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joelscurls · 4 months

Text

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out.

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do.

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter.

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that—

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right.

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship?

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating.

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend.

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds.

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool.

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash.

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down.

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking.

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie. His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him.

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need.

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically.

“Ah — that’s alright.”

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him?

But then you think of Frankie inside — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly.

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too.

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff.

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?”

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes.

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks.

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone.

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink.

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline.

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers.

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again.

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke.

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver.

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion.

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all.

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming.

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans.

“Hey,” you announce.

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm.

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other.

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…”

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades.

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of.

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod.

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively.

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers.

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct.

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it.

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally.

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed.

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh.

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway.

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker.

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss.

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past.

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.”

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis.

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat.

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies.

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you.

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton.

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand.

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you.

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest.

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want.

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?”

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls.

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant.

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside.

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium.

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below.

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again.

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

“So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away.

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky.

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin.

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.”

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right.

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist.

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.”

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fic #Triple Frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

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iamthescalesofjustice · 2 years

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fairly recently i encountered some fnv content again and had a sudden jarring re-realization that fallout new vegas is an actual video game, which has been experienced by other people, and has an associated accompanying fandom, rather than, as i had subconsciously come to classify it, a peculiar sort of psychosis i experienced during the period between by father getting a stage 4 cancer diagnosis and the months after he died.

#cancer mention cw #genuinely i almost completely lost two years of memory surrounding these events #and the role that fmv played in my life during that time was. probably better described in terms of #horrifying yet transcendent psychological alchemy than anything else #it was not A Game I Got Into so much as a base ingredient and lens and catalyst for some eldritch emotional processes i was experiencing #the use of the word psychosis up there is flippant but not wrong. i do have a history of it and i was very much experiencing psychosis then #fnv wasnt The psychosis but it was a major factor in it at the time #iirc i think i avoided involving myself in the fandom bc both it and i were undergoing severe volatility #i barely had the resources to get a handle on my own problems let alone internet peoples problems #anyway several months after he passed i abruptly shut down all fnv related mental processes i could and then #well okay i did still lose the next several months after that as well barring a few scattered memories but i know i had like completely #forgotten it existed at all outside brief moments that were quickly lost #i guess its been enough time that the radiation levels attached to all that have gone enough to think about any of it again?#anyway i know everyone has a secret better version of it in their head But Also i did achieve the 49th level of awareness tho #my secret better version of fnv that lives in my head is so much better than the secretbetter versions of fnv that live in yalls heads etc #joking but very much it was a thing where others were honing their understanding and art by following known paths and clashing blades with #each other while i was in a pocket dimension of accelerated time with my arms cut off having to survive against beasts and shit #developing powers the old masters didnt think were possible like a shounen protag and all that lmao #anyway thats why ive only ever posted about like. pared down versions of 1.5% of whats ever gone through my head about fnv #i didnt want the radioactivity out there or for people who dont have the context to try interacting with me about it

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kitashousewife · 9 months

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your patience is wearing thin. normally, osamu is the calmer of the two boys. but tonight is a completely different story.

“easy there fella,” atsumu’s got his arm wrapped around his brothers waist, the other holding osamu’s arm around his shoulder as he walks him out of the bar. osamu gives you a sleepy smirk and a wave, which you return.

“and nobody else was available?” you gripe, voice a little hushed as if osamu would hear.

“i tried, i promise. i hate to do this to ya,” atsumu grunts as he slides his brother into the passenger seat, buckling him in despite osamu’s efforts to make it as hard as possible. “i owe ya one.”

the first part of the drive to osamu’s place is quiet, besides the occasional yawn or sigh. it only took a few minutes for osamu to start talking.

and boy, is osamu a chatty drunk. he always has been, and you’ve known him for years. he can and will talk about anything and everything under the sun, with absolutely anyone.

“thanks fer pickin’ me up, m’pretty,” osamu’s accent is thicker after a couple drinks, and he’s had a few tonight.

he’s also a very flirty drunk.

“don’t mention it ‘samu,” you sigh, focusing on the road. you’re almost to his place, but that doesn’t stop osamu.

“so what’re we doin’ tonight?” he rubs his eyes. you hold back a laugh, but not very well.

“you are going to shower, brush your teeth, and go to bed,” you giggle only slightly. “and i am going to make sure you get home safe and sound.

osamu boos.

“ya sound like ma,” he groans, head back against the seat. he gives you a thumbs down for good measure as he looks out the window.

“oh look! we made it,” you pull into his driveway slowly, hoping he stays in the car before you can help him get out without injuring himself.

“hey! that tickles,” he squirms as you try to unbuckle the seatbelt. as soon as you undo it, you help him out of the car and to the front door. osamu fumbles with his pockets for a moment before stuffing the keys in your hand.

“d’ya want somethin’ to eat?” osamu stumbles into the kitchen, slipping off his shoes near the fridge and throwing his jacket haphazardly off to the side. you pick it up quickly, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him towards his bedroom.

“another time maybe, let’s get you into the shower first, okay?”

he shakes his head.

“i can shower later,” his voice is whinier than normal. if he wasn’t being so defiant, you’d almost think he was cute like this. voice whiny and cheeks pink, hair a little messy. the warm feelings dissolve when you see him grabbing ingredients out of the fridge.

“osamu, i don’t think cooking is good idea right no-“

“but-“

you sigh, grabbing the things he took out just to put them back in. you pat his back and nod towards his bedroom.

“seriously, osamu. it’s late, let’s get you to bed. please?”

he groans, but follows anyway. you grab his bicep when he starts to get distracted along the way, and he giggles. when you quirk your brow at him, stops walking.

“ya just wanted to grab my muscles, huh?” he smirks at your flustered expression. “don’ worry, i won’t tell tsum, or anyone,” he smirks to himself before leaning rather close to your lips. “it’ll be our secret.”

you gasp and pull back a little to calm your beating heart. truth be told, you’ve had feelings for the guy for a while now. but for the sake of your friendship, you’ve kept this to yourself, too scared to ruin the dynamic.

“alright, you go and take a shower and i-“

you cut yourself off when osamu pulls off his shirt, as if you weren’t standing right in front of him. your eyes to straight to his strong chest, flushed slightly from the alcohol, before trailing down to his toned stomach. as soon as you reach the trail of hair below his belly button, osamu’s hands begin to push his pants down.

“w-wait! how about you do that when you get into the bathroom?” you push him towards his bathroom, holding a new set of clothes in one hand while your other hand pushes on his back.

“stay here,” he whines as you grab him a towel. you shake your head.

“i’ll be right outside, okay? you just take your time,” you give him a small smile and he finally agrees, turning on the shower. he sings to himself as the water warms up, completely unaware of your presence. the longer you’re in there the more you stare, and unfortunately osamu catches on.

“do ya think i’m handsome?” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. you cover your gasp with a scoff, rolling your eyes and pulling his door shut.

“take a shower, osamu.”

the next few minutes you catch your breath, grabbing a glass of water and a few advil for osamu to take, as well as shooting atsumu a text to let him know he’s home safe.

“my teeth are brushed, are ya happy?” osamu shuffles out of the bathroom slowly, clearly very tired.

“very,” you pat his bed. “now just take this, and get into bed,” he climbs into his bed with a comfortable sigh, takes the pills and begins to get cozy. osamu has a look of bliss and exhaustion on his face as he pulls his covers up over his chest.

“are ya leavin?” he pouts when you turn off the light.

“i was going to,” he shakes his head and gives you yet another thumbs down.

“just stay for a bit, please?” he whines, voice beginning to get raspy and sleepy. you sigh, finally giving in.

“okay, just for a little bit,” you lay on top of his bed while he flips over to face you. a few minutes pass by, and his breathing becomes deeper and steadier. you’re sure he’s asleep now, but suddenly he speaks.

“do ya like me?” he whispers, voice almost unsure. you don’t say anything for a few seconds, but he beats you to it. “atsumu told me ya do.”

your stomach sinks, and your mind spins for a moment.

“let’s talk about this another time okay? maybe when you aren’t drunk?”

osamu nods, getting comfortable once more.

“but do ya?” he whispers again, voice much sleepier. “i promised i wouldn’t tell ya that he told me,”

“go to sleep osamu, let’s talk about this in the morning.”

he huffs and flips on his back. only a few minutes later, and he’s asleep.

the butterflies in your stomach are going crazy as you lock up his apartment and head towards the parking lot.

osamu never lies. that’s what you tell yourself the whole ride home, and you hope that as soon as he wakes up tomorrow he gives you a call, remembering everything.

#osamu x reader #miya osamu #osamu x reader fluff #haikyuu fluff #osamu fluff #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #osamu drabble #osamu miya

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devils-dares · 2 months

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hi lovely can i get a carmy x college reader where she comes to his for dinner when the dining hall food is bad 🥹🫶🏻

YES YOU CAN

he's grumbling, pouring over his notebook with a cigarette dangling from his lips. he can't get this one recipe right and it's pissing him the fuck off. he's so pissed, in fact, that he doesn't even hear the door unlock. he ends up throwing the notebook across the room, burying the heels of his palms in his eyesockets. suddenly, you feel really bad about coming here to bother him, trying to sneak back out.

"what're you doin' here, sugar?" he asks.

"was just leaving, i didn't wanna bother you." he sighs deeply, standing up from the floor. he walks over to you, taking your hands in his.

"what's going on?" you blink a few times, thinking about how stupid your disruption really is.

"the dining hall food is bad and i haven't really been eating much. came over here cause i was hungry and-"

"you wanted me to cook for ya, sugar?"

"yeah," you frown, "but you don't have to. you're stressed."

"and my girlfriend's hungry," he says, kissing your forehead. he squeezes your hands gently before pulling you into a hug, "what can i make for you?" as you think, he scoops you up and plops you on the counter, standing between your legs. he brushes your hair out of your face, smiling at you. the stress lines seem to melt away from his face the longer he looks at you.

“make me whatever you feel like making,” you say, smiling at him, “long as it’s warm, i don’t care, it’ll be yummy.”

“bear secret menu item?” you giggle at his words.

“you’re just saying that so you don’t have to admit to stealing syd’s ideas.”

“syd can butt the fuck out of my relationship.” he starts taking some ingredients out.

“nothing too elaborate, carm, just messy and warm.”

“are you hungry now or can you wait?”

“i can wait. i brought my bag, i’ve got some reading to do.” he nods. you slip off of the counter, grabbing your book and notes out of your bag while he starts to cook. the smells enter your nose while you study, and your stomach grumbles loudly.

