#this is not written very prettily at all because im not in the mood

[ceilidho]

random fic idea: dive bar on the edge of town where Ghost works as a bouncer. reader goes because she heard the bathroom has a gloryhole and she's been wanting to hook up with someone but keeps putting her foot in her mouth on dates, so she can't stick the landing. Ghost makes her give him her ID when she first tries to come in and then really checks her out because she's being all weird and shifty. lets her in though.

cut to her sneaking into the men's room to go into the stall next to the gloryhole and she's waiting all anticipated and heart racing. hears the door open and starts to get super nervous. only for Ghost to wrench her out of the stall by her hair and give her a whole dressing down about being a slut. drags her to a back room (she doesn't know but he's on his break) and sits down on an old dirty couch and makes her get on her knees for him since she was so desperate to have her mouth fucked.

[hermannsthumb]

Because I am in a mood for horrible things, what do you think of Hermann getting to close to uncovering the truth so Precursor possessed Newt seduces him into bed as a distraction? Bonus if the Precursors taunt Hermann about it later.

i know this ask is from like. august. but i literally filled this ages ago and FOR SOME REASON....NEVER POSTED IT UP. looking over it now it’s definitely because right after i wrote it i was like :( no bonus unfortunately thatd probably kill me to write

so im editing it a little bit but....here is one of the only uprising compliant fics ive ever written LOL (also the “play with your test tubes” line is ripped literally directly from the novelization. which i never bothered to read bc i hated the film but i have some Choice bits saved via a friend. like the test tubes line) rated E/18+ below cut

There’s something off about Newton.

Newton’s always been vain. He always did his hair up with too much product and wore jeans a bit too tight and stressed and fretted over even the smallest wrinkle, but he never wore suits like this before, never kept himself so perfectly shaven, never kept his waist so trim. He’s lost his soft edges, the glasses that used to frame his face so nicely. He’s colder, too—colder to strangers, colder to Hermann. They fought in the past, of course, argued incessantly, took petty jabs at each other’s disciplines, but Newton never outright refused to discuss research with Hermann before.

Hermann’s research won’t matter, Newton says, his drones will make this obsolete, Hermann’s wasting his time, Hermann shouldn’t bother.

It’s been a decade, Hermann knows, people change in a decade, Hermann himself has changed in a decade (Hermann’s a little lonelier, a little sadder, a little more spontaneous, a little messier), but there’s something off. Something wrong. Hermann can’t quite place it. Hermann—

“You should come ‘round for dinner,” Newton says. His demeanor has changed, so subtly—all business before, but now, he’s standing close, eyelids half-mast, lips curled into a lazy smile. “We could catch up. Talk about that experiment of yours. Play with your—” Newton casts a little glance at the door, then takes a step forward, drags a finger down Hermann’s chest, “—test tubes.”

“Oh,” Hermann says, mouth hanging open, and something is very wrong, but it’s been so long since he’s made love to Newton, so long since he’s been the subject of Newton’s raw desire, some ten long, long years spent without Newton’s kisses and Newton’s touch. “Ah. I.”

Newton drags his finger lower, skimming over the fastening Hermann’s trousers, and Hermann’s knees threaten to buckle. “Mm?”

“Dinner,” Hermann stammers. “Dinner would be lovely, Newton.”

“Tomorrow night,” Newton says, snapping his hand away, and he’s as brisk and businesslike as he was before. “I’ll have my people pick you up when you’re done with—” He waves his hand at the mess of Hermann’s lab and wrinkles his nose. “This. Yeah?”

“Alright, Newton,” Hermann says, heart pounding. “Thank you.” He nearly cringes at the words before they leave his mouth—how weak, how pathetic Newton must see him, grovelling like a desperate ex-lover for the slightest bit of attention. (Is he an ex-lover?)

“And, uh, wear something nice,” Newton says, looking Hermann up and down skeptically. Hermann’s hands go to his collar immediately, smoothing over it, self-conscious; he quite likes this shirt. He thought Newton would’ve liked it, which is why he wore it today in the first place. Newton doesn’t notice, just slips his sunglasses back on. He’s gone with a little wave and without a second glance.

Newton’s people pick Hermann up exactly as Newton promised the following night. He sends a big, fancy car, far more extravagant than anything either of them have owned in their entire lives, with a minibar in the back. The driver tells Hermann Dr. Geiszler insists Hermann make himself comfortable, have as many drinks as he’d like. “Why couldn’t Dr. Geiszler be here, then?” Hermann says, politely refusing the man’s attempts to take his suit coat for him.

The driver doesn’t answer.

He gets shown to the front of Newton’s condo complex, gets instructed to the right room, and then he’s riding the elevator up and standing in front of Newton’s door. He almost can’t bring himself to knock. “It’s unlocked,” Newton calls from inside as Hermann raises his hand, almost like he can sense Hermann. Perhaps some strings of their neural link remain, frayed and weakened by time though they may be. “Come on in.”

Hermann pushes open the door. Newton’s condo is far too extravagant, far too elegant for Hermann’s and Newton’s tastes, marble countertops and windows the size of walls, but that’s not what makes Hermann nearly stumble, grip his cane hard, makes him say “Newton?” in surprise.

There’s candles lit on what’s presumably the dining table, the counters, the coffee table, and Newton’s leaning against the table with a glass of wine and in a very sheer robe. It’s more like lingerie than anything. There’s absolutely nothing beneath it. Hermann snaps his eyes up, and Newton sets his glass down. “Hermann,” he says, and swoops in, throws his arms over Hermann’s shoulders. He’s so warm, so close, and it’s so much after nothing for so long, and Hermann very nearly gasps when Newton presses their lips together in a kiss.

