw two sticky wet masses towards Edgar.

“I used to think Earth looked beautiful in outer space… but… is so ugly… is just too cold out there. too cold for them, too” his lip barely move, cheeks stained with trails and trails of dried tears– who knows where they are now… just drifting away endlessly in the vastness of the Milky Way– too far for me to even catch them again.”

Edgar looked down at the mass.

Two hunks of hair, still attached to their scalps, little specks of melted red ice puddled on his quilt.

“Maybe Zoe will hit Jupiter by the time you die. She cried so much when I took her hair off… Vicky too… so I made them twinsies.” he chuckled– it was so sweet.”

Oh he had always wanted to see him afraid, crying, anything but his usual self, but now he did not care.

The man tried violence only hurting his hands in return, Homelander just walked out the front door as he screamed words that meant nothing.

Not staying to watch when the CIA operatives entered the house.

Aunt Mallory awaited him in the hall.

“I always wanted to see Vought fall. Never thought I would see it… or that you would help us get this done so quickly– even if it was on a threat. But I still couldn’t touch you. The Government would like you to take part in the trial– by tomorrow afternoon all of Vought who was involved in those operations will be arrested and charged with… fuck… everything.”

“Was somebody named Y/N L/N your whistleblower? You seen them?”

He was glad to have seen Kent, otherwise he wouldn’t be watching Mallorys response so closely.

“Can’t tell you that.”

so stupidly easy, she was being smug.

“Can’t tell me where my own fiancee is… or should I go get it out of Butcher? He’s downstairs in the lobby.” He sounded raspy as his throat had given up– I’ll testify on the trial… you know the things they did to me wouldn’t get these people more than a couple years without my testimony. If you tell me and grant me immunity… say you find something else… I’ll give you my all and maybe something you’ve wanted too–

Mallory could cream herself at the fantasy, sensing his desperation and in response his willingness to harm to soothe it, she bit her lip.

“Too good to be true. We don’t really need you for a trial y’know once we identify the families of the women and children–

“I won’t let you touch Ryan.” He said calmly, taking a step closer with red in his eyes– You think the CIA is better than Vought? Either I burn this fucking country to the ground and force you to nuke your cities just to see if you could even scratch me, or you agree– or do you think Soldier Boy will help you, after you put him back in a fridge? I’ll be nice if you like, I’ll even stop compound V production until we can see the outcome of Vought... I won’t hand it to your people or mine– if you hand me the paperwork saying I’m just a poor little meow-meow.”

He spoke so softly even his cursing didn’t sound hateful, in this tranquil tone Mallory froze, his hand lifting her chin slighty forcing her to met the bluest eyes she’ve ever seen, to see this calm sea holding back a biblical flood.

“We can be civil. You got my word.” She bit her tongue– how come you haven’t yet.”

“That’ll depends solely on you.”

“This Whistleblower left before Butcher delivered me the files. Don’t think he would know.”

“Useless.” he grumbled– "I want to see that bastard in jail first, anyhoo.”

Homelander headed to the elevator, his mind trying to hold the avalanche that was John inside of him, to hold himself until he could find a place to scream.

William sat on a couch by the opulent lobby of the apartment complex, finding something comforting in seeing him... now it bothered him too much but Homelander ignored it, already on edge, one wrong word and he would collapse.

“When was the last time you spoke with Y/N?” John said.

“Why the fuck woul’ I tell you?”

“William. I’m afraid my Pusher lied to you… whatever was said about me is not true, it was just a ruse to get you to do the dirty work.”

Dead, cheating or running away. Homelander would play the one that hurt him the least and the most, he needed to see you, to understand what you’ve done.

“Those bruises looked fuckin’ real to me, mate.”

“Pusher is a Supe– A Telepath probably told you what you wanted to hear to get you to do as told. I just want my fiance back… I… I can’t do this alone…” His expression softened and his eyes stung– did it make you happy? To see those videos? To see my kids die before I knew their names? I haven’t even seen them, just what was said on the papers and Mallory told me.”

“Don’t. You don’t wan’ to see it, mate. I Hate you. I fuckin’ hate you but… your kids… they were gonna do that to Ryan. They was gonna make my Becca into a monster! All she did to protect that little boy just to end up killing him! My Becca wouldn’t have lived with herself… none of those kids and their mothers deserved that.”

Butcher spoke, his voice did nothing to hide the pain he felt over what almost had awaited Becca, the pain and guilt he felt as he once considered handling that kid back to Vought to rescue her back then, Becca would’ve killed herself from grief if not by her own hands if she was still here and saw those videos.

Homelander sat beside him, he had died once tonight, he could do it again, Butcher shaken as he sat on top of his flag that he almost seemed so careful with before.

“I need to see them. William… please… I need to know… maybe it’ll make you happy to see me reacting to it.”

He looked so frail next to Butcher, whomever this was they did not recognize him.

“If Pusher won’t be there for me– can I have you instead? After all, we had something different.”

It made him uncomfortable to hear him say that, whoever this man was... was just a wounded stranger, sitting too close, their knees touching, Homelander seeking for any relief and Butcher feeling his skin crawl.

“It won’t make me happy. I’m not sick like you” He took a cigarette out offering Homelander one the man considered for a strange second or two– After this what are you gonna do?”

“I think I’ll move to the mediterranean with Ryan, the two cats and maybe… maybe two more people… Mallorca… or Valletta… You can visit Ryan if you like… before that golf ball in your brain kills you. You should see the beachest down there… so pretty– but after I find my pumpkin.”

He lit the cigarette on Butcher’s lip, this was it. The end. It sucked for them both.

They shared a sorry laugh, Butcher picturing the blonde in tacky Hawaiian shirts and a burnt tan screaming ‘Expat’ he just didn’t seem like the type to pull it off, unlike himself.

��I’ve been to Greece on my honeymoon…it wont be pretty not with you in it. I’ve called your fiance early, that we had met all their demands. They came soon after and dropped the passwords, then asked my Frenchie for tips to deal with a supe. They fashioned some stuff for a bit then your Pusher left around four.”

“What Supe?”

“Firecracker.”

He scoffed.

You had forgiven John but never did you say anything about her, he stayed with Butcher even after Edgar was dragged in front of them, following him to his office to watch the videos that even his worst enemy didn’t want him to see.

The longer he watched the less he wanted to see, he had left Butcher’s office by dawn.

Butcher feeling not victorious as he watched them, the happy recordings of kids being kids, of kids trying to make their mothers happy, until the tears began, until the blood, and the screams, until they became silence.

He opened the front door for the authorities heading a private tour to appear extra cooperative... the company was a mess, a beehive disturbed by ravenous wasps.

An emergency meeting was called and the news were talking non-stop of him, of the others could’ve been Homelanders, of his mother and their mothers. His aunt was already victim to guerilla interviews unable to understand what’ve happened, the stocks were below red, and their competitors were just waiting to start eating their hot juicy remains.

“We will cease all production on V. until further notice… but honestly I’ll just take my severance package, and let you guys take care of this.” His voice soft– This is over. All of it. No point in crying about it– it ain’t you guys who ought to be crying.``

Ashley whimpered regardless.

“Sir… I would’ve never authorized this–

“You are too weak to do these things. You've been a good girl Ashley… the least I can do is make sure you’re taken care of, I’ve put in a good word that you had nothing to do with this– after all this is before our time” He turned to the others in the boardroom– them on the other hand. After all of you get arrested I’m going to kill everybody you love and feed them to my cats… maybe not tomorrow, or next week– but I will… I’ll fucking let your dogs rape your wifes and send you the videos and maybe send them to your kids.” he chortled– All of you can go fuck yourselves. Now me and Ashley are going to get out, and none of you better make a peep.”

It was quite the scene.

“Ten million should be enough to live comfortably for you, right? Or is that like a lowball amount? With inflation is hard to tell.”

“Excuse me?”

“I won’t hurt you Ashley because Ryan likes you. And your name did not appear anywhere…” he petted her head mockingly– you and I are done… but you’ll have to sign an NDA about the things you covered for me, your last job for me is for you to testify in the trial.”

“Are you doing alright, sir?” She was too shocked to ask anything else– I…”

“No.”

“Hmm… sir, I wanted to tell you before the meeting that Firecracker has been missing since this morning. And one of the guys from Analytics gave me this… address. Said you had requested it but you never answered your phone this morning.”

His mouth crook upwards.

“She left her phone at home. We already had a team out looking for her… is she our whistleblower?”

“Did she have any friends? Any brunettes with freckles and a big ass?”

That rang bells for an odd reason, a girl she had seen hovering around her during recordings.

“Yes…? I think her old editor.”

“Get me her address, I’m going to go deal with them”

There you were again in a ditch, your face gone, Firecracker nowhere to be seen.

Mallory and some other high ranking investigators stood watching closely overseeing the arrests. Their suits filling the halls.

“That one had nothing to do with it.” his thumb pointing at Ashley.

“Any more requests, your highness?”

“Not going to give you the formula for Compound V.”

“Vought and you caped bastards going away sounds like a dream to me… but you kept your word… I kept mine, you will be granted complete immunity even if we aren’t investigating but the crimes against you. We are pinning all of this on the old guard.”

“Enjoy it.” Before he left he turned around– thanks to you the whole country gets to live another day.”

Butcher stroked his temples.

“And he is going to get away with it!? All of it!?” Starlight protested, the rest of the gang sharing her sentiment– Butcher!?

“Is out of my hands. The fuckin’ ‘ead of Homeland Security, the CIA and the president rather he retires to fucking Madeira than risk a nuclear apocalypse! They haven't even begun to unravel Soldier Boy’s abilities, and the Russian’s ain’t helping– you think I want this!?”

“So what are we gonna do?”

“Nuthin’ we won. Besides… Y/N might be a serial killer…” Starlight and company urged him to continue– couple years ago some writer and their friend were found killed… nobody could describe this Beck Nevere partner, as if they never existed, not their age, gender, color nor height, they knew Beck had a partner– both the victims social media accounts were clinically scrubbed… talking black-ops level completely fucking clean. They suspected a Supe was behind it but it led nowhere. There were another couple corpses here and there with similar lack of witness accounts. Only one gave a vague description and a name... Pusher.``

Hughie pulled up the sketch composite that Butcher was referring to, it wasn’t perfect and some of the details were wrong but there was a familiarity to the image.

“This cunt went here to ‘elp us get rid of Vought. Maybe they’ll get rid of him too.” he thought of that name the cunt had dropped– He called them ‘Pusher’ I bet if we dig far enough we could find about this bastard.”

He thought of Homelander sitting on that leather couch, wondering who was after who.

As he sat in the archives a metal box opened and its contents carefully placed around him, Homelander would cry alone, at pictures of close strangers, the sound of voices he would never hear down his halls, all the families he could’ve had, all the first he could’ve witnessed, John could had been given all that made him weak, all that would render him needless, but all he had wanted, all their stolen timelines… You had given him a mother… had you tried to bare him children but found this graveyard.. leaving you more frail than wet paper... did you shattered? Afraid he would kill you for this after his mother’s fiasco? Had he finally managed to scare you?