“when was the last time you ate?”

“good food?” he laughs.

“any food, sugar.”

“i had… a cereal bar this morning.”

“that’s all?” you nod. he sighs.

“how about i make you dinner, and then get some stuff ready for leftovers?”

“please?” he laughs softly.

“‘course, princess.” he starts to chop up some veggies as you pull out your books and laptop. immediately, the stress of school comes back, and you find yourself rubbing at your forehead already. as you;’re getting into the nitty gritty of your notes from your lecture earlier today, you see a glass of wine get dropped off at the table.

“gotta relax more, sugar. all that stress is gonna take a toll on you.” you smile up at him, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a sip.

“you don’t like this one.” you say as he takes a sip as well, “you hate pinot.” he shrugs.

“pairs well with the food.”

“no it doesn’t.”

“no it doesn’t.” he nods, repeating what you said and agreeing. you smile as he turns around, taking a sip of his wine. you can see the sides of his neck tense up, and you imagine the scrunched up look on his face from the taste of the wine.

“carmy-”

“it’s good, yummy.” he says, taking another sip and fighting the sour look on his face.

“i love you.” you laugh. he grumbles and goes back to the kitchen to cook.

soon enough, you’ve got a steaming hot plate of food in front of you, and your laptop gets whisked away.

“eat, and then study if you need to, but you’re not touching this until your stomach is brimming with food. i’ve got seconds.”

“won’t you come eat with me?” you ask, a pout on your face. he tuts.

“yeah yeah.” he refills the wine glasses, his wine looking much darker than yours this go around.

“cab sauv? not the best pairing.”

“better than fucking pinot.”

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x female reader #carmen berzatto #the bear #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x female reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto fic #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #1000 follower celebration #birthday celebration

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 5 months

Text

🦅❤️Boyfriend!Hawks❤️🦅

GIF by koi-feathers

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who met you at a Pro Hero gala last spring. He saw you from across the room and felt drawn to you like a moth to flame. He practically begged his agency team to introduce the two of you.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who accidentally spilled his drink on you, yet still managed to capture your attention for the rest of the evening. He offered to pay for your gown to be dry cleaned, as long as you gave him your number in exchange.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who texts you the morning after the gala to plan your first date together. He's dying to try a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop in your neighborhood. Maybe the two of you could grab a bite and then you can show him your favorite dessert spot?

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who is a not-so-secret foodie. Who loves to talk through taste and ingredients and mouthfeel and who absolutely lives for anything chocolate.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who walks you home with a light hand on your lower back. Who kisses you softly on the cheek before he takes off into the night, his fierce wings glinting in the bright moonlight. Your face burns where his lips brushed your skin.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who prefers when you take initiative in planning dates. He loves when you surprise him with an activity he's never done before - a pottery class downtown, a new nightclub after work, a dessert themed escape room. He loves to get to know you in all sorts of new venues and situations.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who asks you to be exclusive after two months of dates and dinners and quick cheek kisses. He gifts you a bar of his favorite chocolate and asks cheekily if he can finally call himself your boyfriend (everyone at his agency has been referring to you as his girlfriend since the night you met). When you say yes, he finally kisses you satisfyingly slow and deep, his hands cradling your face.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who you quickly learn grew up touch-starved. He didn't grow up with physical affection or hugging, so he's addicted to any small gesture of physical intimacy you give. You find the physical side of your relationship needs to develop very slowly and cautiously - Keigo can easily become overwhelmed and overstimulated since he's not used to being touched by other people. You don't mind one bit - he's worth the wait. He learns how to set boundaries and slowly opens up about his difficult childhood and training.

He loves when you:

Walk by him at an event and possessively rest a hand on his shoulder.

Rest a hand on his muscular chest when taking press photos or selfies.

Card your fingers through his thick hair. (This makes him absolutely melt into your touch!)

Press a quick kiss to his cheek or to the corner of his mouth

Slowly wrap him up in an embrace after a long day of patrols, meetings and press events.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who is a a constant flirt. He has so much rizz in public, but in private he's all mush and emotional intimacy.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who loves bragging about you at work. Who babbles about your hobbies and your cute outfits and your favorite movies to the likes of Endeavor, Best Jeanist and Mirko. They're all thrilled for him, but they find his bragging annoying as all hell.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who revels in seeing you wear his clothes. He loves seeing how small you look in his oversized hoodies. You once put on his hero costume as a joke and he nearly passed out as his heart welled up with affection for you. You look so adorable in his flight suit and visor - he just can't stand it.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who enjoys developing your physical relationship and relishes in every new thing he learns about your body and what makes you feel good. Luckily for you - he's a great student and a quick learner.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who struggles to become good at kissing. The prolonged physical contact makes him uncomfortable at first, but he's determined to figure out the ways you like to be kissed. And you're more than happy to help him learn.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who is a little possessive and likes to give you hickies to remind you that you're his. As he becomes more comfortable with you physically, he longs to make you his in any way he can. He loves to leave tiny love bites along your shoulder - reveling in the way he can make you shudder when he sinks sparkling teeth softly into delicate skin.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who plans a scavenger hunt for your 1 year anniversary. Don't worry - there is a flight component that requires him to wrap his arms around you and to use Fierce Wings to give you both a birds-eye view of the city.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who has an infectious, flirtatious grin. You can't help but laugh when you see that cheshire cat smile spread across his face over dinner or out and about with friends or on a long walk through the park.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who feels that he is perfectly suited for the role of boyfriend, since taking care of others is one of his favorite things.

🔴Boyfriend!Hawks who loves you as you are, and who can't wait to build a life and to grow with you.

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facts-i-just-made-up · 4 months

Note

whats the most powerful dessert in the world

In the summer of 1877, a man walked into Clarabelle's Chocolate Cake Shoppe in Boletaria, Michigan. He ordered a Rich Chocolate Cake, their specialty. What he got was said by all who had ordered the same to be a delightfully rich dessert, but he was not impressed. He asked to see Clarabelle and told her the cake wasn't at all rich to his palate. She apologized and not only refunded his cake, but promised to make him a much richer cake if he'd come again, money back guaranteed.

He came in the next day and took her up on the offer. She made him a special cake with twice the chocolate, but still, he found it underwhelming. True to her word, she refunded it and promised that if he'd give her one more chance, she'd give him a cake he couldn't possibly find bland. He accepted.

The next day, he came in for his cake. Clarabelle had made a new cake with ingredients known to include several pounds of concentrated cocoa, several blocks of pure chocolate fudge, at least two essential humors from the cocoa seed, and also one unknown substance, present in only a gram but said to have been delivered under armed guard by the Pinkerton Agency, which she ordered her staff out of the kitchen to fold into the batter.

The result was a strange cake that her waitstaff described as "barely-a-cake," held together by a minimum of flour and egg. It glowed brown and smelled most pungently of chocolate, a harsh sort of chocolate akin to sulfur in the burning sensation it caused in those near it.

The man sat down and ate a slice while Clarabelle and her entire staff watched, waiting to see what would happen. They found out, but few lived to tell. The man's head, according to the sole surviving waiter, melted quickly before exploding in a colossal chocolate burst that leveled the restaurant, killing Clarabelle, three Pinkerton Agents, four customers, two waiters, a passing ox, and left the entire region uninhabitable for 140 years. Nothing grows in the region to this day, but scientists have finally begun cataloging the state of the area and allowing critical personnel into the area with high-level biological protection.

The government naturally hid this from public knowledge for fear that Clarabelle's Last Cake could be duplicated by terrorists or food vloggers, but thanks to the freedom of information act, we now know the legacy of the cake if not its secret ingredients. The man who ordered the cake is still there. Nobody knows his name, but his body stays smouldering to this day, smelling strongly of delicious chocolate batter, and will still for a half-life of 400,000 years. Called "The Cadbury Bunny's Foot" by scientists, his remains are considered the most intense chocolate concentration in the solar system, perhaps the galaxy owing to the lack of genuine cocoa plants off the Earth.

It is still only half as terrible as those damn 90% Cacao Lindt bars.

#chocolate #dessert #cake #chocolate cake #unreality

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 months

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Can i request a super fluffy and sweet hotch fic where reader is baking and hotch is sittinh there on the counter admiring his wife, like theres music and r is just glowing and aaron is thinking ‘oh im so lucky to have her’ and ughhh im craving sweetness pls give me fluff thank you

fem wife!plus size reader, wc: 515.

a/n: i've been craving some sweetness too, so this fluff was for me and you 😭 thank you for your request!

It's so incredibly late that when Aaron enters your shared apartment with the expectation of you sleeping, all he sees is the way you jump and almost knock over your mixing bowl when he calls out your name from the dark.

“Holy shit!” You swear, your hand — which was covered in flour — slapped itself over your racing heart. “Jesus, Aaron, you scared me.” You sighed in relief.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” You watched as he set his briefcase and go-bag down on the couch. Aaron looked exhausted; his hair was air whipped and disheveled, there were slight darkening bags under his eyes, and those frown lines from all that scowling and frowning he does. Your boyfriend was here, and he was home, safe and sound.

You looked at him with a sweet smile as he rounded the counter sluggishly. “Hey, handsome.” You greet him quietly, almost as if it was a secret between the two of you. You throw your arms around his neck loosely while his hands fall lazily on your hips.

“Hi.” His body relaxes under your silk touch, your fingers threading themselves through his cropped hair. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you wanna be home now?” Aaron squeezed your body closer to his at the question. “I wanna be home.”

An intimate silence fell over the both of you before he pulled away slightly, looking at the messy island that was covered in baking ingredients.

“What are you doing?” He inquires in a soft tone. “Oh! Jack has a bake sale tomorrow and I kind of… procrastinated making them. So now, here we are.” You confess with a sheepish smile.

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m okay - wait! There’s actually one thing you can help me with.”

“And what’s that?”

“By sitting your cute ass down and telling me about your week.”

He smiles at your wording but relents and allows you to shuffle him out of the kitchen and into one of the bar stools.

He rambles on about his week while you listen and occasionally add your commentary when something peaks your interest. He stares in awe at your multitasking, but also at the fact that you look so serene.

You have a severe case of bed head, and your pajamas are wrinkled, followed by your messy hands and the blotches of flour littered on your clothes. You put Jack above your sleep and felt butterflies flutter in his stomach.

How was he able to find someone like you?

After Haley died, Aaron was convinced that maybe he was just meant to wander the world alone, and watch his son grow up. But then… there was you. Sweet, beautiful, outgoing you.

When he had said something funny in the monotone voice of his you laughed, and the sound rang like twinkling bells were in his ears. It completely overlapped with the soft tunes that were playing from your phone.