“Newton,” Hermann repeats, feeling vaguely foolish, because he’d been hoping the night would go like this but didn’t by any means expect it, “what are you—that is—?”

Newton flutters his eyelashes prettily. “I wanted to dress up for you,” he says, and wraps his fingers around Hermann’s neat tie.

“I wanted to talk about my research,” Hermann says weakly. “We—”

Newton rubs his hips against Hermann’s, bare skin on fabric. Newton’s already hard, the head of his prick flushed red. (This isn’t right, Hermann thinks, something isn’t right with Newton, but oh, Newton is so handsome, so lovely, only more so with age, with the grey at his temples and the little lines at the corners of his eyes that Hermann wants nothing more than to kiss over and over. Hermann should’ve been there to watch him grow old.) “Research?” Newton says. He gives an exaggerated pout. Purposefully silly. It’s more like the Newton Hermann remembers. “That’s boring, man, come on.”

“I suppose—ah.” Newton leans back in and runs his tongue along Hermann’s lower lip, rubs his prick at the front of Hermann’s trousers again, and Hermann’s brain feels fuzzy.

“Come sit,” Newton says in his ear, and he threads the fingers of his right hand with Hermann’s left and tugs him forward. Hermann lets Newton pull him to the sofa and sit him down, lets him set his cane aside delicately, and then Newton settles himself down atop Hermann’s lap. “Hermann,” he sighs, nosing at Hermann’s neck, “I missed you so much, honey. I’ve been so lonely without you.” He picks up one of Hermann’s hands and slides it across his chest, just over one of his nipples, and rubs his prick against the front of Hermann’s nice dress shirt. He lowers his voice. “Do you still remember how I like to be touched?”

Of course Hermann remembers. He remembers how to draw sighs from Newton, gasps of pleasure, how to take him apart until he’s trembling in Hermann’s arms and breathing out pledges of love. He wonders if Newton remembers how to do the same for him. Hermann brushes his thumb over the nipple presented so readily in front of him and feels Newton shiver. “Newt,” he croaks (he came to talk about business, about his research), “I really could use your input on my work. Ah.” Newton worries Hermann’s earlobe between his teeth. “You see. Newton. Ah. It’s not quite finished, you see—”

“Mm-hmm?” Newton hums, working open Hermann’s top few buttons. Hermann can’t help but rub his thumb over the same nipple once more and elicit another little shiver of pleasure.

“The equation,” Hermann says, as Newton kisses his throat and Hermann strains in his trousers, “I’m missing—” Newton takes his other hand, pushes it under the fabric of the little sheer robe and down his lower back, down to the curve of his ass, and Hermann lets out a deep groan. “Oh, Newton…”

“C’mon,” Newton says, and bites at his earlobe again. “We can talk after.” He’s grinning. Hermann’s too entranced by him to do anything but nod.

Newton takes him to bed, then, to his ridiculous, absurd, oversized bed, pushes Hermann down and rides him fast, doesn’t even bother to take Hermann’s shirt off fully and leaves Hermann’s trousers bunched around his knees, cries and begs and tells Hermann how much he missed him, how much he’s wanted him for so long.

(“Why didn’t you call,” Hermann snarls, gripping Newton’s thighs hard enough to leave red half-moons against his inked skin, “why didn’t you email, or text, or—”)

(It’s the best orgasm Hermann’s had in ten years.)

“Stay the night,” Newton says later, propped up on his elbow and idly tracing across Hermann’s jaw with his finger. “I’ll make everything up to you, starting tomorrow.”

There’s a curtain covering something in the corner of Newton’s bedroom, something big, something Hermann hadn’t noticed in his previous haze of lust, and Hermann can’t stop staring. He doesn’t like it. “Newton, love,” Hermann begins.

“I’ll actually make dinner,” Newton continues, not noticing Hermann’s discomfort. Perhaps ignoring it. He nips at Hermann’s throat. “Whatever you want. Or we could go out somewhere fancy. There’s a place—”

“What is that?” Hermann points at the curtain.

Newton steals a little kiss. “Forget about that rocket fuel,” he says, lips brushing against Hermann’s. “I don’t want you hurting yourself. Or worse. I mean, what would I do without you, Hermann?”

Hermann tears his eyes away from the curtain, his chest clenching painfully. Ten years of radio silence from Newton. “You seem to be faring pretty well without me,” he spits out, bitter.

Newton straddles Hermann’s waist again, pressing kisses to his neck once more. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’ve just been so busy, Hermann, and stressed, it wasn’t on purpose, I’d never blow you off like that on purpose.” He rubs their noses together. “I love you.”

Hermann wraps his arms around Newton, holding him in place. Newton has been busy, he supposes, and stressed, which would explain why he’s been so odd, so distant. He still makes love the same—vocal, enthusiastic, eager to please Hermann and be pleased in return—still kisses the same, still touches Hermann the same. He’s still the man Hermann loves. “I know,” Hermann sighs. He kisses the top of Newton’s head. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite be able to forgive Newton for all those years, but he’s certainly willing to start something new.

“Forget about the fuel?” Newton says.

Hermann really could hurt himself with ill-advised experiments with kaiju blood. (Besides: Newton’s concern is proof Newton still cares about his well-being.) “Alright, Newton,” Hermann says, unable to help his smile, and Newton steals another little kiss.

“Stay the night,” Newton insists once more. “I’ll cook breakfast.”

Newton’s bed is comfortable. Newton is even more comfortable. Hermann nods.

It’s good to have Newton back.