Two men awaited to take some for evidence, but gave him space until he was ready.

By the end of the day, the internet was losing its mind, even his biggest detractors and haters had nothing negative to say about him, before the day ended the whole world saw Homelander as a victim, a man brainwashed, a survivor.

Theories that the entire internal coup that saw Edgar fall from grace were nothing but a machiavellian plot to take over the company that had caused him so much harm-- it was to be the next best biopic, studios already preparing for the upcoming bidding wars, and publisher eager to jump at him with publishing offers for his biography, it would sell out day 1 if it happened, News channels and celebrities already competing to see if they could get him to sit down for the first exclusive interview.

Some still hated him– but as of the first 24 hrs the public was sympathetic. It would become the popular opinion to not hate him, those who did would be silenced, and eventually it would be taboo to voice it openly, or at all.

His strange quirks and violent outburst now blamed on complex PTSD and trauma, he wasn’t hated nor ridiculed to his surprise, while much of the facts had been sanitized, much of the details to be saved for the trial or for government eyes only– enough was out to paint a horrific image; CNN to Joe Rogan had been given a couple of heavily censored clips, graphic enough that its content was undeniable. The families of the mothers, and his ex-lovers already being identified, the missing women had been given potential and confirmed names in massive reddit and 4chan efforts, faster than the FBI had even if there was plenty of misinformation drowning the main feeds.

He had checked Firecracker’s friend apartment finding nothing, no struggle, or signs of it that’ve been cleaned, her keys missing but her wallet and phone left behind.

A couple of cigarettes left behind, no lipstick marks left on the buds, Firecracker wasn’t a smoker, he grinned.

He could scan the whole city and eventually find you, but it came to him.

A number he didn’t recognize appeared on his screen.

“Found your bitch, aye.”

Seems Butcher wanted some payback, he was better at this than Homelander after all.

“Love you too. How you get my number?”

The other man was silent at the other end of the line, watching the building you were holed up.

“Your bitch used me. Painted you as some victim to be pitied. Made you get away with all the bullshit you’ve done– I want front row seats to the funeral… found some of your bitch past achievements– gnarly little things.”

“You and me both.” He was to let you explain, to tell him everything before he made a decision on you– thanks.”

“This one is good– but I am better. Gather your team is a bit short of funds and all, just so you know I’m gonna get ev’n.”

He hanged, seconds after Homelander received a text message.

Homelander flew, finding you wet, naked and tired.

You looked more beautiful than ever before, as you throw your back with each swung of a modified machete, sweating profusely as you bathed in her life, your shoulders burn and you hair clump around your temples... you looked breathtaking.

His ire fading as the sight of you assuaged him, the thought of your arms holding him tenderly... the only place he could cry, of your lips telling him all the things nobody had meant and internet voices were too impersonal to mean much for him, left alone for days, worried sick you’ve been hurt by Firecracker and left dead on some dumpsters, you were safe, you could explain yourself, he could grant you one chance to explain yourself.

You did look so beautiful.

But you were here, breathing, thinking of him still.

They would just be a little upset still.

But you could explain it all... maybe it had been a misunderstanding... maybe you didn't meant it.

And then here you two were.

Dawn fast approaching, the cool breeze rustling your hair.

“Why did you ran away?”

“Killing Firecracker was harder than I anticipated. The fugu only paralyzed her… had to get creative with the saws… took me a whole day to find the right blade. Not to mention I had to kill the friend first. I was so tired I overslept quite a bit. I only caught up until you showed up.” You admitted– I kidnapped her friend, drew her to that safe house, and then you showed up.”

Her heart beat honest, it shocked John.

“I did have to find out a few things about you from Butcher, Kent, my team… you’re certainly a character. So why did you kill your exes?”

You looked away, embarrassed and ashamed to say this outloud, not wanting to talk about past lovers.

“They couldn’t handle my devotion.” Your voice is gentle yet pained– Too intense for them. I suffocated them and made them feel isolated.” trembling lightly you looked up at him– I loved them too much but they couldn’t muster to return an ounce of what I gave them. They didn’t want me anymore. Didn’t want to give me my refund. They weren't my true love.'

“So you didn’t get bored?”

“All I wanted was to be loved like I always dreamed to be loved. They got bored of me… they hated me… they couldn’t stand me.” Your eyes watered– But you returned my love, so equally.”

He strokes your hair, tucking it behind your ears.

“You won’t fall out of love with me… even after you erase my memories?” John asked.

“Is nice that you think I can do that– you need it for the trial. Or you meant later?”

“Maybe I want you to kill me instead of killing you, and leave my brother in charge.”

You dropped an imaginary plate, all air squeezed out your lungs, your nails digging on his arms.

“No!! I would not!!” You shouted– Absolutely not!!”

“You did all of this to have me all for you, but maybe I don’t want to be all yours. My brother likes you… he only came back for you, he ignored me for you. You love him, not me. Nobody loves me, I’ll cheat on you again– you can’t win me over not after what you did! I have nothing! Vought! Privacy! This fucking suit!!!”

He whispered words laced with anger and pain.

“Then I will kill the next one, and the one after and the one after that one. Fuck I’ll kill the bitch you stared for more than five seconds at the coffee shop queue if I must. As long as you come back to me John is alright… is you, him and me.”

He whimpered, stifling a tear, the way you spoke so softly, your deliverance continuously painfully honest, hard to reconcile your merciless nature with this one who saw him as their everything, genuinely meant it, who saw him as frail and began to cried at the thought of euthanasia.

“I won’t stop until I consume every ounce of doubt you have.” You mumble– I’ll never ever let you leave. I’ll put you in a glass cage if I have to” you stroke his cheek, clinging to him, a strange white swirl floated in your eyes– All I did was to protect you and us. That man– Butcher… was going to destroy you! I was lucky I gave him those files and made sure no matter what– the whole world would never think of you as evil, thanks to me. I got rid of her because I’m yours… so you didn’t need her… you own me.” Your kisses are so soft on his neck, turning him into glass replacing the old marble– I want to crawl inside you to feel your warmth for your touch is not enough. I would consume you if I could and fill my guts 'till it burst, so you might nourish all of me. Just to be closer to you.”

Homelander mouth dried, your words clawing at his throat, his hand glued to you feeling his body swirl as you pulled his face closer, gasping with every fond stroke of your lips and palms, the red flickering the more you spoke and his heart thumped, as he struggled to breathe, you sucked it out his system.

Your pretty eyes so white.

–You could have me forever and tuck me in the closet until you need me, and I would be fine with it– I’ll be there for you… ‘cuz I love you and you’re very special to me John, so I’ll just make you come back to me– both of you.” You cried, kissing him more intensely, sussurating into his lungs– I prayed and prayed to all gods for traces of you. I gave up hope… but you found me instead.” you kissed him more, and more, bleeding into his tongue. Harking back at the first moment you met, the moment you heard them both, and your eyes met, that first shared heartbeat– Even my ghost won’t leave you. I promise. Now that the gods have brought us together I won’t let go” you sobbed clinging on to him, that pale light brighter– I was born for you.”

There is a perturbing and enthralling manicness to you, your voice will forever haunt him as it spoke so sweetly, your kisses branding him with iron, you were pulling him closer, swallowing him– it frightens him how unbashedly you yearned for him.

You were a scary thing.

A monster.

His other half.

He let himself be saved in your arms, his legs giving up, pushing you both into the hard ground.

Your declaration makes his wounded heart thump more alive than it had ever been in forty years.

It wouldn’t heal him, it wouldn’t fix anything, it wouldn’t earn you forgiveness.

But Homelander and John needed this. Always had. Both had seeked this.

He had wanted something awful it seems.

That god would make somebody just for him.

Who had felt the same suffocating loneliness.

And emerged just as awry.

Who would cling to him shamelessly, like he had yearned since the moment he learned he was born from nothing.

Who for forty years had clung to sweet nothing in search for anything, any crumb of something to fill the abyss.

You here wanted to fill his abyss with your own tragedy.

Every sulken glance, every smile, every tear and every kiss… forcibly if you had to.

He needed to be cuddled and held, laughing maniacally as nothing made sense anymore, he cackled in between hoarse sobs, you kissed him, cradling him and swaying him, kissing his tears as he clung to you.

Looking up, a dying lamp vaguely illuminated above you two, a flickering halo framed you, you watched him with fervor, your lips lifted into a pained smile, holding him as if the mere thought of him touching the ground was killing you, your heart screaming so loudly.

Oh there it was… he thought, in the depth of all that was you. He finally really saw what his brother saw– Stormfront didn’t look at him like this… not close, not remotely the same.

You were the comfort of the familiar pain.

In the white ouroboros.

You were the Bad Room made flesh.

He was born there… he would die there…

He was inside that room, city skylines and rusted metal replaced by thick white cement walls, the flickering ligths replaced by cool white halogen.

He was born to keep John alive but John never knew how to be without him.

So he continued to be unsure of where to be.

Until you…

In your muddy disguise, without a hint of sanctity, you who appeared so boorish– you were the white walls that’ve birthed him, still chasing after him, a tulpa or demon from within that place.

What were you?

“Don’t be silly. If I was a demon I would’ve joined William’s side. Or tell you not to do the Oprah interview”

Glimpsin into that uneasy white swirl illuminating pupils, he thought.

Frozen inside this silent room, the buzzing of the air con drilling into his ear.

If his brother had taken the reins before, ran for days and nights, if he had agreed to lie about you before, if all John knew now was on your words– had you forgotten to tell him something?

What had you two kept to yourselves?

What had you two done while he wasn’t around? What had you shared for his love to infect him? For you to become like this? In his fracture memory he couldn’t reach the answer easily.

You kissed him as he watched the white swirl fade away like a slithering worm taking that unnatural light away from your irises.

With it the world returned.

He squeezed your hand, trying to calm down the oppressive weight in his chest– Oprah… he had already been offered ten million for exclusive first dibs, he could think of that instead of the unknown, as you pressed him against your chest, he could just let you two care for him as you had promise, let him just get the bliss and the fortune.

“Should I?”

“Well we gotta make sure the public thinks you’re a good boy… and if you want to keep killing we got each other... it will be much more fun if we gotta be sneaky about it. Also is Oprah, baby!”

“She’s so lovely, pumpkin.”

It was too much… how can one man, god or not– handle the last few hours, it was too much, accepting defeat, he could kill you but solve nothing, now he needed your powers.

He had said, himself… now he was a god made whole.

You held him until even his back grew sore.

He thought of waves, of never ending waves, and golden stone, of the cawing of sea birds and the heat on his back.

“You want to move there?”

“It's far away..."

You pulled him closer, as his head rested perfectly against your chest, kissing his forehead over and over until his toothy smile returned.

“You’ll be there to make everything okay… you'll make it okay.”

“I’ll take care of us forever.” your hand holding his cheek– I was put on this earth to care for you.”

To be held was all he ever wanted.

If his brother could hold him… this is how he imagine he would.

He felt the candor of your love, hotter than his own inhuman heat, he knew these frail chains made of bone and glass will not break, he held your collar and you held his chains.