It took him a while, but Aaron was glad that he learned how to love again, because you had been waiting for him for a long, long, time.

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sciencebecameouraddiction · 3 months

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Would you be open to doing a Dad!Husk with daughter reader but nobody knows (except Alastor ofc) until she gets drunk with Angel after seeing a similar scene from episode 5 with Husk and Alastor and starts crying because she’s afraid of losing her dad, and everyone puts the pieces together when Husk starts comforting her? Sorry that it’s super specific 😅

First off, oh my gosh, thank you for your request!!!

It’s all good! I love this prompt! I know that you said reader ends up getting drunk but the story took a bit of a different turn and you just end up going to the bar sober.

I hope that I still did this fic justice though! 🖤

rating: PG

genre: angst and fluff

characters: Dad!Husk x Reader

warnings: abuse, soul owning, panic attack from reader

You knew that being in Hell came with a price. Your dad had tried to shield you from the more… fucked up parts of Hell. But he couldn’t save you from everything, which is why when you were younger he made you promise to never tell anyone you were his daughter. So, you were a kid he found and was taking care of, his assistant, apprentice, a bar back when he was bartending. Which was how you ended up at the hotel.

You knew that your father’s soul was owned by Alastor, who had been nothing but pleasant to you, but there was still a bitterness in your mouth when you looked at him or talked to him. It was at the point where you could forget the fact that Alastor owned Husk’s soul. There were times you were reminded though and reality crashed upon you rudely. Like when both you and Husk were summoned to the hotel to help, and you became a trusty bar back and bartender in training, keeping the secret of Husk’s relationship to you.

This night though, your dad had gone off to find Alastor and Angel had been at the bar asking about different drinks. You couldn’t remember what actually went into Angel’s drink and neither did he saying, “It’s something Husk makes… special. Ya know?”

You sighed and just explained you’d go find Husk and get the ingredients, muttering about getting a recipe book for the bar. You were walking the halls when the lights started flickering. You ran to the hall where it was the worse, seeing Alastor conjure the chain that wrapped around your dad’s neck. Watching as the Radio Demon transformed into his demonic figure and your dad crouched on the ground.

“If this happens again, I’ll make sure you and every other disrespectful wretch knows exactly who they are messing with. Understood?” Alastor says, his voice low.

“Understood.” Husk said as Alastor went back to his normal self.

“Good man.” Alastor whistled as he walked away and you stood there around the corner clutching your chest. Your breathing too quick and tears in your eyes.

‘He wouldn’t actually kill dad, would he?’ you thought to yourself, the reality of Alastor owning Husk’s soul crashing down upon you. You quickly leave the hallway, not wanting your dad to see that you had been there, as you got back to the bar. Still trying to calm your breathing, Angel’s words asking if you got the recipe sounded like they were underwater. You nodded your head to whatever he said, and tried to start making his drink with whatever you thought went into it. Thinking you were doing a pretty good job at not showing how close you were to breaking. Until Angel came behind the bar, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you around to face him. His eyes widened.

“What’s wrong toots?” He asked, his hands gliding over your arms comfortingly and giving you a once over to make sure you weren’t hurt.

“I-I-He-And I-“ And sobs just crashed against your lips as you fell against Angel. Angel freezes in shock, and holds you, trying to calm you down. Charlie and Vaggie hear and come over seeing you a wreck. Your sobs not quieting and now all three are consoling you and attempting to get you to calm down enough to actually understand what’s wrong.

Husk finally comes down stairs, sighing and sees a crowd around the bar, normally crowds and bars are synonymous but not at this hotel. He walks over, his ears picking up your cries, automatically going into protection mode. He brushes through everyone and sees Angel consoling you.

“What’s going on?” He asks and before Angel can answer, you launch yourself at Husk. Still crying, but settling down as you feel him in your arms. Your hand going to his wrist where you could feel his heartbeat and feeling that calms you down further.

“What happened?” He murmurs to you, his arms and wings wrapped around you.

“Angel’s drink-And I didn’t know th’ ingredien’s-Went to find you. And saw you and-and-Al…” You trailed off and buried yourself in Husk’s chest.

“Oh sweetheart.” He murmured. His head dropping to rest on top of yours. “I’m so sorry.”

Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie all look at each other.

“So, that’s not just some bar back, bartender in training you got off the street?” Vaggie asks.

“Yeah, you’s both seem a little familiar with each other.” Angel adds. Husk sighs.

“‘m sorry.” You say lifting yourself off Husk.

“You don’t have anything ta be sorry for. I should be the one apologizin’.” Husk says, his hand on your cheek.

“Not at all.” You shake your head at him.

“Oh shit.” Angel says now looking at you both. “Is that your daughter Husk?” You look wide eyed at Angel and then your dad.

“Yes, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, meet my daughter, Y/N.” Husk says, gesturing to you.

“Hi!” You say waving, looking a bit sheepish. “I’m so sorry we didn’t say anything before. It was just safer this way because-“ Husk interrupts you.

“I’m sure they understand, sweetheart.” Husk looks at all of them and all nod. “And I’m sure this isn’t information that will be getting out either.” Husk looks at all of them again. Again everyone nods.

“On my word, this will stay between us.” Charlie promises.

“Not a word.” Vaggie says. Angel just makes the motion of his lips being zipped and throwing away the key.

“Now, who was wanting a drink?” Husk says, stepping behind the bar.

“Oh, that was me!” Angel pipes up and sits down.

“O’ course it was.” Husk mutters as he starts making the drink and Charlie steps forward more.

“Can we ask questions? I have so many.” She says, looking at Husk then you. You look back at your dad and he motions you forward. You smile and sit next to Angel as Charlie and Vaggie sit down too.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

The rest of the night was spent around the bar as Charlie, Vaggie and Angel got to know you outside of what you had just been telling them and you had fun poking fun at your dad at times, recounting times like how he taught you to count with poker chips. The laughter bled into the night and marked one of the happier nights that you could remember and for the first time, you were happy to be at the Hazbin Hotel.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #dad!husk #husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #dad!husk x reader #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel fluff

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devilishchaos · 11 months

Text

aventuras em Miami | Rúben Dias Imagine

Rating / genre: M (18+); filthy smut, fluff

Pairings: Reader x Rúben Dias

Summary: Y/N and Rúben go on a vacation with Rúben's friends, in Miami. Y/N surprises him with sex chocolate.

Warnings: Explicit smut, oral sex (f receiving), explicit talk, unprotected vaginal penetration (don't do it!!! stay safe!), hair grabbing, use of pet names "baby", "babe", size talk just for a sec

Word Count: 4 277 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The sunglasses that were once placed on top of your head, now sat on the bridge of your nose in order to block out the blazing rays of the sun on this record breaking, hot day in Miami. The sand underneath your feet felt soft, yet crunchy at the same time and very hot. A cool, light breeze had your hair blowing. The water was calm enough to be safe for those that wanted to play in the water, but still provided big enough waves for surfers to ride comfortably behind the scattered swimmers. In the sky there wasn’t a cloud in sight, which meant you were going to need help lathering sunscreen on your skin by your ever helpful and willing boyfriend - Rúben.

Speaking of Rúben - him, Ivan and their two friends, Nuno and João, were currently riding jets in the middle of the ocean, so you used the opportunity to go explore the shop that caught your attention while you guys were making your way to the beach. A sex shop. Exciting.

A red haired woman, approximately your age, looks up from the counter at the tinkling of the bell, signifying someone coming into the store.

“Um, hello..“ you say timidly.

“Can I help you?” she asks pleasantly, seeing you glance around the shop at all the various dildos and sex toys.

“I was wondering what these chocolates do..those over there..“ you pointed to the chocolate pieces, placed in front of the window, next to the front door.

“Do you know what you’re looking for specifically?”

“Mmm..not really.” you shake your head, “I’ve never used one. I want to surprise my boyfriend.”

“Alright. Good choice by the way.” she smiled and pulled out, from underneath the till, a tray with said chocolates on display. “So this is pleasure-boosting dark chocolate with high-quality natural ingredients to increase your sex performance. It stimulates blood flow, enhances performance and increases sex drive. Consists of 60% dark chocolate, epimedium, maca root and DHEA. One block consists of two servings - one for you and one for your partner. You take it, wait 30 minutes and enjoy your time.”

“I’ll take a pack, please.” you were really intrigued at this point.

The employee wrapped it up nicely for you “Have fun.”

“Thank you. Have a great day.” you smiled and made your way back to the beach.

You were back at the hotel and were currently getting ready to go to dinner.

“What did you do while we were jet riding?” Rúben asked you as he was coming out of the bathroom.

“Umm..” you played with your earrings “I..got us..something.” you turned around to face him as he was putting his watch on his wrist.

“You got us something?” Rúben looked at you puzzled. “And what is it?”

“Chocolate.” you hold up the package for him to see.

Rúben frowns, far away enough to not be able to read the words on the front “I could have bought you Reese's cups or something.”

“This is not..It’s a different kind of chocolate..” you grin wickedly “..have you heard of tabs chocolate?”

“Are they that fancy ass company that charges, like, $60 per bar?” Rúben puts his wallet in his pant’s pocket.

“No.” you laugh “These have aphrodisiacs in them.”

“Aphrodisiacs?” your boyfriend hums with a furrowed brow “Isn’t that-?”

“It’s sex chocolate.” you finally reveal your secret to him “You up for a bit more exercise today?”

“Sex-ercise you mean?” Rúben rushes to your side with a shit-eating grin, far too proud of his shitty joke. He's grabbing for the chocolates but you snatch them away, giggling.

“We take them now and have to wait like 30 min, for it to kick in.”

“Oh, spicy!” he laughs, tugging the box out of your hands, and scanning the cover “You want to take these now? See who can last longer without touching the other?”

“How strong can this little square be?” you grumble, snatching the little foil squares from their places “Okay, break..” you snap the square in two “..bite..” you hold Rúben’s portion out for him, letting him take it from your hand. His trimmed beard prickles against your skin and you bite back a giggle, stuffing your mouth with chocolate instead.

The chocolate is savory and bitter on your tongue, with just the right amount of sugar. You don’t get to swallow the chocolate and finish their signature slogan before Rúben has wolfed down his bar, tossing the package on the side table and surging for your lips “..bang.”

The kiss he drags you into nearly buckles your knees. It’s intense and hot, the chocolate coating his tongue and his fingers that dig into your waist as he tugs you closer, making it hard for you to breathe.

“Mmf..Rúben!” you gasp, dragging in a lungful of air that he’d practically stolen from you with that kiss. He’s eager to touch you, to feel you, to taste you as his lips never part from your skin, dragging down your neck, to the spot just under your jaw that makes your stomach tingly.