Both visciously clutching on those chains.

Tangling himself further into the uncertainty, but he didn't fear it, he craved it.

Bleeding into his mouth.

Offering your fealty.

Whatever was to happen, whether the world would be blessed with rebirth or survive another decade, hanged on you.

#homelander #my fic tag #can we be lonely together?#the boys #Homelander x reader #Homelander x you #Homelander fanfiction #I'm ESL sorry about my grammar #homelander x supe! reader #will see if i can do a masterlist with all the chapters after I post the epilogue this wk.#personal #bit heavy on the YOU reference #this was after all a Joe Goldberg X Homelander fic #not that it changes it being a reader fic now hehe

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fenglianist · 7 days

Note

for the fic ask game:

★ what was the scene you most wanted to write in "i'll use you as a warning sign (that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind)"? what was the hardest scene to write?

✎ how do you think readers would guess a fic was yours if you posted anonymously?

(have a good day/night!! 💜)

tysm for the asks rose!! <3

I'll use you as a warning sign (fengqing xianle era sickfic)

★ what was the scene you most wanted to write?

the whole fic was so fun to write! but from the prompt, i probably most wanted to write the whole convo with xl where mq reveals he's terrified of losing fx

i love when a character is really angsty and terrified of losing the person they love👌 so fun to write. also i loved writing all the mq & xl scenes actually, bc i love mulian/xianle trio 😭 i also really love having xl be the supportive best friend in fengqing fics and the one who just Knows what's up with fengqing. i also had fun having xl tell mq to "just tell him" like how he told fx that in my first ever fengqing fic AKSJKS

★ what was the hardest scene to write?

tbh, the ending 😭 after writing all the delicious angst, i wasn't sure how & where to end it. especially after id made mq so angsty about how fx probably would never reciprocate his feelings, i wasn't sure how mq would react to fx suddenly reciprocating,, still not sure if what I wrote was a bit ooc in the sense of mq confessing so easily. and i kind of cut the fic short a little even though they could have gone on bantering for a long time, bc i was only planning to write 3k but it ended up 7k and i was running out of energy/steam djdhk so yeah i struggled with the ending and worry that it was a bit abrupt or that it switched too drastically from angst > comedic banter

✎ how do you think readers would guess a fic was yours if you posted anonymously?

answered this here on my other blog! im actually very curious if I have a distinct writing style bc idk if I do and I try to vary it when it's a different genre or different character's pov 🤔

aside from what I wrote in my answer in the other post, thematically id say maybe if a fic is angsty but ends hopeful with lots of emotional hurt/comfort? or sometimes another character telling the mc that they are loved or not a bad person? i really like writing those kinds of fics. just emotional "maybe i was wrong. maybe im not inherently unloveable and maybe happy endings are actually possible" kind of endings, after a lot of angst. also lots of nostalgia and reflecting on the past vs present..

ive also had readers tell me they can feel the emotions of the characters in my fics or that even my fluff fics make them cry so maybe that's smth distinctive?

(usually i only make a fic anon if it's smut or its a fandom i don't want to be perceived writing, or if it's Really really bad)

tysm for the ask again!! have a lovely day/night too <33

(send me an ask from the fic ask game part 1 or the fic ask game part 2)

#answered #fic ask game #ask game #rose tinted vision #writing asks

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choccy-zefirka · 1 year

Text

Lab safety? What lab safety?

The wonderful @ziskandra enabled me, so after more than a year of being incapable of writing anything new, I churned out a 5K-long s3x pollen crackfic, starring Alexius and Yvie!

Before you proceed, be mindful of the content! Aside from some warnings like angst and a minor reference to Alexius’ self-destructive tendencies post-defeat, the fic contains the following bad writing elements:

Word repetition.

Weird purple-prosey metaphors that might not make much sense.

References to Phantom of the Opera (deliberately sprinkled in lyrics from Music of the Night).

Questionable/unrealistic smex (body-generated lubrication only, both parties coming at the same time) written by an asexual who is pretty rusty in the smut department.

The usual OOC redemption for Alexius, manic pixie dream girl energy for Yvie.

Non-linear narrative constantly broken up by tangents.

Present tense.

Head-hopping: the story is written in dual perspectives, Alexius in regular font, Yvie in cursive. They both converge when the two reach sexual climax.

My only justification is that I had fun writing it after a long dry spell (huehue).

Softly, deftly, the song weaves through the laboratory.

The gentle Orlesian warble trails over the cluttered research desks, leaps from shelf to shelf, from piles of ground crystal to the yellowing severed claws of some massive creature, and weaves between the flasks, tall and narrow, short and stout, clear to the point of invisibility and dusty to the point of fuzz.

The song's path is elaborate, looping, like gold embroidery — and in a blink, the metaphor becomes real. The sound vibrations meet the unseen ripples in the air that create the Veil; as they collide, as the song pushes against the barrier between the mundane and the magical, a spell is cast.

Today, the Inquisitor is practicing telekinesis. Her voice manifests into long, glowing threads that wrap around the neck of a random potion bottle — with something bright-orange and altogether unappetizing sloshing thickly against its sides — and drag it through the air towards her. The ride is a little bumpy, and the bottle makes a few dangerous bobs and swerves, much too close to the sharp corners of tables and cupboards, or the heavy stone ceiling. But in the end, it arrives safe and sound at its destination: in the Inquisitor's cupped hands. Most importantly of all, not a droplet of the orange ooze, which someone irresponsibly left without a stopper, has been spilled.

The Inquisitor stops singing after she gets her prize. She takes some time to catch a breath — and also seizes the moment to flash a radiant grin at Alexius.

He smiles back... As best he can, with those stiff lips of his, unused to making any expression in the past months except for jeering and snarling and sealing his voice away in despondent silence.

That is enough for her. Just as his company, for whatever odd reason, is enough for her. She nods at him, gingerly walks over to return the potion bottle to its circle in the shelf's dust, and eventually steps back, chest rising upon inhale. Ready to begin again.

And all the while, Alexius... observes.

Phonomancy — casting magic by warping the Veil with sound waves — is a rarer type of spellcraft. But not unheard of, certainly not in *cultured* places like Tevinter. In fact, it falls under thaumaturgy. Thus, when the Inquisition realized that the Mark had granted its Chosen the ability to affect her surroundings when she sings, it could not be clearer that someone had to teach her how to master this unexpected new skill. Someone from Tevinter. Someone who had been top of his class in thaumaturgy at the Minrathous Circle.

Dorian.

Yet he refused.

"Finally, someone in this backwater acknowledges my brilliance," he said, his nonchalant mask firmly on. "But I am afraid I would make a horrible teacher. I have no patience for anyone more than an inch below my level. No offense."

The Inquisitor seemed to take none — but Dorian still hurried to apologize, eyes widening, mask slipping a fraction. He had, of course, meant the difference in their skill level, not the Inquisitor's height, inherited, as they say, mostly from her dwarven mother. While her elven father gave her the slight point to her ears, and, perhaps, that innate spark of magic that lay dormant until she touched the artefact of the Elder One... Corypheus.

Instead of his own candidacy, Dorian pushed forward — figuratively, and, rather unceremoniously, literally — Alexius, who had been allowed to attend the council on the Inquisitor's magic. With a guard on either side, a massive steel frame for his morose portrait. With runed shackles on his wrists, to be removed for an hour a day, and otherwise ready to erupt into crackling bright-blue agony if he attempted to cast a spell. With his skin itching in the trap of a hand-me-down Circle robe. And with his response to the Inquisitor's judgement — "A headsman would have been kinder" — still bitter and heavy on his tongue.

Why Dorian vouched for him, Alexius will never know. Maybe his former apprentice did think that someone with teaching experience would be better suited for exploring obscure magic with a beginner. After all, Dorian's mind has always raced miles and miles ahead of his peers, at a pace of an untamed dracolisk. Someone who, just a year prior, had only ever heard of magic as an alien, frightening contagion that landed her fellow southerners in shackles, would not have been able to keep up with him. The Inquisitor needed someone who knew how to guide her on a mage's journey, from the very first steps. And adding to that, Alexius was there, in the garden, when — No, it doesn't matter.

Maybe, instead, it was a gesture of pity. A way of giving Alexius something to do. True, he had already been appointed as "arcane researcher" — a much too generous job title that was really just imprisonment in a cell that happened to have a stack of books in it. But this — training the Inquisitor in phonomancy... Oh, this was a challenge.

Challenges have a way of filling one's time. Of speeding it up — Alexius should know. And when the time moves faster, the void that stalks the empty hours before dawnbreak, maw ready to open, teeth ready to feast, does not seem as dark. Despair's breath does not seem as cold. The whistling plummet off Skyhold's battlements, the sheaved steel of a guard's blade, the perfectly black vial of poison in this very laboratory, does not seem as alluring.

So here he is. With something to do.

The Inquisitor has long since stopped needing his instructions, his eye on her stance, his hand at her elbow. The first steps are behind her; the songbird has taken wing. She still makes mistakes, but she knows how to fix them — and to a teacher, that is worth so much more than perfection. Dorian might gasp in mock outrage, but the first lesson that Alexius taught him, a spitfire of a boy with leaking makeup and wine on his breath, defying his father yet still terrified of stumbling and falling in front of him, was that falling does not matter so much as getting up.

Yet despite all this, the Inquisitor continues to call on Alexius whenever she returns to Skyhold from her travels — where she still wields her twin daggers, as the battlefield leaves little breathing room to stop and sing. She continues to welcome him to her phonomancy practice. Not as a prisoner — his shackles were removed some time ago, and the guard outside the laboratory has wandered off somewhere, their post reduced to a formality. Not as a teacher either. As someone who, in a different world, in yet another branching timeline where neither of them had ever killed the other, might have been... A friend.

The Inquisitor is singing an all-new song now. Her magic's golden stream ebbs and flows in time with the unrushed, slightly melancholy Orlesian verse. This time, it divides in two: one ethereal ribbon sweeps up an empty beaker; another, a bowl of dried plant leaves.

Frowning slightly in concentration, yet never letting her tempo dip, the Inquisitor guides the two together, inch by careful inch. Her deep black eyes narrow; her short-nailed, hardworking fingers clench and unclench. At her mental command, the bowl dips, then shakes a little, shifting the leaves all to one side. And at last, they rustle down, into the beaker, not a single one of them falling loose.

Alexius attempts a new smile. It is quite fascinating to watch, this kind of magic.

And she... She is fascinating as well.

For many years, before that one day, Satinalia Eve of 9:38, plowed a charred black gash across his life's calendar, he and his Livia had had a certain... agreement. While their love for each other was strong and true, only further tempered in the usual Tevinter crucible of intrigues and assassinations, they were free to take others into their bed, separately or together. Now and again, he'd entertained himself on that agreement's terms — and then hurlocks' rusted blades and genlocks' dripping jaws turned his wife into a bloody, ragged... nothing, scarcely enough for a funeral pyre. After that, and in the midst of clawing his fingers raw against time's unmoving, implacable granite, to scrape together a feeble semblance of life for his son... It never occurred to him to recreate the agreement.

With one person or several. It felt wrong.

It still feels wrong, but for a slightly different reason. The aching emptiness beside him, where he should have seen Livia whenever he looked behind, still pulls his insides taut. But now this ache has receded... Just enough for him to notice how lush and dark the Inquisitor's eyelashes are. How the green in her hair — the result of a girlish urge to get a dye, she says, which she liked enough to continue using well into adulthood — shines and ripples like the stormy sea back home. How regal her aquiline profile looks when bathed in stark light, even if she herself would laugh and say that she's just a humble gardener from a mountain village. How her voice, aside from being an unusual spell-casting focus, is also entrancing to listen to.

And, like many times before, he finds himself entranced, utterly, completely. Lost in her movements, the delightfully focused expression on her sun-kissed face, the caress of her musical magic. He almost wants... But he can't. Not like this. Not in this place and time.

In his confinement — which, as noted, the Inquisition has been making more and more lax since he showed no signs of ripping off his robe and running around screeching cult propaganda — he has had plenty of opportunity to reflect. To regret. To reach out, clumsily and insufficiently, to those he wronged, from Dorian to Grand Enchanter Fiona.

Yet no matter what he does, he will still remain irrevocably broken.

He failed; failed so miserably — as a magister, a father... Perhaps not so much as a teacher. Still. For all the kindness she has shown him, even at his lowest, in the freezing dungeon underneath Haven, his touch will not elicit anything but disgust. Hers is to shine as the last beacon against the storm the El — Corypheus will bring. His is to bask in her presence, for as long as she allows it. And use his oh so great educational talent to teach himself not to yearn.

Tremulous, tender, the song unfurls for exactly as long as Yvie needs, to float the beaker and the now empty bowl back to where she raised them from. Right to the top of a precarious stack of messy, ink-splotched formula sheets.

With this balancing act completed, she relaxes her spine — which she did not even realize was feeling like a steel rod jammed into her flesh — and gulps to soothe her parched throat.

As she steadies her breathing again, her thoughts race faster than the rise and fall of her chest. A jumble of past ideas, and plans for the future.

Another spell completed. It may feel like a cheap parlor trick now; pointless, too, because just walking around and gathering all this potion paraphernalia by hand is much easier than over-exerting her lungs. But she has a use planned for it — for the good of the Inquisition.

Previously, she taught herself to close wounds by whispering a song into bleeding skin. And now, once she is done training with small objects, she will have enough control over her pitch and singing stamina to move on to something larger. Like construction materials.

Ever since she learned from Josephine that a worker had lost their life on the castle scaffolding, Yvie (once she was done with her ugly bawling over this senseless loss of life) has been doing a bit of... prancing on a hobby horse. She's been trying — with a nearly feverish obstinacy — to get the Inquisition mages to move the building blocks telekinetically from the safety of firm ground, the way they do it in Tevinter.

So far, people have been bristling at the idea of borrowing "unholy" techniques from the dread magister empire. Even Vivienne, who did reward Yvie's tenacity with a gracious nod and a long thoughtful look, was skeptical that such a risky project would take. Their rapport is decent enough for Vivienne not to call the idea foolish outright, but Yvie could almost see the word dancing around the corners of her impeccable half-smile.

But what if she leads by example? Holds a public demonstration? Shows them that, if she moves around a couple of rocks, no demons are going to burst out of the ground and eat her face?

Surely, that ought to persuade the mages to step outside the box! Especially if there is a nice musical accompaniment to raise morale. Some seem to actually... relish in spreading rumors that Yvie's voice has the same mystical power as the songs of Andraste, which swayed the Maker to humankind's side for a brief lapse, centuries ago.

She is uncertain how to feel about the comparison, as someone who learned her letters by monkeying her way up to the rafters of the Chantry school in her village and listening in on the lessons — very, very quietly, not daring to even breathe in the general direction of her neighbors, very jumpy, and potentially very noisy, pigeons. For that was no place for her. The Sisters who taught the human children said that the light of the Maker shone neither on her mother's people, not her father's. So if people absolutely must draw the comparison with Andraste, Yvie would much rather they did something useful with it. Like becoming inspired to magically strengthen the walls of Skyhold.

Of course, regular telekinetic spells are different from phonomancy, and to train mages in those, they'd need to import special literature from Tevinter. Maybe even translate it. But this is nothing that cannot be arranged by Josephine. Especially if Dorian pitches in to help. And... And Gereon too.

After enough visits to the dungeon, enough late-night conversations, enough assurances that she is giving him a second chance, he allowed her to call him by his first name. But she chokes it back when speaking out loud: it withers on her tongue whenever he addresses her with the formal "Inquisitor".

Now that she thinks of it, she only called him Gereon once. Back there, in the garden, when — When he saved her life.

That was when she'd first discovered her phonomantic abilities: she had been singing to her new deathroot sapling to help it grow, out of youthful habit passed on from her mother... And right in the middle of her song, came with a nauseating slither: moist tendrils dragging against damp soil.

The plant unfurled into an undulating, tree-sized monstrosity. Its thorny sprouts lacerated her poor green patch like whips, and rolled towards her in an instant, wrapping around her in an ever-tightening net, with all its poisoned spikes turned inward, growing and growing and growing with the creak of new leather. Aiming at her eyes. An iron maiden made from a quivering, writhing green mass.

Yvie perches on a stool and surveys the laboratory, supposedly to pick out new clinking playthings to whirl into the air... But her eyes instinctively travel to Gereon, on another stool across the room from her, and linger on his wrists, as her stomach churns with the murky sediment of guilt.

The scars have almost faded now, but she still remembers — she always will — the blood running from under his shackles, across the mangled sliver of flesh that sizzled and blistered, almost turning liquid. Because he had used magic when he was not allowed to. He had noticed her... misadventure when the guards let him out for a breath of air, and jumped to her side, burning the monster deathroot away from conjured flames, even as the pain burned away at him.

"Returning the favor for your little feat in the snow," he said, struggling to turn his wince into a smirk. Referring to how she'd found him, forgotten in the evacuation, as his former master burned down Haven.

The next thing she knew, the guards leapt upon him, about to drag him away to what would turn into a very, very long argument between Yvie and the advisors about his further sentence.

For a fleeting second, before he was shoved past a corner of the inner courtyard's gallery, their eyes met. And she mouthed, brows arching, hands crumpling her layered skirt as anger at the guards' treatment of him began slowly boiling,

"Thank you, Gereon."

The first and last time her lips shaped those three syllables he'd entrusted to her.

But in her thoughts — then, and now, and always — she feels much more free to call him Gereon.

Gereon, meeting her eyes again across the cluttered room. Gereon, a constant reassuring presence throughout her experiments with her voice.

Gereon, who patiently sat with her through her first disastrous mistakes, and insisted that they'd help her grow — but does not allow the same luxury for himself.

Gereon, whose face, with its deep lines and starkly sculpted jaw and cheekbones, has captivated her for so long. As have his elegant hands, his voice, which can be silkily persuasive if he wants to, and... And all of him. Even the shadow of the cold, dangerous magister that still clings to his shoulders like a mantle of burgundy and black.

The gloating villain on his throne, the worn-out prisoner in his chains, the father with a heart so big it stained the world red, the curious researcher right here with her — he has been one of the most remarkable people she has ever met. And one of the most handsome, in a way that most of her friends might not understand. She herself certainly did not understand, all those years ago, when she was a cheeky twenty-something getting on her sister's nerves in Vigil's Keep.

The valiant Warden Commander Julie Kader certainly deserved special commendation (on top of keeping the city of Amaranthine from falling apart) for patiently enduring all of younger Yvie's teasing about that human of hers. The old general, with shadows under his eyes and blood of people betrayed caked deep into the seams of his silver armor.

Yvie could not fathom what all the fuss was back then. Why would silly Julie fall for a man twenty years her senior, who'd been the archnemesis of her predecessor, the mysteriously absent Warden Mahariel? But it seems like a weakness for villains runs in the Kader family.

And oh, Yvie is certainly weak for Gereon. If only she could... But he can't — he can't feel the same way. He —

"Is everything well, Inquisitor?" he asks, rising from his seat. Ready to be at her side.

"You have not started a new spell in some time."

She nearly rockets into the ceiling. Has she been that lost in thought? Was it really obvious how foolishly she has been daydreaming about villains?

"I, well... "

She mirrors his motion, flailing her arms chaotically to imitate lighthearted gestures. That one might make. When things are perfectly fine.

The hem of her sleeve — adorned with a broad band of lace, in her favorite rustic style — knocks against yet another alchemical vial. She is not certain what is in it; she is not certain about the contents of most potion bottles here. Asking the Inquisition's mages to let her use one of the laboratories for phonomancy practice seemed like a clever idea at the time, because she thought that the presence of potentially volatile ingredients might add incentive to be very careful and precise with her telekinesis... But now she is seeing the error of her ways.

When the vial flies off to the floor, and shatters.

Alexius' first thought, when the air begins to bloom with huge tufts of lurid pink smoke — far too much of it to have been contained in such a small vessel — is the Inquisitor. Yvonne, he supposes he can call her in the shameful privacy of his mind. He does not dare to think of her as Yvie, not even at the height of emotion.

Just like back then, in the garden, when she looked at him with those bottomless eyes of hers and said his name, and he felt the first jolt of something that was not the pain from his shackles — Not that it matters! It shouldn't matter — he Fade-steps, leaving a wake of his silhouette's pale imprints.

In a blink, he is near her. Magic crackling at his fingertips. A barrier might help, shield them both...

Such foolishness. It is already too late. The smoke has crept up his throat, and, judging by her hoarse coughs, hers as well. Cloying, carrion-sweet.

Alexius gags. Sways, head swimming. For a moment, he feels not quite like himself, but rather like one of those effervescent duplicates created by the Fade step. Thin and weightless as gossamer, detached from his physical body. Not... Not an unpleasant sensation. Amusing even.

The sound of his own barking laughter — a sound he all but forgot how to make — both startles and grounds him. He slides back into his body, and blinks.

Somehow, the colors of everything scattered around the laboratory seem more saturated. The sundry ingredients glitter a lavish green, and gold, and turquoise, and magenta. Even the wood of the desks and the chairs has an almost crimson tint to it now.

And in the heart of this explosive palette, stands Yvonne. Yvie. Yvie. The beautiful Yvie. Emerald in her hair, sun's glow on her skin, fire in her half-lidded eyes.

Alexius' chest tightens, and then relaxes, his heart feeling like it has swollen twofold in size. The longing he has been trying to suppress is back in full force, scorching him from his loins to his throat.

He staggers towards her, driven by a single intent that he cannot bury deep down any more. The whole world has stopped existing, save for her. And himself — but he so desperately wants to stop existing as well. To be consumed by her.

A second ago, she thinks she was worried for him. Frightened that those suffocating fumes might make him faint. But now, she does not even quite understand what "worrying" is. What it feels like. What anything feels like. Except for the ravishing, all-consuming thirst that scrapes at the back of her throat when she looks at him.