“Let’s get going or we will be late.” and with that you were up for an exciting evening.

Dinner was absolute torture.

Rúben always looks good in your eyes, but tonight he somehow looked even better. His sun kissed skin, peeking out from underneath his light blue shirt, made your head spin. His hand on your thigh seemed to leave a burnt imprint on your delicate skin. The air seemed to not be enough, no matter that you were seated outside.

“How strong can this little square be?” my ass. You were currently beating yourself up internally as you were all seated in the V.I.P section in one of the most popular Miami nightclubs, a U-shaped couch with a table in the middle and then a small section in front of it for people to dance and mingle. You were sitting in the corner with Rúben, his arm around your shoulders as you both tried to seem relaxed. You had to admit, with uni and the internship and Rúben’s busy schedule, you didn't really get to spend much quality time with each other. So this vacation was more than welcomed.

You were currently 3 drinks and 5 shots deep, laughing at something Ivan and Nuno were bickering over, when Rúben’s face suddenly got closer to yours as he whispered in your ear.

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” you shot him a smile and pecked his lips quickly before he got up and left the area. You were kind of disappointed honestly, because you expected him to have broken your guy’s agreement two hours ago.

“Come on, let's do some more shots.” you yelled over the music. Ivan grabbed the bottle of alcohol from the table and lined you both up with two shots each.

“You guys are crazy, man.” Nuno shook his head.

When Rúben returned, he found you and Ivan hysterically laughing, the half filled bottle of alcohol he'd left you with was now empty and a waitress was placing another bottle on the table. Rúben smirked to himself as he stepped closer to you and Ivan.

“Hi, baby.” you rushed over to Rúben, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he grinned as you nodded, you both shared a sloppy kiss before you went back to dance with Ivan.

Rúben mingled with his friends, spoke to a few people and was enjoying his evening as well when you plopped yourself down next to him, his hand naturally falling onto your thigh as you wrapped one arm around his forearm.

“You okay, meu amor?” he turned to look at you, your head resting on his shoulder and your eyes closed.

“You look so good right now..” you lured yourself into his lap. Lightly grabbing you by the neck Rúben pulled you into a kiss.

As the kiss went on, it got deeper and more needy. Rúben slowly trailed his kisses off of your lips, kissing down your neck to your shoulders. He had rotated you to the front, with your back facing him. He was rubbing all over your thighs while still kissing on your neck.

Without any words, Rúben grabbed your hips and started grinding your ass on his lap to the rhythm of the song. You knew what he wanted you to do, so his moves soon became your own. You took over grinding yourself into his lap, moving your hips to the beat. You could feel him rubbing and smacking your ass, and you were glad that it was almost too dark into the club so pretty much nobody could see you two. Rúben was clearly turned on, you could feel his hard on under you, ever so slightly brushing against your heat at times, making you go absolutely crazy for him.

At this point Rúben was ready to take you home. He reluctantly slid you out of his lap only for the fact that his friends were soon gonna be flooding back into the section. He draped both of your legs over one of his and you leaned in to kiss him one last time.

“Take me home, Rúben.” you both smiled before excusing yourselves and leaving the club.

Rúben held onto your body as he navigated you through the club, your feet hurting from the shoes you were wearing and it was making it impossible for either of you to get very far without you needing to stop. Once you got outside, Rúben sat you in the car and helped you take off your shoes. The car you were in was luxurious, the seats were ridiculously comfy, so you instantly relaxed into them, your legs stretching out so your feet were resting on Rúben's lap as he sat opposite you.

Back at the hotel, you had barely put your bag on the counter before you were pushed into it, a gasp left your mouth as Rúben trapped you. Hands on your shoulders, hips pressed into your ass, firmly keeping you in place.

“I can’t believe you made us take these damn chocolates. I already wanted to fuck when we got home from the beach.” His deep voice in my ear.

“Yeah..” I whispered softly, gripping the counter. Your head fell against his shoulder, his hands running over your front as he trailed kisses from your cheek to your neck.

“How am I supposed to keep my hands off of you, hm?” he hums, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. He sucks a patch of skin just to the left of your throat, one that makes you grab the counter even harder “You’re so fuckin’ sexy, don’t need a chocolate to think that.”

“I want you so bad, babe..” you whine and you take his hand. It's rough and strong from all the hard work he puts in the gym. It curls around yours and you lead him to your bedroom, letting him sit on the edge of the bed while you slip your dress off, leaving you only in your panties in front of his wild wandering gaze.

“Come here..” Rúben calls softly and you get closer to stand in front of him, in between his muscular thighs.

When his large hands slide up your thighs, smoothing over the fabric of your panties, you inhale deeply. He gives you a few moments of silence and they’re anything but comfortable. Tension is thrumming through every vein in your body, concentrated on whatever shapes Rúben's palms were drawing on your skin. He massages your thighs, but his thumbs edge up the curve of your ass, closer to their target. His fingers knead and squeeze at the soft flesh of your inner thighs, paying special attention to the hypersensitive skin between your cunt and your thighs. When he ghosts his fingernail over the crease there and you clench your thighs together, he knows he’s got you.

Rúben gets up from the bed, your innocent eyes follow his every move. He places his hands on your waist and with one swift move you are already laying on your back, on the bed, and he is hovering over you. The second your lips are in his line of sight, he’s on them. His own press enthusiastically to yours, a heavy pant released into your mouth as he braces his knees on the mattress.

“I can't fucking take it anymore.” he groans, choking out his words in between kisses. His tongue is sloppy, licking up your own like he’s trying to swallow it.

You’re having trouble focusing with his tongue lapping sensually at your own in smooth, eager strokes and his fingers skillfully pinching at your left nipple. When you jolt into his touch, your hips buck up and you feel his hard cock against your eager core, through his pants.

Rúben hums approvingly into the kiss, parting with a sloppy trail of saliva and speaking hotly against your lips “So needy..gonna grind this pussy all over me?”

“Ahh yes..fuck me Rúben. Please, fuck me..” you manage to breathe out he sucks harshly at the skin of your neck. You accentuate your words with another desperate roll of your hips, grinding your clothed cunt over his bulge. He's straining in the fabric of his boxers, a fact that makes your mouth water, and Rúben tears himself away from your neck to wrestle with his undergarments.

He knows you’re aching, burning with desire, because he is, too. His cock bounces free of his boxers and stands hard, angled towards his stomach and oozing pre-cum. It’s the most sexy sight you’ve ever taken in, you will never get tired of it.

Rúben hisses as his thumb carasses against your panties, his fingers slip beneath the hemline. He feels your slick soaking through the fabric at the slightest pressure from his single finger, revealing just how wet you’ve gotten while waiting for him.

“Oh my God, you’re dripping, meu amor.” Rúben groans, his voice thick and lustful as his face screws up in concentration, his sexy accent coming through.

“R-Rúben, pleasee..”

Rúben chuckled against the waistband of your panties, his hands hooked there and he pulled them down slowly, the material making your legs tingle from how gently Rúben removed them from you. He shifted further down the bed so that his head was right between your legs, and he leaned in closer and closer..you jumped when the cool tip of his nose brushed against your core and Rúben shushed you gently. The noise sent a vibration through you and you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink into the sound, finding comfort within the very person, who was making your blood sing in your veins.

Rúben dived right in for a taste. He kissed your inner lips the way he usually kissed your mouth and you gasped, your hips arching up off the mattress to get closer to Rúben’s touches. He tested the waters with kitten licks, slow and careful, and he groaned at the taste of you. Like a switch had been flicked, Rúben’s hands curl around the plush flesh of your thighs so he could hold you open as he pressed his face into your folds, his tongue now beginning to explore your folds with a heated passion unlike anything you had ever experienced. You couldn’t help but to squeeze your thighs around Rúben’s head and the man groaned yet again, the sound sent another shockwave through your core.

“Ohh..Rú- Rúbenn..” his name fell from your parted lips like a prayer, as your pleasure heightened. You could feel the mattress beneath you moving as Rúben rutted into it at the same pace that his tongue moved against your core.

“Ah, baby..” you gasp, face pinched in half ecstasy, half dread as he sucks at your clit “..please, no..I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it.” he urges, tongue licking a long, wet, slick stripe up your cunt before diving back between your folds “Cum on my face, baby. Come on, give it to me.”

“No. Want- I want to cum..with you inside of me..please..I need- need your dick!” you reach for his face, sitting up in your pleasured haze.

“You can have it.” he promises, fingers coming to bully your puffy clit while he focuses his tongue on your vagina “Later.”

His nose rubbed against your clit with every movement, his hips stuttering now, the rhythm of his mouth broken, but desperate, and the coil within your stomach tightened. Your thighs clenched, your core did the same around nothing and that coil within you snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you, through you, like a tidal wave and for just a moment - your mind, body and soul all merged together and you saw stars.

Rúben is eager to continue even when you’ve finished, licking and sucking desperately at your sensitive pussy. It feels good, but you’re almost too sensitive already and you’re not waiting another second for his cock.

“No, no..I want- “ Rúben doesn’t let you tell him what you want - he doesn’t have to, he already knows. He knows what you really want is in between his legs, so he surges forward, locking his lips with yours and using the momentum to lay you back down onto the mattress.

“Oh, fuck..” you breathe, feeling his cock nudge at your sensitive cunt immediately “..fuck me, babe, plea-” he slams into you with no hesitation, hips on a mission to fuse with your own as he rams his cock into you. The rhythm is relentless, more desperate than you’ve ever felt him before, and you clutch at his broad shoulders as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“Fuck.” he huffs, a grunting, groaning mess “Ugh..you feel so good. Oh, God.” he pants, mouth falling open and tongue flattening against your neck, swiping up over your jaw. His mouth latches there, sucking harshly just beneath your ear at the curve of your jaw. His hips drive the same steady pace into you, filling you up impossibly deep with each pump of his cock. His dick so hot and mind-numbingly hard, probably achingly painful too, as he buries it inside of you to get relief. The more he thrusts the deeper he goes in, until he’s slamming into your sweet spot, balls landing heavy against the curve of your ass as he fucks into you.

“Rúbenn..” you moan, nails scraping against the tan, toned skin of his back “..don’t- don’t s- stop!”

“I'm so close, fuck..” he grunts, voice muffled slightly in what you suspect is shame. His libido is strong and he doesn’t usually finish this fast. But with the aphrodisiac in his system you’re not surprised he’s cumming quickly, nor are you put off by it. In fact, you’re exceptionally aroused by it. The feeling of him fucking into you so eagerly, so needy - it gets you going like nothing else. You feel another wave of pleasure begining to creep in. With the constant motion of Rúben’s thick cock and every flex of his tongue over your neck, as he sucks bruises into your skin, you feel your orgasm approaching.