She licks her lips. His eyes dart back and forth, following her tongue's motion, and a tiny whimper knocks against his teeth. This sends a hot pulse below her stomach, and she laughs, an echoing, not-quite-there laugh that feels as surreal as the vivid bursts of color all around her. She cannot believe that once upon a time, in some weird other world, she was afraid to approach him... Like this. Look at him. So beautiful.

Oh, she would let him do anything to her. And then respond in kind.

She, too, floats to him on waves of shimmering air, and meets him half-way. She must be engulfed in the same throbbing heat that dances under his skin, as she has unbuttoned the top of the frilly dress she tends to wear around Skyhold. Through the loosened neck cut, he catches a glimpse of her breasts. The olive-gold is slightly paler than the weather-worn tan of her face. Soft, so soft.

He sinks to his knees in front of her, almost evening out their height difference. And at last, at long last, his lips are on hers. He closes his eyes, drinking her in, tongue against tongue, while his hands roam under unneeded cloth, stroking with a rhythm that his mind might have forgotten but his flesh remembers.

Her dress peeled back around her waist, her skin prickling, she presses into him, prepared to drown in his kiss. Want shoots through her in demanding pulses, and she follows the call, running her fingers along the shaved bristles at the back of his head, then dancing over his collarbones, then plunging lower. A soft click, and his belt is undone, and from there, it is easy to gather the fabric of his robes and lift it out of the way.

He breaks the kiss, gasping. Triumph bubbles within her, like her head is a goblet of wine. She grinds against the bump in his breeches, teasing.

His eyes glaze over, desperate, needy. Their brown, much lighter than her own, is like a riverbed on a sunny day. She could swim in that river, she could keep him like this forever.

She bites her lower lip, and the bite seems to stir him up as much as the lick did.

Her own wickedness is elating.

Logically, at his age, he should not become erect so easily, not without certain potions. But the whisper of "logic" in the last unclouded recesses of his brain, somewhere very, very far away, sounds like blasphemy in this world of spinning rainbows and giggling thrills. So he lets the pink smoke claim that final bastion of sanity, and moans in almost reverent gratitude when she finally decides to stop tormenting him, with her sweet lips and her excruciating ruts through cloth, and frees him from his breeches.

Then comes a soft push against his heaving chest. He takes the hint and clumsily lays himself down on the floor. It might, in another place of existence, have been cut from solid rock, but to him, now, it is like floating off on the softest cloud. Absently, he claws away at what little of his clothes that he is still wearing.

Likewise, she is rid of her dress and stays. She takes a moment to stand over him, rubbing her legs together as she looks from his chest, down along the trail of hair on his stomach, to his cock. He smiles hazily, melting into a sweet intoxication at the sight of her curves. That soft dip of her hips, the folds at the bottom of her stomach.

"Take me," he croaks.

"And you, me," she replies, straddling him.

She has been wet since... Oh, since his hands first circled her breasts, pinching at her nipples ever so slightly. The glory of his naked form, with curls of salt and pepper hair, and the curious trails of old scars, only added to it. By the time she spots the coil of a serpent tattoo on his shoulder — a lovely match to the little dragon she got inked on her cheek — she is dripping. She is more than ready for him.

The rhythm of his thrusts leaves her breathless, her heart in her throat, her hair flying undone. She just wishes their height difference allowed her to kiss him at the same time. Just as she thinks that, his drunken eyes linger on her mouth, and somehow, in between panting and whining in a mix of effort and pleasure, he manages to move his fingers enough to cast a spell.

Now this is something she should try singing about! With a faint frizzle, raining biting little sparks, two glowing, purple-tinged copies of his hands soar into the air. With those exact long, slender nobleman's fingers. One returns to her chest, lighter and a little colder than a human hand, but still physical enough to make her gasp when a delicate finger circles her nipple. She does not get to gasp for long, though, as the second hand drifts to her mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, she gently catches the ghostly finger and begins to suck on it, all the while rocking back and forth, her hips against his.

Through gritted teeth, comes a cry. "Fasta vass!"

Then, a gulp of air as the floating hand retreats and cups a flaming cheek.

"Ah! Je veux jouir!"

"Peto, peto te!"

"Je t'en prie!"

"Please!" "Oh please!"

"Yvie! Yvie!"

"Gereon!"

A deep, reverberating shudder, from the core of her being to the very tip of each electrified hair on her skin.

A final burst, which bleaches the oversaturated colors around him into blinding white. A sweet release, the likes of which death and grief and disgrace almost completely erased from his memory. And finally — clarity.

Clarity. No more giddy fog. No more happy delirium. No more fantasies unwinding into colorful glitter before her eyes.

Just a tiny but persistent ache drilling into her left temple. Just her naked body shivering in the suddenly chilly air, under the cold, unfeeling light of the laboratory's lanterns; her dress and smalls lying crumpled somewhere in the corner, her inner thighs still splattered. And in front of her, underneath her, just as naked and disoriented — her former enemy, her perhaps-friend.

His skin glistens with the same sweat that she feels roll down her back in biting, freezing little beads; and his river-brown eyes are wide... Terrified.

The last time she saw that look on his face was in the dark future, when he stared down at the hilt of her dagger coming out of his chest.

"Inquisitor," he whispers hoarsely, dragging himself back on his elbows — away, away from her, desperate to put as much distance between them as possible.

Her name is gone from his tongue again, and even though there are more... urgent things to worry about, this makes her heart sink.

"I am — I do not know what came over me," the words are as clumsy as his fingers, which search blindly for his robe, struggling to cover his exposed, almost painfully vulnerable form.

"One would blame the magic, whatever it was in that vial —"

She waddles over to the shattered glass, keeping her dress pressed tight against her breasts. Trying to swallow down the panicked realization that they have been... rolling around so close to broken glass.

As she leans down to make sense of this glinting mess — and clean some of it up — she makes out a label.

"Experimental nug breeding facilitator," she recites wearily. Making sense of Master Adan's penmanship makes the agonized vein-twitch in her temple even worse.

"Formulated at the request of Lady Nightingale. Handle with care. Effects on humanoids may be adverse."

He grimaces so hard that his face seems to cave inward. She wishes, so badly that a salty prickle begins misting over her vision, that they both could find this amusing. That they could laugh at this, as friends.

"Yes. That." He is also up on his feet now, looking drained and sore, dust splotching his back and shoulders.

"But that is no excuse, is it?" he goes on. "I... I am uncertain how... how to proceed now that this is added to my litany of wrongs. I do regret this, Inquisitor. I apologize."

Her heart ricochets off her teeth, and the salty pall in her eyes shatters into gushing tears.

"I should be the one apologizing! Your mind was not your own, and maybe mine was not either, but I took advantage of that! Because it is something that I wanted for so long! I..."

For a moment, she wonders if the damned nug fumes are still affecting her, because the words are out long before her mind registers that she is still speaking.

"I thought that I was in love with you, but if I truly did love you, I'd have practiced more restraint!"

With a barely audible plop of fabric, the lumpy ball that he has kneaded his robe into drops down to the floor. He is naked again, but there is nothing titillating about that. And nothing ridiculous — even if it is the result of him sniffing some concoction intended for nugs.

He just is.

"Oh Yvie," he says.

And just like that, she could sing again.

#dragon age #dai #dragon age inquisition #gereon alexius #crackfic #original things

17 notes · View notes

enanan-writes · 5 months

Note

same anon as last time))) hello again. for me, while i adore both, i prefer kaohika more. for me, it's a matter of hating people who feminize kao— it's a homo ship for fucks sake. and people act as if one character out of the two just has to be girly. fucking garish (and believe me when i say I've read every hikakao fic online. On non English websites, on AO3, adult fanfiction.org, and yes, every fic on fanfiction.net, and oh, it's fucking disgusting). hika can be cute too, if not more so. like the roles assigned to them in their act is just an act. hika is no more of a top than kao is— if anything, as said in the manga (by Hani-senpai) "

i like to think hika is the more dependant twin. i feel like he just can't live with the thought of being away from kao. and that scene in karuizawa where he acts as if it was nearly the end if the world when kao was only grazed lightly on the cheek. kao is hika's pillar.

but hikakao fics are just written by stereotypical authors nowadays, who reduce kao's character to nothing more than the seductive/uke/cute/coy baby brother (who, for some reason, has all the worst, inhumane things happening to him, like r/pe, pr/stitution, being abused by hika, which is fucking bullshit, being lusted over by creeps, shitty love triangles, crossdressing crap, bc let's be real, if kao ever crossdresss, hika would too) and said authors write some filthy, mindless smut and that's it. some even misusing gender dysphoria or transgender identities, just wanting excuse to treat kao all delicate and super duper uke (and this will lead to awfully written, ooc fics by authors who mischaracterize hikaru and kaoru and soon, the newer authors would follow in their footsteps and spread the disease.

long story short. i now hate top hikaru fanfics with a passion, and only read either top kaoru fics, or just non-smut where it doesn't feminize kao or write stereotypical shit based on their FAKE act (assigned roles). And you might think I'm deluded and completely out of my mind, but yes, this affects me greatly. I love Hikaru and Kaoru. they're my comfort characters, and i've been in the fandom for so long… and seeing the gradual descent to abomination.

thank you for listening to my ted talk, even if you didn't ask :')

YOU. ARE SO. REAL FOR THIS.

The fic im writing rn is switch hkk/khk :)

I have also read every single hitachiinx2 fic on the internet. you name it, ive read it. i 100% agree w u.

ugh like PLEAE LET THEM JUST BE IN LOVE. CAN WE HAVE A FLUFFY HITACHIINx2 FIC??? PLEASE???

its almost like half the writers out there only read and watched up to The Twins Fight (ep 5 in the anime, I dont remember the manga chapter).

I love top kao so so so so much <3 I also love top hika so so so much <3 so long as they treat the twins differently based on personality, not just their stage roles. kaoru is sarcastic, witty, but also level headed. he may get flustered somewhat easily, but he plays it up for his role. hikaru is more quiet, and only fully comfortable with himself when he's just with his brother. he is more emotional as well, but bottles it up.

these things are so easy to see if you just pay attention.

like literally. they are so damn different. the fic im writing rn literally has their povs showing that they enjoy their act, but also find the roles constraining, especially when they just want to be themselves.

also, ofc! im happy to listen to ur opinions (which r very based)

#Enanan Answers #Enanan Misc Posts

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wannawritefast · 11 months

Text

Just You

A/N: I have been pulled out of another accidental hiatus by this absolute buffoon of a man. Full and vulnerable disclosure, I stumbled upon fancams of this man on TikTok and fell in love with him. The only things I know is what I have found on the wiki and what I have seen on TikTok. I see folks are desperate for fics so I thought 'why the hell not'? I apologize for any OOC stuff. Reader is fem but most of the fic is pretty gender neutral; I tried to keep it GN but it just didn't quite work. Warnings: no use of y/n, language, very blatant references to sex, pining, a lil spicy at times, no smut but it's definitely not implied in any uncertain terms, nothing explicit as far as what you "see," but it's there, Johnny being a fucking doofus, reader is also kinda stupid, sorry Summary: You and Johnny are famous and shameless flirts especially with each other. But it's all in good fun, right?

“Yeah,” you answered, leaning back again after leaning forward to hear the interviewer. “Well, this role was certainly more demanding than any of my other previous ones but it was functional so when my trainer and I were coming up with a plan I told him, ‘train me like someone who actually wields a weapon like this.’ A lot of it was blended with-”

A cheer rose in the background but you didn’t break focus with the interview at hand.

“-the aesthetic desires of the production but I absolutely trained for real. I did my own stunts-”

Through the glare of the light above the massive camera you saw the interviewer smile at something just over your shoulder. “Oh, we have a crasher incoming…”

You didn’t even have a chance to complete the full turn before a strong, charcoal-colored suit jacket-covered arm wrapped its way firmly around your waist with a mischievous ‘hey’ and chuckle in your ear. That cologne… You smiled and laughed instinctively, knowing exactly who it was. His warm breath fanned across your ear and neck as he lifted you off the ground in a one-armed hug from behind. “Hey, hot stuff.”

“Johnny Cage, ladies and gentlemen,” the interviewer said as you laughed in kind.

He released you slightly so you could turn in his arm as you smiled up at him. You looked up at his eyes through those signature shades as he smiled down at you, abandoning all of your attention from the camera to playfully scold him. “Hey! This is my interview!”

“You look amazing.” He quirked a brow up at you, the arch slanting upward just above the top edge of the frame of his sunglasses. There was no doubt in your mind that his eyes were running up and down the length of your body.

"Well, you look good too but you don't see me crashing your interviews."

"I wish you would."

"Johnny!" You exclaimed.

“What? I’d apologize but I never apologize for seeing my favorite person in Hollywood!”

Before you could answer, the interviewer interjected, pulling both of your attention back to the camera, “Me right?”

Johnny guided you carefully back to the duct tape ‘X’ on the red carpet, practically carrying you the short distance there, splitting it with you and being careful to not step on anything draping off of your expensive ensemble. The kerchief tucked in his front pocket was the same as the main hue of your look for the evening, the design of your agent no doubt. It complimented his charcoal silver duochrome suit. He looked sharp.

“You can be my second favorite,” he answered the interviewer, holding eye contact with them before snapping right back to you with that signature Johnny Cage smirk, not missing a single beat. You doubled over a little as you laughed at the implication and his arm held firm. “H-h…hey,” he laughed at you, looking at you from the side, “hey, I’m not that funny. A little excessive for a fake laugh.”

You straightened up again, fighting the unattractive smile that was gracing your lips and the accompanying laugh. “You’re… you’re not. You just surprised me!”

He dropped his jaw in fake offense. “You’re not supposed to agree!” Johnny made a show of pulling his arm away and taking a step back. You reached your arm and briefly grasped his forearm before he walked firmly out of reach. The smile on his face was wide and identical to yours as you turned fully away from the camera.

“You’re such a diva, Cage.”

“A diva you’re never working with again!” He walked backwards onto the main carpet careful to avoid the droves of entourages. “We’re renegotiating your contract!”

“I’ll see you inside!” You called. How Johnny made you laugh so much was a mystery. He only smiled at you as he officially walked off and you turned back to the camera still catching your breath from the giggles. “Sorry- I’m sorry. He’s just-”

“The two of you are peas in a pod. We get it,” the interviewer answered.

“Yeah, he’s something alright…” You carefully brushed the face framing pieces of hair back a bit and smoothed your dress. “Did that answer your question?... What was the question again?”

You were seated patiently at a panel with Johnny to your left, his sunglasses sitting idly on the white tablecloth before him. A journalist led a question with your background in performing, referencing a previous production of Shakespeare you had done in your college years. Your head bobbed attentively.

Johnny’s hand reached for the refill bottle of water between the two of you behind the table, picking it up from the ground without breaking his gaze from the journalist asking the question. As you began to answer, he pulled your glass of water closer to his and topped both off, capping the bottle and setting it back down. Your eyes flitted briefly to the activity with a small smile and you continued answering.

“-so it was really rewarding to get to re-explore the character in a new context and-” You watched him slide the glass respectfully back to your space out of the corner of your eye. “-with a truly amazing cast including this wonderful gentleman, right here.” Johnny looked surprised to be mentioned but only for a moment as the journalists chuckled and cameras flashed when you turned your eyes to him. Your hand landed on his forearm and shook it affectionately. “He’s an excellent scene partner and someone very dear to me. I wouldn’t have felt as comfortable digging into this role without him at my side.”

His left hand rested at the center of his chest. “My stunning costar, everybody,” Johnny answered, grasping your left hand in his right, planting an exaggerated kiss on your knuckles. “Makes me blush!”

You laughed as you had to look away from him, letting him continue to hold your hand under the table. “We’re never going to beat the dating rumors if you keep it up, Johnny.”

“Wanna get dinner later,” he leaned flirtatiously toward you, holding your one hand in both of his now. The room filled with the hum of amusement.

“You buying?”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Johnny answered, quick as a whip.

You pulled your hand from his to pat his cheek fondly. “You’re cute. I’ll think about it.”

He glanced down at his lap as he laughed and the room joined him, seeming to have deflated a bit. Johnny shrugged toward the room and leaned forward to address the audience. “I’ve been trying for years, folks.”

A giggle bubbled up from your throat as your hand landed on and squeezed his bicep warmly. “Any more questions?”

“Johnny!” The interviewer greeted, as he sat down across from the two of you.

Johnny said his name back in a matched tone. The interviewer then said your name and you mimicked him in kind. Then Johnny said your name and you replied his name back to him before your costar looked right into the camera he was supposed to ignore and said ‘Rocky!’

The three of you and the crew laughed. You shook your head at him, amused. He glanced at you, ensuring that his glasses were tucked firmly at the apex of his purple button down with one hand as the other found its home along the back of the couch behind you. You shifted your weight in your seat, ever so slightly favoring the side he was on.

“I love The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” the interviewer started as he settled in.

“So do I,” Johnny piped up. You nodded in agreement. “One of the first movies I remember watching actually… In fact, Janet Weiss was my sexual awakening.”

“Speaking of, and I was going to bring this up later but the opportunity is just too perfect…” Your heart dropped to your stomach as the interviewer continued and you processed what Johnny had said about Susan Sarandon.

“Uh oh…” You knew where this was going. The sleeves of your shirt began to feel a little too tight. Your eyes landed nervously on the interviewer, outstretching your hand to him even at the far distance, attempting a negotiation. “We don’t have to tell him. We can keep this between us.”

“What are you talking about?” Johnny interjected.

“No, I don't think I will,” the interviewer replied. Brutal. This was going to be brutal.

“Please,” you begged. “I thought we had something special.”

“Sorry, I have to do this for the exclusive content.”

“No, you don- How did you even find this out? How do you know this?” You asked, desperate to stall. Johnny’s eyes were on you; you could feel it. The interviewer chuckled at your discomfort as heat crawled along your cheeks.

“I did my research. I came prepared.”

You pushed a harsh exhale out of your lungs and looked at Johnny anxiously, your fingertips digging into your upper lip. “You have to swear to be normal about this, Johnny. I-”

“Wait, know what? What does he know?” He turned excitedly between the two of you but you could feel the small part of him that was concerned for you as one of your hands came up to visor your eyes.

You couldn’t take it. Your body didn’t even know how to respond to this. You were usually pretty brazen with Johnny but after hearing him say what he did about Susan Sarandon just moments ago not knowing this about you… You were suddenly nervous around him and why you really couldn’t say.

“I, uh- used to…”

“Back in the day-”

Your cheeks were hot and you were silently thankful for your makeup team as you looked up at the interviewer with a breathy chuckle, gesturing for him to continue. You picked up your glass of water, your words leading into the sip you took, “You can go ahead. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Johnny was looking at you like he was trying to figure out a huge equation in his head and your eyes held the answers. “What do I not know? You wouldn’t be blushing if this was something I knew about you.” He had a wide grin as he looked at the interviewer. “You gotta tell me right now what it is.”

“You may love The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Johnny, but your co-star is a bigger fan of this movie than you are and I have proof.”

“What? There’s no way,” He responded a bit incredulous. You shook your head resigned to it. “I watched that movie religiously for Susan Sarandon. I mean Tim Curry’s hot in the movie too but like… Susan Sarandon.”

“Johnny, you gotta stop-”

“I will not.”

“Oh, this is priceless.” The interviewer laughed. “Your co star used to be in a shadowcast of it, right?”

You nodded with your eyes clenched shut. “Yep, that’s true.” You shifted in your seat, the bundles of nerves in your stomach balling up even more. “For those who don't know what that is, I used to be a part of a cast that regularly acted out the whole movie screen-accurately of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in front of the screen in a movie theatre.”

“That’s right.” The interviewer chimed in.

Johnny’s jaw dropped in gleeful awe. “You’re shitting me…”

“Nope, I’m not. I used to, by choice, run around in the theater in my lingerie where people would yell profane things at me.” You nodded resigned to the truth coming out.

“Would you care to tell Johnny and our viewers what character you used to play?”

Another nervous giggle bubbled up from your throat as you choked out your answer. “I used to play-”

He beat you to it. “Oh my god… Did you play Janet Weiss?”

You nodded with your eyes closed. “Yeah, that’s exactly-” a clear of your throat “-exactly who I played.” You chanced a glance at him and you laughed as he diffused the nervous tension by looking you up and down with a smirk.

Johnny conspicuously adjusted how he was sitting next to you and you turned your gaze away, rolling your eyes. “... are you serious that you played Janet?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.” You couldn’t even look at him.

Silence from Johnny. The feeling that he was looking at you was only confirmed when you finally looked up at the interviewer and then at Johnny. The expression on his face was indecipherable but it was intense whatever it was. Something stirred in your stomach… no, deeper than that, as you glanced between his dark eyes and his lips that hung open almost expectantly.

You broke the quietude, rifling through your memory, anxiously again now that he was looking at you like that. “I think I still have all of my costumes in my closet actually…”

The man just blinked at you again with his mouth still hanging open.

“Johnny, would you-?! What is going on in your head right now?” Your nails itched a spot on your inner elbow over the fabric of your dress, looking him up and down. You couldn’t help but lean back a bit.

His hand found his sunglasses sloppily as he tore his eyes away from you. Johnny pulled his glasses on before resting his elbow on the back of the couch and propping his ankle up on his knee and leaning his head toward you.

And there it was… that signature Johnny Cage crooked smile. It wasn’t the first time he had flashed it toward you but it was the first time it gave you butterflies. Then he opened his mouth with a nod, “Hey.”

The interviewer cackled but you paid him no mind.

“Hi,” you replied, coy, sitting up a little and tilting your head to meet his gaze more directly; you fought down the laugh in your chest. You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, playing along. “Can I help you, Johnny?”

He scooted closer to you and you let out one segment of a giggle. “You still have those Janet costumes?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Johnny immediately turned his face away from you, hearing the sharp exhale he expelled from his pursed lips, before he turned back. “Is there a Mr. Weiss?”