Apparently, the way that your nails dig into Rúben’s skin is encouragement for him as well. Your thighs tremble from the weight of your previous orgasm, and the impending pressure of your next one, his dick twitches like it’s painful for him to keep it together.

“It’s okay, baby..” you pant, scraping a hand up his back to cradle the back of his neck. He's still suckling on your neck, tongue and teeth working in tandem to mark your skin “You can cum. Feels sooo good, ughh..you feel so fucking good!”

Your encouragement seems to help and his dick twitches again. You tug on his hair and his thighs tense. You yank his head back with a fistful of his hair, pulling him out of your neck to kiss him and invite him to occupy his tongue with your own instead of your throat.

The second your tongue brushes against his own, he cums. It’s like a dam bursting, every ounce of arousal he’d tried holding in, busting from his head straight into your incredibly wet pussy. You’re already slick enough from all of your own release, but his own gushes from the seam between his cock and your vagina.

“Fuck me. Oh my God.” Rúben pants, the words flowing directly between your lips as he mouths at your mouth. He’s desperate to do something with his mouth, he always has been, and it’s no surprise that he’d taken his time to appreciate your pussy earlier.

He licks over your tongue, his own tucking to the inside of your cheek for a brief second before he sucks at yours again. It only makes your own arousal more intense, and before you know it, your second, possibly more intense orgasm is seizing you, tensing your muscles and spasming through you.

Rúben cums for a long time, dick twitching and spurting cum the more he makes out with you, and the more your cunt convulses around him. Your kiss is sloppy, it’s messy, there’s drool leaking down the corners of your mouth, and that’s what makes it so effective to stretch out his orgasm. When you’re both sure you couldn’t cum more even if you tried, he slumps over your chest, his full weight on you as he lays panting on your sweaty skin.

“Fuck..that- ” he groans, voice broken and raspy with strain “that was the best sex we’ve ever had.”

“Mhmmm..” you nod lazily, enjoying a rare moment of breathing freely “..yeah, we need to use those chocolates again.”

“For sure.” he agrees, his beard prickling against the skin at the slope of your breast “I didn’t think it would work.”

“I'm glad it did.” you said thoughtfully, and you feel Rúben shift against your thigh, his cock already half-hard again. He grinds it into you, what you think is accidentally, but his groan lets you know it felt nice.

“Baby..” you start, but he’s already rubbing up against you once more, humping his hardening cock against your thigh.

“I need- I need a little more.” he almost whimpers, tightening his hold on your upper half “Babe, i need more..please.”

“Okay.” you soothe, kissing his sweaty forehead “Okay, umm..I want to ride you.” You replied. Uttering the phrase felt like jumping over a mental fence. You basically had to force the words past your lips. Although, once they finally escaped, you felt much less shy about it. Speaking so boldly to him felt very empowering.

“Fuck yes.” He replied and lied on his back next to you, patting his thighs for you to straddle. “Ride me.” He said. It wasn’t a suggestion, it wasn’t a question, it was a command. It makes your knees feel wobbly and your legs feel like jelly.

You obliged, straddling his body. “Watch me.” You commanded back, your eyes meeting his and a moan escaped his lips. He sat up on his elbows and obeyed, watching as you slid your soaked core up and down his dick.

“Oh my god, fuck!” His eyes widened and his hands grabbed at your thighs.

You took his dick in your hand and slowly guided it to your entrance, sitting down on him and taking him deep into your core.

“Oh, fuck..you feel so big.” You said. You felt a small sting as he stretched your walls, but carried on.

“A-and your wet little pussy is so fucking tight.” The words barely escaped his mouth as he was breathless. He stayed propped up on his elbows to get a full view.

You began to slowly rock your hips, grinding your clit against his pubic bone, feeling him twitching inside of you. You moaned at the sensation, but he moaned louder.

“Fuck- move up and down..” He said, his eyes glued to the spot that your bodies collide “Let me see my dick disappear inside of you.”

You gasped at his filthy mouth once again, but granted his wishes. You moved your legs around so that you could stand on your feet and began moving up and down, bouncing on his dick, feeling how he stretched you with each motion. The new angle gave you new pleasure, he was hitting spots you never even knew existed before.

“O-oh my god, baby-“ your voice was shaking. You knew at this point you weren't going to last much longer. And quite frankly, he wasn't going to either.

“Yeah? Feels good?” You barely heard him say through the fog of your pleasure.

“Yes, Rúben! Fuck..feels- oh, so good..” You were unable to form words.

You shouted, unsure of what you were even saying, as pleasure overtook your entire body.

Your vision went white and the world became a blur. You didn’t even know if he had finished - by the time you came to your senses it was all over. You had collapsed onto his chest and his arms were around you, as he whispered god knows what into your ear. You truly were on another planet.

“..so fucking good. You were so fucking good.” He praised you.

“What?” You mumbled out, blinking your eyes a few times as you grounded yourself, which caused you to giggle.

“Are you alright, meu amor?” Rúben asked you, a smile could be heard in his voice.

“Wonderful.” You hummed. You didn’t want to move. Your body melted into his. “I like filthy sex with you, Rúbes.”

“I like any kind of sex with you.” Rúben said as he kissed your forehead.

#ruben dias #ruben gato dias #ruben dias fic #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias imagines #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias smut #ruben dias fluff #football imagine #football imagines

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her-favorite · 1 year

Text

this is a re-upload bc for some reason it kept glitching at the end??

OBSESSED

James Patrick March x F!Reader

Summary: James has aways been obsessed with you.. but what happens when you find out?

Warnings: smut!

a/n: scamp is old slang for a worthless fellow; a rascal - i like writing smut too much, not proofread!!!

wc: 2666

You sat at the bar of the Hotel Cortez, tapping your nails against the polished wood counter. Liz supplied you with refills every time you drank all of the alcohol. You let out a long breath, resting your hands on your face, elbows holding you up. You blinked back the tears that formed behind your eyelids.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" You head shot up, Liz's question taking you off guard. You exhale again, putting your arms down to lay on the counter. You never made eye contact with her, too shame-filled to make any sort of connection.

"I just.. am I not lovable?" Your answer made Liz shoot up from her slouched position. Her mouthed opened quickly, trying to get something out before you kept talking. But you didn't let her. "I don't remember the last time I got asked out on a date. I mean, I always thought that maybe I isolated myself from others, but something just feels different. Am I that bad?" The tears from earlier reformed, quickly falling down your cheeks. You harshly wiped at them.

"Y/N, you have got to be kidding. You are truly one of the most beautiful women to come up to this bar. What I would do to look like you." She gave you a pointed look, before leaning down and picking up ingredients and picking up your glass again. She started mixing. "And, honestly," She paused for a moment, debating her options. "I may be wrong, but, I'm pretty sure March has been telling the ghosts and the people that walk into this hotel that you're off limits." She whispered, looking from left to right to make sure no one was there or listening.

Sally sat in the far back, her cigarette hanging between her two fingers. Before you could say anything or even have a reaction, you heard her laugh. "Yep! Heard James yapping at some poor kid the other day. 'You stay away from her, you scamp! You have zero cognition, nor are you worthy for a goddess like her!'" She recited, barking out another laugh, before taking a long drag from her stick.

You sat there, frozen. You James March to a certain extent. You were still human, unlike most at the Cortez, but you've stayed so long that you felt one with them. You had several confrontations with the dead owner, but he had never showed any sort of interest in you. At least not in that way.

"Wait.." You sat as still as you could, trying to process all of the information that just unfolded.

"You didn't know that March had taken an interest in you?" Liz asks, cleaning the counter and putting things away. You shook your head slightly, still lost in your thoughts.

You weren't exactly opposed to it. Whether the elegant man was talking to you or one of the ghosts, you never could break the eye contact between you and the way you admired him. You always found it odd when your chest tightened every time you heard or saw James with the Countess, but it now made you realize that it was jealousy that you got struck with.

James was quite literally the most beautiful man you have ever saw. His gelled hair, the sharp jawline, his beautiful nose. And those lips, god. You'd be lying if you said that you never thought about what they felt like.

But how come all of this is just making sense now?

"He's not very secretive about it, honey." Liz continues, resting her arms on the counter as she waits for your reaction. The two women stand there, waiting. Sally gets up from her seat and walks over to you. She sits down next to you at the bar, never letting go of her cigarette.

"Well, I'll tell you this," She takes another drag, inhaling the smoke, waiting for it to fill her lungs. "That man is absolutely obsessed with you. I mean, I think it's kinda creepy, but," She shrugs. "I guess I can't really say anything." She grips a bottle of alcohol, her rings stinging the glass, the loud sound reverberating through the tall, open room.

Your heart races as she talks. Once Liz and Sally start their own conversation, everything sounds muffled. Fog interrupts your mind, making your thoughts scatter. Before you knew any better, you got up from your seat, running towards the elevator.

"Sweetie, where are you going?" You hear Liz yell, once she realizes you're gone.

"I'm going to find answers."

You walk down the eery hallway, silence filling the air. Your fast footsteps echoed off the walls, showing your determination. Once you reach the door, you quickly walk in, not caring if he was in there or not.

As soon as you step foot inside, his back immediately turned to you. His white shirt was clean and ironed, his hair was perfectly slicked back, those pants showing off his long legs, and his cane in his right hand.

"Dear! What are you doing here at this time?" He takes a quick look at the grandfather clock on the other side of the room. It read: 11:38 pm.

"What is wrong with you?" You ask, not yelling, but your tone showed your irritation. He looked taken back, but slowly steps forward.

"Pardon?" His voice is laced with genuine confusion, his thin eyebrows furrowed. He's still a couple feet away from you, leaning on his cane.

"Why do you keep telling people that 'I'm off limits?'" You quote, your jaw clenched and your eyes piercing his.

"Oh, dear," He blows out air, his shoulders dropping. He looks off in the distance, trying to collect his words. "Y/N, dearest, you deserve better than those fools that walk into my Hotel." His sharp accent accentuating his point. "You are a goddess, made to have someone worship you from their knees." He sets his cane to rest on a table, walking over towards you in big strides. "Any man or woman that sets their eyes on you deserve to be killed because they don't deserve your attention. Anyone that lays a finger on you will not make it out alive because of me." He explains, looking deep into your eyes.

"But.. why? I don't understand, you barely know me- we barely talk! You can't just.." Your labored breathing takes over, the thought of James killing someone because of you making you feel sick.

"Oh, no, my love.. I do know you." A smile forms on his lips, inches away from you. "You know that I'm always with you. You know that I admire you from afar, watching the way that you laugh with Cleopatra at the bar, or.. when you have drinks with the other ghosts. But as soon as I see you with another human in my building.." He tsks, walking around you. "You know that I can't let them live." He whispers in your ear, resting his hands on your shoulders. His raspy voice sends shivers down your spine, your thighs clenching together. A deep laugh sounds in your ear, heat rushing to your face when you realize that he saw you squirm in his hold.

"You like that don't you, darling? That I would kill for you, that I would do anything for you." You felt his body press against your back, getting as close to you as possible. He never heard any protest, taking it as a green light to keep going.

"You are absolutely tantalizing, my love." He teases, his fingers slowly making their way up and down your arms. He felt the goosebumps raise on your skin, a sly smile overcoming his face. "Are you nervous?" He whispers, his hands drift down to your hips, grabbing it harshly, making you gasp.

"No." You lie, your voice cracking. James lets out another small chuckle, wrapping his right hand around your stomach, pushing you backwards, into his chest.

"Don't lie to me, my dear." He leans down to press his face into your neck, his nose tickling your skin. "I can all but hear your heart race, darling." His voice was slightly muffled by your neck, his moving lips tickling you. He presses little kisses against your soft skin, leading down to your collarbone.

Your body instantly envelops with cold air once you feel his presence leave you. Before you could turn around, James stood in front of you with his hand stretched out for you to grab. You obliged, making him smile. He brought you over to his neatly made bed, the back of your legs pressed against the end of the bed. He took both of your hands in each of his, bringing them up to his lips and kissing them.

"Do you consent to this, dearest?" His voice was calmer than it was before. Your heart melted at his words. nodding. Maybe waiting for him was the right decision.

He smiled wide, right hand reaching out to cup your cheek. He leaned down and set his lips on yours, taking your bottom lip between his. You moaned into the kiss when you felt him bite down on the plush skin. He smirked, your reaction already causing an effect on him.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, bringing him closer to you. You press your body against him, both of you groaning at the friction. His hands lay on your waist, tightening when he starts to lean forward and set you down on the bed. He hovers over you, admiring your features.

He traces your face, fingers barely pressing down, just hovering over your skin. "You are absolutely ravishing, my goddess." You almost whimper at the name, your eyes fluttering shut. James leans down again, pressing soft kisses against your skin. He slowly works on your shirt, telling you when to lift your arms so he could lift it off of you.

"The first time I make love to you, will be on this bed, not some unworthy floor." He whispers into your skin, moving away just to throw your shirt somewhere. He looks back down at you, watching over you like a hawk. His hands traced over your body, moving up to traced his thumbs over your clothed nipples. Your back arched, wanting more. He hummed, reaching behind your back (with your help of moving slightly, to give him a better angle) and unclipping your bra.

"You are so gorgeous, my love. Absolutely stunning." He praised, calloused hands reaching out and cupping your breasts. He leans down again, kissing and sucking on your nipple and skin. As he mouthed down your stomach, his hands moving down to undo your pants and pull them down.

"James," You whine, catching his attention. "You're wearing too much." You say as he throws away your pants. He chuckles deep from his throat.

"Of course, my dear." He clicks at his suspenders and unbuttons his white shirt. You reach out for him, raking your fingers over his body. Now it was your turn to undo his pants. He laughed at your eagerness, helping you by kicking his dress pants some place on the floor. "Lay back, my darling. Let me take care of you." He whispers, pressing kisses against your abdomen. His fingers play with the waistband of your panties, silently asking you if he could take them off. You nod against the soft, white pillow.

He slowly slides the fabric down your legs, spreading your legs. He immediately leans forward, licking a line up your slit. He groans, "You taste divine, my darling." He quickly dived back in, making your back arch.

"God.. James!" You moan, your hand gripping his hair tightly. He groans against you, vibrating your skin.

"Yes, dear, I am your God." His voice seemed deeper than usual, deepening your arousal. He sucked at your clit, his hands under your thighs, digging his nails into the plush skin. His tongue prods at your entrance, immediately pushing inside and moving around. You moaned his name over and over, James' boxers getting tighter and tighter by the second.

He pulled you in by the thighs, bringing you impossibly closer to him and his mouth. He was addicted to the taste of you. It was so much better than the alcohol and cigarettes he drinks and smokes; this was genuine lust. James didn't believe in any sort of religion, but you tasted like straight heaven. You were an absolute goddess and James was blessed to be able to walk on the same ground as you.

"Come on, dearest. You can do it, cum for me." One of his fingers comes down and spreads your folds. He pushes a finger inside you, his swollen pink lips latching onto your clit again. He pumps the finger in and out, adding a second one when he feels you clench tightly around it. His groans were muffled by you, making your body rake with pleasure. Your hips jerked up one last time, before coming undone on his fingers. As you moaned, James praised you through it, pulling his fingers out once he feels you calm down.

"You are such a doll, my beloved." He kisses back up your body, until he hovers his face over yours. You both smile, leaning up to press your lips against his. Your hands cup his face, bringing his lips closer to yours. One of your hands slides down his body, gripping the waistband, signaling you needed his help to take them off. One arm rests beside your head, holding him up and the other guides the undergarment down his legs and off on the ground. His forearms came back up to rest beside your head, occasionally slipping down to touch you.

"Are you ready, my darling?" He asked, his tip sliding between your folds. Your breath was caught in your throat, nodding instead of speaking.

He pushed in, both of you groaning in unison. Your nails dug into his back and shoulders, creating deep crescent marks in his pale skin. You avoided the large gash in his throat that signified he was dead, bringing one hand back into the nape of hair on his neck.

He hit a certain spot inside you, making you jolt. He chuckled, thrusting harder. "I think I found your spot, dearest." His voice had gotten raspier, if even possible. It sent a chill down your back, adding to your immense pleasure.

"Oh, James.." You moaned, clinging to his body. He groaned in your ear, never stopping his movements. His right hand drifted down your body, the ring on his pinky finger sending another shiver through you.

"You're so good for me, my dear. Come undone for me, love, please. You can do it, just relax." He coaxed you through it, two fingers reaching down to circle your clit. Your hips stutter and your back arches.

You moan as you reach your climax, euphoria taking over your body. As soon as James feels you clench around him and your release, he lets out a guttural moan, thrusting faster inside you.

"My goddess.. Y/N!" He exclaims, letting go. Once you both relax, James pulls out of you, laying down beside you on the bed. You both were heavy breathing, moving your heads to look at each other. "My darling," He was breathless, but brought his hand up to rest on your cheek and press his lips to yours. "Will you be my queen?"

You didn't hesitate to tell him yes. He smiled, leaning down again to kiss you. "Wait," You pull away. "Did you cum inside me?" Your eyes were wide as you saw him smirk.

"Well, dear, it looks like you're going to be mine forever."

#james patrick march smut #james march #james march x reader #james patrick march x reader #jpm x reader #evan peters imagine #evan peters #evan peters smut #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #ahs hotel #james patrick march #james march x you #james march smut

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teecupangel · 5 months

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Proposal: instead of Desmond sets up a bakery, he sets up a new bar. But specifically manages to pull off such weird drinks from the future that everyone is fully 100% convinced that he’s really a witch.

Baker Desmond AU in Third Crusades Levant, Renaissance Italy and Colonial America

“This is witchcraft! Sorcery! The work of the devil!”

Desmond wondered if he should just book it.

Sure, it had taken time to create this bar. So many long hours finding the cheapest most okay building in a busy street. So many times talking to people to get them to open up to him and finally give his drinks a shot.

Well… more than a shot.

He knew cocktails would prove to be his selling point.

He even made mocktails for those who do not partake but he made sure they were more expensive than the usual because… well… profit.

Could Desmond be doing something else in his new lease of life?

Absolutely.

Was he going to?

No.

This was Altaïr’s territory… sorta.

Desmond had complete faith that Altaïr do as history demanded.

So Desmond could retire.

But, in all honesty…

He wished Altaïr could just assassinate Garnier de Naplouse already so he wouldn’t have to deal with this crap.

He should have just opened his bar away from Levant.

Maybe he should?

“Desmond, if you can just prove to the Grand Master’s representative that you don’t make concoction of the devil-”

The knight was one of his regulars. He was just trying to help (and keep his favorite bar alive).

But Naplouse’s representative.

He could see the greed in the man’s eyes as he continued to hurl garbage at him.

Desmond was pretty sure Naplouse didn’t even order this.

Desmond made sure he was kept busy with not being able to have enough ‘patients’ after all.

(Just because he’s not actively assassinating Altaïr’s targets doesn’t mean he would just a turn a blind eye to the atrocities he knew was happening)

No.

This man wanted to learn his secrets.

He wanted to encroach on Desmond’s hard-earned monopoly.

Desmond’s lips curved into the smile he had perfected after years of having to deal with the lowest trashes as a bartender.

“I understand.”

The greed in that man’s eyes shone brighter.

… as Desmond’s smile grew colder.

“I will pack up and leave then.”

“WHAT?!”

The exclamation of surprise came not only from the man harassing him and the knight who was trying to help him but from the three other guards who were just standing behind them.

An intimidation tactics if Desmond ever saw one.

He was sure they would trash his place if they were ordered to.

Reluctantly, of course.

But trashing one’s place was better than being called insubordinate and punished for it.

If things go to shit, Desmond could just kick all their asses and book it.

Desmond clasped his hands together as he said lightly, “Actually, someone came before and offered me a job in Ḥalab. I refused, of course.”

Which was true.

“But considering how-” Desmond stressed the word, “… unappreciated I am here.”

Desmond continued to smile as he said, “I believe it’s time for me to leave this place. Ḥalab is filled with many merchants with different ingredients I can use for my…”

Desmond glared at the greedy man as he continued to politely smile, “… concoctions.”

“Tha-that’s-” The man spluttered before shouting, “That is an admission of guilt! By not showing how you make them, you are admitting to being a devil worshiper.”

Desmond could see that none of his guards were buying that crap.

But they were powerless as well.

Desmond’s smile fell as he said, “If you’re not going to let me leave in peace, then I’ll just have to take you all down and keep you silent until I have to leave.”

“I promise not to give any of you lasting damage except you…” Desmond stared at the greedy man who flinched, “I’ll hurt you in a way that will make you remember your stupidity every single day.”

Desmond stepped towards him, making the knights take a step towards the man to protect him, the nearest one whispering, “Desmond, wai-”

“I won’t kill you.” Desmond smiled once more, making everybody freeze as a cold shudder went up their spine, “But you will waste the rest of your life wishing I had.”