“Please, Mr. Weiss is my father.”

“Ohmygod,” he groaned gutturally as he stood up, taking a quick pace out of the frame of the camera. You watched him with confusion and you and the interviewer laughed together again. He stalked back toward you looking down at you as he gestured to your thighs, “Is this seat taken?”

“My lap?” You coughed out.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” he gushed, straddling your hips and moving to settle into your lap, towering over you even as he sat.

Your head was thrown back in laughter, muffled from his shirt rubbing against the mic clipped to your breast. His hands found your wrists to guide your palms to an ass cheek each. Johnny didn’t even falter as he brought one of his, comically in this situation, large arms around your shoulders and turned at the waist to face the interviewer with his hand on his hip. You could barely look around him and his broad chest even if you tried. Everything about Johnny was bigger than you.

He bashfully looked to the ground and then up to the interviewer. “What other questions do you have?”

“Yeah, let’s just finish the interview like this,” you called out of view from behind Johnny, snapping your fingers above your head. “Next question, please.” Your hand came back down and landed with a resounding smack back to where Johnny had initially placed it.

The interviewer laughed heartily and even Johnny guffawed out something like a yelp as he jumped. He quickly pulled his phone out from his pocket and pointed the front facing side down toward both of you almost vertically. You furrowed your brows, bit your lip, and curled your fingers into claws on the curve of his ass as the camera clicked.

“Babe, not here,” he spoke down at you, feigning embarrassment, as he crawled out of your lap finally.

“Oh, sorry, babe, I forgot we weren’t alone.”

If you thought, however, that Johnny was completely removing himself from you, you couldn’t be more mistaken. He opted to settle snugly into your side, resting his interlocked fingers on one of your shoulders. You took the cue to wrap your arm around his waist possessively, hardening your gaze and tilting your chin up at the interviewer. “Sorry about that,” you said, shrugging as you spread your legs in a very masculine fashion. It was comical for how much bigger Johnny was than you alone. You scratched the bridge of your nose addressing the interviewer and the camera. “I can’t help it. It’s just the effect I have on people.”

Johnny nodded in understanding, watching you reach down to grab your glass of water and take a sip of it. He turned his gaze back to the interviewer matter-of-factly.

“She pegs me.”

You choked on your water.

It was Johnny’s birthday party and how you had ended up grinding on him for four, going on five, songs was beyond your rational mind.

People were attempting to take subtle pictures on their phones of the two of you, you could feel it: one of his arms firmly around your waist, his other hand gripping your hip, back to chest, ass to… what you were going to call his pelvis in the middle of the dance floor. You stopped caring about three rounds of tequila ago with him right before he had initially dragged you there.

You were sure that if your eyes were open and you could be bothered to interrupt the moment by turning around and looking at him that you’d see in his face something very similar to what was stirring just about everywhere in your body between your closed eyes and where his hands were. If he didn’t try to kiss you or you didn’t try to kiss him, that is, which is what you were almost certain a few shots in now would happen if you turned around. And if the two of you kissed…

Instead you opted to lean into the rational part of your brain that told you to remain like this lest you ruin the relationship the two of you had built: his unabashed, utterly shameless flirting that you kept at an arms’ length distance, at least until now - right now Johnny’s hands on you were exactly where you wanted them. Dancing was just fine and if this is what the birthday boy wanted, without adding more confusion to whatever the dynamic was that you and Johnny called “being just friends,” well, you were more than okay with it. He wasn’t a bad dancer either.

It was hot… you confessed to yourself silently. He was strong and warm and he smelled really good like he always did; musky, heady, sharp.

It’s not like you could really hear yourself think anyways over the bass booming in your ears and chest. Your body continued to sway against his. You supposed you didn’t entirely hate it actually: his hands preoccupied with you at least in some capacity, his lips (you were certain) were tilted up in a smirk close to your ear, even though you fought wanting them closer elsewhere, his muscled chest and abs against your back, your bodies moving in unison.

Who were you kidding… you liked it…

Johnny’s hand on your hip stiffened and pulled you to spin you around. You twirled, nimbly obliging it’s direction. Uh-oh…

You began swaying again to the music, feeling the hands on your hips before your eyes could actually focus on what or rather who you were seeing.

And there was Johnny. You knew that. You weren’t that drunk. But there he was. His brown eyes were looking down at you, softened by the way his lips formed a cocky expression, like he was about to say something mouthy about how comfortable you had been dancing with him. Not with him… on him. You looked back up at him, a retort poised about how strong his grip on you had been for someone so willing to hypothetically make fun of you for dancing on him.

“Happy birthday,” left your lips instead. “Having a good time?”

You knew the answer. Johnny sported a smirk. “I’m having a great time.”

“You have a good DJ.” Shameless bait, you knew it.

“And a good dance partner,” he spoke loudly, leaning down so you could hear him. Hook, line, and sinker. Although you weren’t quite sure you could say you were really baiting him if he was probably going to say something like it anyways.

There were a number of things perched on your tongue. One, ‘you’re not too bad yourself.’ Two, ‘that’s the tequila talking.’ Three, some snide remark about your ass having been flush against him so it had been no wonder he had been enjoying it.

And yet looking at him, your boldness so directly challenged by his undistracted brown eyes, you couldn’t help but be rendered speechless- a rare occurrence for you. It didn’t last.

“If you want me to turn around and shake ass again, I can.”

“As much as I wouldn’t hate that,” he laughed, his forehead briefly knocking against yours in a dangerous way when he slumped a little. “I just like having you close.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be dancing,” tumbled off your tongue before you could stop it.

Lucky for you, Johnny seemed relatively happy to continue. A hand latched itself more firmly on your body, this time fastening itself comfortably on your ass rather than your waist where it had been. Johnny had big hands, you realized. That was a lie. You realized it a while back when he had pulled your hips to his earlier. You started more confidently dancing to the rhythm again. You weren’t sure when but eventually his second hand slid close to his first one.

If you had been any more sober, there might have been more nerves about Johnny’s liberties, which you were happy to give him, about touching your butt while also dancing so close. Instead your nerves had more to do with the fact that despite your eyes once again fluttering closed, Johnny’s were definitely on you. You could feel him drinking you in, drinking this moment in. No amount of alcohol would make that sensation more bearable. You chanced opening your eyes, slowing your dancing.

You were right, against every wish that you hadn’t been. Sure enough, there were Johnny’s eyes on your face. His expression was much more sober than it had been when you first turned around earlier but no less intense.

You stopped, the rhythm leaving your feet. You were flush against him, chest to chest, one of his arms strong around your waist.

Words. They were somewhere in your head. But they were all wrong. And Johnny was so right.

His stupidly attractive slightly messy hair. His eyes traveling along your face. His tongue peeking out from between his lips to wet them. His nose. Just his nose. His cologne. The flashing lights hitting your face. The tequila buzzing ever so slightly behind your eyes. Right.

Johnny’s face approached yours so tentatively, so surprising in how gentle it was, like he was worried you’d spook if he moved too fast, that by the time his lips met yours it felt like they had already been there. Warm. Soft. They belonged there, you decided immediately.

Your hands came up to hold his jaw. ‘Hold’ was the wrong word. You were drawing him closer; his arm tightening and other hand cradling the back of your head answered it. You didn’t hear him groan so much as you felt the hum against your tongue, which itself was testing just as many boundaries as you were against yourself. The deal was sealed when Johnny pulled back momentarily.

“Can I see you in one of your Janet costumes now?”

You were gonna fuck Johnny Cage.

It was so unnaturally dark when you woke up that at first you weren’t sure you had woken up at all. You were lying on your stomach, that much you could tell, and the time on the digital clock read ‘10:47’ in a knowing shade of crimson. Blinking a few times and stirring your naked body against the so-soft-it-was-cool-to-the-touch, extremely not-your sheets you realized that you were in fact awake and in a bed. Silk. Naked. Then you felt the weight of one large hand wrapped lazily around your wrist.

The realization, or rather reminder, that you were neither in your bed nor alone came embarrassingly slow to you. You smelled it before you saw it. It was too dark to rely on your sight anyways.

And you’d recognize that cologne anywhere…

The panic of what the two of you had done, what you had done to him, what you had let him do to you hit your adrenaline centers like seeing a spider crawl across your hand. Like feeling his hand on your wrist.

Your sheet-tangled legs wheeled you back for the edge of the bed behind you, away from the man, the face you knew you’d find if you had pushed forward against the silk sheets instead of pulled back like you were doing right now. You knew what you had done last night. Boy, did you know… And the scary thing was that you hadn’t hated it one bit if your memory and the sudden fluttering in your stomach served you right.

His fingers strained against you yanking your wrist away from him… then tightened the moment your foot, nay, your ankle rolled. The joint was jelly the moment it hit the cold marble floor, gravity pulling the rest of your lower body and the sheet wrapped around you with it. You heard a grunt as the fall tugged your now-awake counterweight ever so slightly toward you. You grunted in response when he released you and you fell fully backward.

There was a click of a button and the L.A. morning began to shine directly in your eyes. Your hands acted instinctively: one shielding your eyes and the other blindly tugging the sheet up around your body, hastily covering what you could. As if Johnny hadn’t seen all of it hours ago…

You rose to your feet, more wobbly than expected. Were you… sore? Johnny was already standing, tugging a pair of boxers over him, his back muscles flexing as he did so, angry pink scratch marks running along his shoulder blades… You bit your lip and clenched the sheet tighter between your fingertips. Really… that’s where your mind is right now…

Johnny turned to his nightstand rummaging through it. “Here.” A tee flew in your direction and you fumbled it between your occupied hands. You could feel the beginnings of Johnny’s smile as he watched you with those goddamn brown eyes. No. Not happening. Not again… not soon anyways.

“Turn around.” You demanded.

Johnny dropped his jaw, throwing his arms out from sides. “What are you-?! Are you serious?”

“I’m so serious, Johnny.” You said, stone cold. The sheet wrapped around you betrayed your modesty, sliding down, exposing more of your chest. He silently watched, even standing on his toes momentarily as if to get a better vantage point. “Johnathan Carlton.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ! Fine!” It was at this moment he regretted telling you his full name. There wasn’t much else he regretted with regard to you though, especially with how it had led to last night.

You dropped the sheet and hastily pulled the shirt on once he obliged. “Boxers too!” You called tugging the shirt down. It wasn’t short on you per se. It was just… breezy.

“So bossy…” he grumbled, making sure you could hear him, but immediately obeyed, grabbing you a pair and threw it to you with alarming accuracy over his shoulder. “You decent?” he lilted, still turned around.

Gilda reference…

“Me? Yeah, I’m decent,” you answered, unable to hide your amusement as you finished the exchange with as deadpan of a tone as you could manage. Johnny turned to face you again right as you began looking around the room.

A table that usually rested against a wall? Toppled.

The vase usually on top of it? Shattered. The painting hung on said wall? Propped against the floor crooked.