That afternoon, Desmond the bartender left Acre. When the people checked his bar later that night, they saw men unconscious on the floor with one of Naplouse’s men tied to a chair, conscious but barely coherent.

Carved on his forehead was the words “1 Timothy 6:9”.

Desmond did not, in fact, go to Ḥalab.

But he did start his next bar in one of the cities that is part of the Silk Road.

#ah my bible knowledge once more comes to use #my religion teachers would be so proud /s #no altaïr in this one #i went with third crusades because #well it’s me #and also because renaissance italy would have loved desmond #and i wanted desmond to get annoyed XD #assassin's creed #desmond miles #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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ystrike1 · 4 months

Text

If You Save an Immoral Beast - By Hesha (7/10)

The perfect opening. Great characters. Good motivations. These are the ingredients to any good story, but the random superpowers ruin this one. I'm not saying it's unreadable, but it drops from great to mediocre by chapter four.

Lee is a slave. His mom was killed in front of him. He was sold into child labor. He keeps a bar clean. A certain bar called Night Butterfly, where the most beautiful slaves earn clients and money for their masters.

This is Pierre. An experienced slave trader who just so happens to own Lee. The brothel district is a fairly lawless place. It's easy for Pierre to control all of his products. Lee is a kid with no family who sleeps behind a stripper bar.

Nobody is gonna save him.

Reality is cruel.

Lee knows what happens to slaves who are old, ugly or otherwise useless. They are left disfigured in underground cells. The woman who cared for him had her mouth burned off. She never saw the sun. Her job involves tailoring clothes for new slaves and helping them bathe when they're injured, and total isolation outside of that.

The cells are where disobedient unwanted slaves go.

Lee decides he wants to live, and that means he needs to be wanted.

He decides to seduce clients who visit Night Butterfly. It's a very dangerous gamble, and he loses every time. He's looking for a golden goose. A noble lady that can satisfy his greedy owner.

Pierre knows he's trying to escape.

Lee is punished brutally.

Sounds like a standard backstory right?

Nope.

Lee is extra ruthless. He literally has no conscience. He's been living behind the bar since he was like ten. He knows how to manipulate lonely women. He catfishes all of them. He tells his rich clients he loves them, and they take on a risk too. His lovers try to free him with expensive mercenaries, secret ship voyage tickets and gold.....but it doesn’t work.

Pierre has the women whipped.

Beaten horribly.

It happens to all of Lee's "lovers".

He watches them bleed, and he doesn’t give half a shit.

Asha is from a completely different life. A prestigious Count household hired her. She is supporting her sick mother and she is a skilled domestic worker. She is a great cook and a quick wit that helps the manor solve daily issues.

Her master, Benjamin, has a good relationship with her. They aren't friends. They are a master and servant who just so happen to get along. They are the polar opposite of Lee and Pierre.

Master Benjamin seems to be a good man, but his head maid is not. She's affiliated with Pierre. She uses poor Ashe as a transport donkey for illegal gold. Ashe doesn't really have a choice, because smuggling means extra money for mom.

The suspicious head maid sends her to Night Butterfly.

There she finds Lee.

Lee suddenly has super strength now by the way. His whole story about using what he has to survive now doesn't matter, because he's strong enough to shred men twice his size.

Also Ashe is a healer....but she can't heal her mom for some reason???

Whatever.

She heals Lee and that's it. He's yandere for her. It's cheating and it sucks. I want Lee to be jealous of Ashe, and her shiny life with Benjamin. I want intrigue. Not glowy healer lights and glowy super strength eyes. Lee is a slave. Asha is a maid. They don't need to be special and they were more interesting without the superpowers.

Very disappointed.

I won't finish this one.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #If You Save an Immoral Beast

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starlight-eclipsed · 1 year

Text

Rockets Pointed Up at the Stars (Pt 2/2)

Part I

Despite what Phantom had implied, tracking down Batman wasn’t done in an instant.

Sure, they’d be back seconds after when they left. But with time travel in the mix, that could be hours or days apart. They’d already followed him back to his initial landing time, when Neanderthals were still around (and wow, was there a difference between factually knowing some people had been around since the dawn of humanity and physically seeing Vandal Savage in the flesh as a caveman). According to the trail left by Clockwork, the ghostly guardian of the timestream, they were getting close.

Apparently Bruce couldn’t make things easy and was also making jumps through time, which if left unchecked would cause the timeline collapse that Clockwork had recruited Phantom for. Specifically Phantom, as it turns out the thief that liked messing with him on weekends was also the Master of Space and the King of everything.

(Phantom insisted it was just a title, and he was only king of the Ghost Zone. It just so happened that the Ghost Zone was also known as the Infinite Realms, which contained every reality of every universe in existence.

And he’d won that title by defeating the previous ruler in single combat.

The High King had to scramble to catch Tim when his knees gave out at the realization that he had unknowingly gone toe to toe with someone who made Darkseid look like a toddler in a sandbox. What the fuck, Phantom.)

As of now, they were waiting for the actual Blackbeard’s ship to dock to investigate the fabled Black Pirate he supposedly fought a week ago, whose description matched Bruce’s. Phantom had gone to grab them something to eat while they waited in a tavern, leaving Tim to save his seat. If someone told him even a week ago that this was where he’d be, Tim would’ve interrogated them for hours to try to figure out what it meant.

But no, he was just sitting at a table in the 18th century, a medallion from the Master of Time hung around his neck, waiting for his hero-turned-king-gone-rogue to return with food while they waited for Blackbeard the legendary pirate to show up. Jason would probably kill to be here in his place.

Tim was broken out of his thoughts when Phantom returned, two bowls of soup in hand and balancing an additional plate of tough-looking bread on his forearm.

They’d been forced to ditch their masks when Puritans tried to have them hanged a century ago, now dressing in more accurate clothing to better blend in. Phantom had apologized for discovering Tim’s real name, going as far as to reveal his own secret identity: a black haired blue-eyed teen named Danny.

“Heads up, it’s gonna be either too salty or bland as wood. I’m pretty sure the cook wanted to strangle me for asking too many questions about the ingredients.”

Tim snorted, accepting his bowl, “Is that why we don’t get spoons?”

“Nah, the owner doesn’t trust customers to return the utensils. Drink from the bowl, though you might want to soak your bread if you don’t wanna pull a muscle chewing it.”

“Noted.” Tim dared to take a sip, mulling over the taste. It wasn’t anywhere near Alfred’s level, but a step above his own adventures in the kitchen before getting a hard ban post-pancake incident. It tasted closer to brine than soup, but it went surprisingly well with the bread.

Phantom hummed in pleasure, proving yet again that his standards for food consisted of ‘isn’t actively resisting consumption’. Tim could hardly judge him for it, seeing as his own bar wasn't much higher.

“So, I’d say we have an hour or two until our man arrives. Want to go over the plan again?”

Tim shrugged. “Unless it’s changed from ‘confirm Bruce was already here before following the nearest skip in time’, I think we’re good.”

Phantom nodded, silence falling over them as they ate their way through dinner. Tim kept an ear out for trouble, but the tavern was quite peaceful this time in the evening. It was likely to change once the Queen Anne's Revenge finished docking, but for now he’d savor the ambiance.

“Wanna play twenty questions?”

He blinked, refocusing on Phantom sitting across from him. “Huh?”

“I just figured it might pass the time. Twenty questions, no lies, though you can reject them if you don’t want to answer.”

Tim considered it before nodding, “Sure. How old are you?”

Phantom grinned, “Seventeen, same as you. Why Robin?”

“I wanted to help Batman after the previous one died. Nobody else would intervene, so I stepped in. Why Phantom?”

“Okay, hear me out…it’s a pun.”

Tim paused, gesturing for him to elaborate.

“Before I was half-ghost, my last name was Fenton. So as a ghost, Danny Fenton became—”

“Danny Phantom,” Tim groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were subtle.”

“Hey, nobody expects the dead guy to moonlight as a living person. Sunlight? Whatever. Favorite hobbies?”

“Photography and skateboarding. Favorite power?”

“Ooh, that’s a hard one. I’d have to say flight. Nothing beats flying at night. Sexuality?”

Tim spluttered, making Phantom laugh as he blushed. “What the heck?!”

“Hey, you can always skip,” the asshole offered.

“No, it just caught me off guard. I’m bi. You?”

“Pan. And trans, while we’re at it. Ghosts can shapeshift, so I got a perfect transition at the low cost of death.”

Tim snorted, “Death is an ally.”

“Absolutely, it comes for us all,” he winked. “If you had a single power, what would it be?”

“Something so I wouldn’t need to sleep. I can manage otherwise. What determines the things you take?”

Phantom grinned, “Once a detective. But seriously, I just aim for things that look cool and won’t be missed too much. Some people will kick up a fuss over their trash if they think it’s worth stealing. Thoughts on soulmates?”

He stopped, some part of him catching on how serious the otherwise silly sounding question was phrased. As if the way he answered this could mean life or death. “You mean, a couple acting like they’re made for each other?”

“Ah, I wasn’t sure whether you had them in your universe. On my Earth, everyone is born with some kind of connection to at least one other person. Shared thoughts, a timer countdown to the time they first meet, stuff like that. Platonic or romantic, they were called soulmates.”

“So…someone you’re destined to meet and get along with? Is it magic based?”

A nod. “Humanity’s done research but they haven’t concluded on that yet. I asked an Ancient whose domain was centered around it, and they said it was determined by a soul’s resonance. I don’t know the specifics, but something about how all souls that resonate a certain way are born with soulmarks, so that they have an easier time finding each other. There are studies about how soulmates tend to understand each other easier, but other than that there’s no empirical proof that they’re different from any other relationship.”

Tim considered it. What it might’ve been like, to be told the second he met Dick that fateful night at the circus, ‘this boy will permanently alter the course of your life’. To have been able to approach Batman that first time, point to his wrist, and automatically be listened to instead of resorting to blackmail. How much easier it would have been to avoid the misunderstandings that defined their whole family.

Then again, it would be just his luck to have been born in that world and not have any soul connections to the Wayne family, making him work twice as hard for the same level of trust. Or to be born without resonance at all, and be left knowing that he was truly beyond reach. What would that do to him, in a society where people could point at the worst criminals and say ‘even that monster has someone they love’? To be soulmates with a genuinely terrible person?

“It sounds like a mixed blessing,” Tim said, meeting Danny’s gaze directly. “I would love to have someone like that by my side, and I’d be terrified of being defined by it.”

Danny leaned back, wearing a self-deprecating smile that Tim was quickly learning to recognize. “Yeah, that’s fair. Your turn.”

“What…what is your personal experience with soulmates? If I’m allowed to ask.”

He hissed out a breath through his teeth. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought you’d say.”

“I can ask something else?”

Danny waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ll answer, just lemme figure out how to put it.”

“I’ll return our dishes while you think through what you want to say.” Tim stood with his empty bowl, easily accepting the other bowl and plate as they were handed to him.

Walking back, Tim cataloged the people hanging around the tavern. A group of friends huddled around a dozen plates, decked out in gear that made it look like they just finished having some grand adventure. The bartender, a sly smile on her face as a drunken man clumsily flirted with his own wife. The cook instructing a boy to retrieve the dishes from Tim, sending a calculating glance in Danny’s direction before nodding at Tim and turning back to the fire.

Tim didn’t spend a lot of time in public anymore. His fame attracted far too much attention now that the press could consistently recognize him. But maybe once things settled back down again, he’d try civilian life again. There was something different about living alongside the people he worked to save, instead of far above looking down.

By the time he returned to his seat, Danny looked ready to talk.

“My soulmate rejected me when we were little.”

Tim blinked. “You can do that?”

“Ah…sorta? Depending on the connection, one side can choose to shut it down. Mine let us exchange messages. I was a dumb kid, and sent out a ton every day to try and get any kind of response that they were out there. They got sick of it and blocked me.” Danny laughed, but it wasn't very funny.

“I’m sorry. That sounds awful.”

“Don’t be. I annoy everyone—it was only a matter of time before I did something to chase them away.”

“Would you stop doing that?”

Danny blinked, tilting his head in silent question.

“Look, I get that you went through a lot of shit before coming to Gotham. But you keep acting like it’s a given that everyone you meet will be awful to you, and it sucks to hear you talk like that when I’m having fun with you. It wasn't your fault, so stop claiming credit for it. If I can’t justify losing Robin, you can’t justify being abandoned.”

“...alright then.” Danny huffed, folding his arms and pouting. “Neither of us can talk shit about ourselves.”

The twinkle in his eyes was enough for Tim to know he got through to him.

— - —

Tim leaned up against a fence in the Wild West, shifting uncomfortably in his dust coated clothes. Danny was perched beside him, smugly radiating a cool breeze that may very well have been the only thing keeping Tim upright in the summer sun.

“There’s too much sunlight here, it’s unnatural.”

“That’s just your Gothamite showing, city-boy.”

“Fuck off.”

Danny’s laughter had become a staple of the past few days spent traveling through history. In turn, Tim found himself happier than he’d been in ages, making sarcastic comments about anything that caught his eye in an attempt to get Danny to laugh more.

So far, he’d yet to fail to bring at least a smile to the other’s face.

Right now they were in the late 19th century, following rumors that Bruce had somehow crossed paths with Vandal Savage again. It was bordering on ridiculous, and a part of Tim wondered if this was why the legendary criminal stayed well away from Gotham waters. He was going to have to ask Bruce what was up with that after this whole mess was over.

“So,” Danny started, leaning closer to him. “Have any plans for when we’re back in modern day?”

Tim shrugged, “I see a lengthy report to Batman, hours spent explaining everything he missed while he was gone. I swear I’ll be up all week helping him catch up.”

A snort. “I meant about Robin. No offense, but you looked miserable in your new costume.”

He paused. He hadn’t quite processed the knowledge that bringing Bruce back wouldn’t also bring back his role as Robin. It was obvious whenever he actually thought about it, but to him Bruce coming home was still synonymous to going back to how things were before he was lost in time.

“I don’t know…Red Robin was just supposed to be temporary. It was one of Red Hood’s old aliases, not really mine.”

Danny turned to him. “Do you want a new one? If you decide now, we can lay the basis for some local legend to act as future inspiration for the new title.”

Tim elbowed him, “We aren’t messing with the timeline to establish lore for my new identity.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! I did it back in my original world, there’s ancient frescos of me winning chariot races and everything.”

“How are you and Clockwork still on speaking terms?”

“Oh, he totally finds it as funny as I do. He just has to pretend to be serious all the time so the Observants don’t crack down on him for shirking his duties.”

“You’re a bad influence on the embodiment of time,” Tim concluded with wide eyes.

A wide grin stretched across Danny’s face as he lied through his teeth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“How did you even—he’s millennia older than you!”

“Counterparts, remember? It’s not a soul bond, but it’s easy to see ourselves in each other. Besides, time is relative; he's like a weird grandpa-uncle-cousin.”

Tim shook his head, but couldn’t quite force down the laughter in his lungs.

“Hey, I know for a fact I’m not the only bad influence here. No matter how much you claim that sleep is for the dead, I’m physical proof against that.”

“Whatever. You know when the next jump is?”

Danny tilted his head, as if listening for something only meant for his ears. “If Bats already came through here, there’s only two big timesinks left he could be in. Either sometime in the 20th century, or in a designated Vanishing Point.”

“Vanishing Point?”

“Yeah, it’s something of a collaboration between the Observants, Clockwork, and Ghost Writer. Each universe has an archive set right around its eventual heat death. It’s like an empty room in a video game with props the devs left in to keep the system running after inadvertently designing the whole code in reference to a lemon.”

“I…never mind. Why would Batman be there?”

“Oh, ‘cause he’s traveling through time without one of these,” Danny tapped Tim’s chest, right where his Time Medallion lay under his shirt. “They’re designed to safely disperse the energy gained each time we make a jump, among other things. Otherwise we’d just be building up enough to wipe the timeline from existence. Or something like that, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Tim suddenly realized that this was what his former teammates meant when they complained about him executing strategies without explaining his thought process first. He still stood by his stance that it was more effective to explain things as they happened, but he was developing a new sense of empathy for them.

“Okay. Batman is a time-charged universe level bomb threat, and is getting funneled into the Backrooms so he blows up with everything else in existence. What can we do to stop that?”

Danny blinked. “Sorry, I thought it was obvious. I already carry a medallion with me wherever I go, so I was just gonna have you put the spare Clocky gave me on him to filter it out.”

Yep. This was karma for never giving people the full story behind any of his plans.

“I’m going to need you to go over everything we need to do when we get to this Vanishing Point. Twice.”

“Okie doke! So I’m gonna leave you with my spare medallion to help Bats while I throw down with Darkseid’s hyper-dimensional mind slave he sent after him to ensure his demise—”

Gift baskets. Tim owed so many people gift baskets for putting up with his bullshit.

— - —

When Tim found him, Danny was perched on the same apartment building they’d last met on.

His hood was down, freeing his flaming white hair to burn without heat in the night. His face was turned towards the sky, looking for all like he was somehow stargazing in spite of the thick smog that blanketed the city. It would’ve made for a stunning picture, if not for how soul crushingly lonely the scene felt.

Danny startled when Tim’s grappling hook latched onto the rooftop beside him. The halfa was quick to brighten upon seeing Tim down below, scooting over to make room for him as he reeled in the line and pulled himself up.

“Fancy meeting you here, Detective.”

Tim huffed, readjusting his utility belt. “The others won’t stop pestering me about how Batman was brought back when I shouldn’t have access to any time travel devices. It’s a miracle I was even able to get out of the Batcave without getting smothered.”

“You didn’t tell them about me?”

“You didn’t want them to know.”

Danny looked stunned. He physically shook himself out of it, a glowing green blush rising to his cheeks as he turned away. “Thanks.”

Tim absentmindedly nodded as he smoothly slipped a black marker from his belt while Danny was distracted. This had the potential to either go very smoothly or backfire completely, but it had to be done to sate his curiosity. Now that Bruce was home and he’d gotten the time to think over their conversations, pieces had started to align in his head. It was just a matter of taking the leap and confirming it for himself.

Reaching up to his own cheek, Tim wrote in practiced motions, focusing on the thought of sending it through to whoever was on the other side.

Danny jumped, hand slapping to his own cheek as he whipped his head around to stare at Tim in open shock. He shrugged sheepishly.

“Your description of soulmates was familiar. Between that and the cloak, I really should’ve put it together sooner.”

“You’re…not mad?”

Tim shifted, stashing the marker back in its rightful place. “I wish I knew sooner. I never meant to hurt you—Batman was getting on my case about the writing on my arms being recognizable in costume, and I never thought to wonder why it was happening in the first place.”

Danny shook his head, a wet chuckle escaping his lips. “You couldn’t have known. It would’ve freaked anyone out, getting messages from a different universe on their skin.”

“Neither did you. Know, I mean. Me blocking the connection was never on you.”

“Well…”

“I mean it.”

“Fine, fine. So…does that mean…?”

Tim carefully reached out his hands to grasp onto his soulmate’s, intertwining their fingers. It was remarkable how easily they fit together. “I don’t know if it’s romantic or not, but I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”

Danny collapsed forward into Tim’s arms. He could hardly make out the muffled affirmative, but the message was crystal clear. Leaning down to set his chin on the top of Danny’s head, he let himself savor this moment.

Tomorrow, he could beg Danny to experiment with the extent of their bond. They could talk about new ideas for his hero name, and Danny could get another shot at convincing him to go on a worldwide anti-multi-billionaire tour. The two of them had potentially forever to work out this newfound aspect of their relationship.

For the time being, Tim relaxed back against a chain link fence with his soulmate in his arms, the word ‘BOO’ scribbled in black marker across both their faces.

— - —

And that's a wrap! There's definitely room for more, but these were the all the scenes I wanted to cover ^-^

I think in this universe, Danny and Tim end up working as a slightly morally grey hero duo. They go global for a bit, Tim wanting to train under more people to better keep up with Danny (who follows along invisibly as backup). This eventually gets the attention of Ra's, and you can imagine how that goes XD

They're a bit overly attached; neither of them really have a healthy sense of boundaries, which causes a bit of conflict here and there. Tim is the one that insists on taking breaks to avoid becoming too codependent, which only really results in them deepening the soul bond to a ridiculous degree. Ironically it's during this that Tim discovers how he can send pressure marks through to Danny, who immediately converts it to morse code (oops).

Thanks for reading!

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@skulld3mort-1fan @profoundsoulsong @daemonlogical @bobred18 @ashoutinthedarkness @hilariousseagoat @undead-essence @ekatkit @wolfjackle @awkwardmaiden @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff

#dp x dc fanfic #danny phantom #tim drake #red robin #brain dead #rejected soulmate au #danny x tim #my fic #complete #gonna be honest I planned to stop at part I #but it felt incomplete so I threw together a bunch of scenes I wanted to see between them #pacing is for people with time

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