The hutch that framed the other side of the doorway? Random drawers hung open. One was halfway off the track and broken. There were clothes, yours and his, littered along the path to the bed, shoe scuff marks trailing off the heels of yours and his shoes on the otherwise immaculate marble. Upon closer inspection of the windows you noticed a crack spidering near where it met the next window about the height of Johnny’s biceps. The lamp on the nightstand of the opposite side of the bed was on the floor.

You don't know why you didn’t look at the bed itself sooner but when your eyes landed on the bed frame off kilter in favor of the right-side of the foot and the head of the bed broken in no less than three different places, your hand came up to your mouth, eyes landing on him. Speechless. As if on cue, the lamp on your side of the bed, his bed, dropped to the ground.

“You’re awfully quiet.” He remarked.

You simply closed your eyes and shook your head in disbelief. You couldn’t believe that the two of you, just the two of you, had left his room in such a state. It looked like someone had broken in and entered just to smash shit and make a mess of his room. “I just…”

“You weren’t quiet a few hours ago.” Johnny’s smile was back. His arms were crossed over his broad, bare chest. Bruises. Hickeys, actually. The broken bed was still between the two of you.

You tilted your head at him and blinked, eyes locked on his stupid handsome face. “Really? You had to say that?”

“I don’t know what you’re so grumpy about. I had a really good time last night-”

“-I’m not grumpy-”

“-like a really really good time-”

“-Okay, that’s-”

“-like a great time last night-”

“-Johnny-”

“-Best birthday present ever in fact.” He finished pointedly, never once having broken eye contact with you. “Which, by the way, if you keep looking at me like that we’re gonna have to go for round 6. Round 8 for you.”

“Johnny!” you scolded, finally allowing the laughter to escape your body, hearing him reply your name to you in the exact same tone. You felt like you couldn’t do anything but chuckle for about ten seconds.

“I’m pretty damn sure I wasn’t the only one that had a good time,” he replied, throwing his hands up in surrender and sauntering over to you at a casual pace. You watched him walk up to you putting his hands gently on your upper arms. “Am Iiii…. wrong in thinking that?”

Your head lolled up to face him, eyes rolling as you couldn’t quite meet his. A sheepish “no” is all you can manage.

“Okay…? And…?”

Your heart finally got comfortable directing your eyes to him. Just like right before the events of the previous evening your words were once again failing. What could you even say right now? There were a lot of things you had realized in the last twelve-ish hours that past you would’ve been jarred to learn.

“Why are you being so quiet? You’re freaking me out!”

“I’m sorry!” You replied frantic, one of your hands rubbed roughly the side of your face. There was truly no way for you to formulate thoughts, not while he was touching you. “I’m sorry. I’m just… thinking! There’s a lot to think about!”

“Like…?” He led, his hands still on your arms as he began rubbing them.

“Would you get your hands off of me? I can’t think when you do that!” You snapped. There was no anger behind it. Just frustration.

A laugh. You should’ve known he was going to laugh.

“Okay, while you think, also think about what you want for breakfast. We can order brunch too. I don’t really have a preference.” He pulled you close and you let him press a kiss to the side of your head. It was such a sweet and normal gesture that it startled you how little it startled you. He began walking around back to his side of the bed to grab his phone and moved to head for the bathroom, sticking his head out of the doorway as the shower faucet turned on. “Anything you want. My phone’s on the counter, just add it to the cart.” Johnny haphazardly told you his phone password as he hopped into the shower. Complete trust.

You stared at the doorway to the bathroom like it had just spoken to you. That would have been less confusing than what was running through your mind right now. In less than a day, you had celebrated your costar/“friend”’s birthday, danced on him drunk, gone multiple rounds with him in his mansion bedroom, woken up in his bed, and now he supposedly wanted you to stay for breakfast.

“You can use my toothbrush by the way! And if you hate the shirt you can grab whatever!”

A man notorious for his sex-capades. A bold flirt. Someone you knew had a history of many, many one night stands. Wanted you to use his toothbrush. Why wasn’t he kicking you out?

Your feet carried you swiftly to the bathroom before you could stop them. “Johnny. You’re not kicking me out.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t meant to be one. You didn’t know what it was supposed to be.

It was his turn to be confused. “No?” He poked his head out from behind the foggy glass partition, shampoo in his hair, suds running down his chest. “Why… would I kick you out?”

“Don’t you usually kick people out after?”

“Yes?” His form went back behind the foggy glass.

“But not me.”

“No.”

Your brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because I like you?” He popped back out, lathering his hair. “I’m sorry, was it not clear before we went at it several times last night that I like you?”

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the steamy mirror you were in front of. You could barely make out the t-shirt you were wearing. A ‘When Harry Met Sally’ graphic tee over some baggy brown checkered boxers. This would be what you were wearing right now…

His hand wiped his face as he regarded you. “Wait, you know we fucked last night, right?”

You scoffed. “Johnny.”

“Like multiple times. ‘Cause that’s what I meant by round number 6. And if you didn’t know what I meant by ‘round 8 for you,’ I meant that-”

“Johnny!”

He expelled air out of his pursed lips before disappearing again. “Okay, let me level with you. You’re saying my name a lot in that annoyed way that you’re doing and while it’s a lot different than how you were saying it last night, it’s still kinda turning me on-”

“Oh, Jesus Christ-!”

“Actually, you know what? I think it’s the general annoyed tone. I’m discovering something about myself right now.”

“Johnny!”

“Babe, you have to stop, like seriously…”

You were silent, still standing there, annoyed. Babe. There was steam rolling out of the shower but you were certain that if there were any onlookers to this intimate moment they might also see steam coming out of your ears. Your gears in your brain were running in neutral. What was happening?

“You like me?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to have breakfast together?”

“Or brunch, yeah. You want mimosas? I can order us some champagne. I’m in the mood for celebrating.”

You shook your head but not to the mimosas. Mimosas sounded great. “Is there something I’m missing here? You want to get breakfast after last night and you are being so casual about it. What is going on right now?”

The water turned off and Johnny stepped out. As it would turn out you had positioned yourself right next to where his fresh black towels of various sizes were hung. He stopped right in front of you. Tall, buff, dripping wet, naked, and looking down at you. You were fighting to keep your eyes on his brown eyes. You weren’t sure if it was anymore of a relief to look at him like that though.

“Pass me a towel?”

You scowled at him as you shoved one into his chest and leaned against the wall, using your hand as a partition on the side of your face between you and him. Your jaw was set, frustrated.

“Guess what?”

“What.”

“It’s you looking annoyed that does it for me too.”

“Oh… my God.” You stomped back into the room, taking a seat on the crooked mattress and rubbing your temples.

He called after you from the bathroom. “I didn’t think you’d be so frustrated by being told how sexy you are right now. And you were amazing last night too. Seriously, even better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it?”

“I imagine it with most people.” You furrowed your brows and looked up in contemplation as he said that. Johnny Cage. What a guy. “Did you think I didn’t imagine it with you? I mean, we’re both hot and had some serious ‘will-they-won’t-they’ tension. We’ve played romantic opposites. I hit on you regularly and I’ve definitely been interested in you for some time now. Wait, had you never imagined it with-?”

“Stop, stop, stop,” you waved your hands in front of you. “You’ve been interested in me?”

“It’s basically a habit for me to flirt with you.” The last part of his sentence came out muffled as you heard him take a toothbrush to his busy mouth. “I do it about as frequently as I check my phone.”

“I thought you were joking.”

Silence. Complete silence. Then, “... are you sure you know that we fucked last night?”

“Johnny.”

“Babe.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can we rewind to the part where you said that you’ve been interested in me supposedly for some time? Is that true?’

There was the sound of a spit in the sink and then the faucet running briefly. Johnny appeared in the doorway, leaning with the towel clinging to his hips. Dangerous.

His arms were crossed over his chest and there was a serious expression on his face. You thought to yourself that this was one of very few times you’ve ever seen him wear such sobriety on his features. His dark eyes were suddenly piercing like this. You weren’t sure you liked it. “Okay, what’s wrong? Do you regret last night? Because if you do we can pretend this whole thing never happened. I mean it. I can be a paragon of professionalism as I try to get over you. It’ll be hard but I can do it.”

“No. I don’t regret last night at all. I just…” You wrung your hands together in your lap. “When you talk like that, it makes me think that you actually like me and I can’t tell if you’re joking anymore because I like you.”

“I think you’re the only person to ever think ‘this person hit on me so much that it must mean they don’t like me.’” Your chuckle mingled with his and he pushed off the doorway, beginning his approach to crouch in front of you. His fingers interrupted your wringing hands, gently intertwining them with yours.

And there he was. That was the thing about Johnny - he was always there. There with his brown eyes that always seemed to twinkle like he was about to tell a joke. “I like you, okay? I have liked you. I will probably continue to like you until you give me a reason to hate your guts which will be really, really hard to do.”

“And you’re not kicking me out.”

“Fuck, no. I’m not kicking you out.” He said in a low voice. The two of you were close together. He didn’t need to be any louder.

“I can’t do ‘casual’ with you, Johnny,” you said. You were serious. Your eyes darted between his earnestly.

“That’s perfect because I can’t either.”

Your brows furrowed. “... To be clear, I want this to be serious.”

“Babe, we’re holding hands and you’re sitting on the bed we broke in my clothes and I’m crouched in front of you in nothing but a towel.” He brought your knuckles up to his lips to kiss them.

“Right.” You shook your head, as if to clear the worries. Johnny pressed his lips to your forehead. “Right. And you’re serious?”

He tilted his head at you, incredulous. “I’m not going to ask if you’re sure we fucked again because now I think you’re just fishing for compliments. You’re sexy and great in bed.”

You laughed out his name.

“You know what? I think it’s you saying my name too.”

A playful shove to his shoulder did nothing to deter him from leaning forward to kiss you through the laugh. “You’re way too horned up to talk any kind of sense right now.”

“Yep!” He replied instantly, leaning forward. Johnny’s big hands, with which you had gotten well-acquainted last night, planted themselves on either side of you. Your own hands found his cheeks. “Wanna ‘not talk’ with me?” He whispered against your lips.

You laughed again feeling his smile along your neck as he began traveling downward. He was pushing you back toward the mattress. “Tempting… but I’m hungry…”

“That’s perfect. So am I,” Johnny practically growled as his hands settled on your thighs, beginning to pry them apart. You obliged, giggling.

You laughed again. “Johnny…”

“Babe, you have to not-”

“It’s your name!”

“I can’t help it. I’m like that guy with the dogs and the bells.” His fingers toyed with your waistband. Well, his waistband… but who was getting technical?

“Pavlov?”

“Kinky.”

You stood halting him and he stood with you, pulling you into a hug. You needed to clean up at least a little bit. You rested your chin on his chest.

“Mimosas.”

“Okay.”

“A shit ton of pancakes and breakfast sides.”

“Got it.”

“I’m gonna get in the shower. After you’re done ordering, you can help me.” You walked to the bathroom and he slapped your butt as you left.

“Will do.” Silence. “Hey, babe.”

“Yes, Johnny?” The shower turned on.

“I think it’s just you.”

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