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joelsdagger · 3 months

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let it flow | frankie morales x f!reader

read on ao3

pairing: sub!frankie x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 4.4k (i think something possessed me bc this was originally 1k lmao) summary: you start a new form of birth control which has many side effects but frankie takes advantage of one side effect in particular. warnings: canon divergent, established relationship (reader and frankie are married), sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, body worship, pet names, nipple play, mommy kink, lactation kink, mutual masturbation , praise kink, pre-ejaculation, overstimulation, cumplay, cum eating, fluff. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader. um i think that’s it? *scratches neck* disclaimer: this is literally for shits and giggles bc a friend and i were talking about sub!frankie having a lactation kink, but we weren’t feeling the whole pregnancy trope so i found a loophole hehe. after extensive research, i found that certain types of birth control that include progestin *can* increase lactation as well as breast enlargement and tenderness, so i tweaked this specifically for the purpose of this fic. i don’t study medicine so some of this isn’t 100% accurate so if anything is wrong just remember this is just for horny fun and i changed some things to fit what i was going for. if this piece is not for you, that’s cool, obviously not everyone is gonna be into the same stuff but please just move along and let everyone else enjoy the fun.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my first fic i was so incredibly nervous about it but yall have been so so kind. technically, i told myself i would post this friday for frankie friday, but the longer shit stays in my drafts the more i start to hate it and the urge to scrape everything grows too strong lol. this one is for kat and lyss who gave me this idea and then we screamed about it til 1am. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo and @papurgaatika for beta’ing and literally always saving me bc i can never read my fics from start to finish so they always come thru during the editing process. and shout out to my pinterest QUEEN, @aurasjournal, for helping me with the visuals. thanks for reading i hope you like it <3 super cute divider by @saradika

You’re staring back at yourself in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, assessing your breasts, they’re full, heavy and they ache. This is the fourth day in a row of feeling the consequences of your new birth control and the pain has only gotten worse. “The shit we do….fuckin’ birth control,” you mumble under your breath.

You had switched to a different form of birth control earlier in the week, the IUD route wasn’t working out so well for you. For starters, the pain of getting the IUD implanted was unbelievably excruciating and on top of that, you had ParaGard (the copper IUD) implanted which didn’t have hormones so you were still getting your period. Your periods were heavy and painful and you have been seeking an alternative solution to stop them completely. At your last visit with your gynecologist, you both agreed to switch you over to taking birth control pills.

Your physician had informed you that the pill form was a progestin-only contraceptive that would decrease the bleeding during your menstrual cycle or possibly get rid of it completely if you skipped the placebo pills on the last week of your pack. There was one not-so-tiny problem, you were not told that being on the pill would make your tits swell and you sure as hell didn’t know the damn pill would make you lactate.

Earlier today you practically sobbed to your doctor on the phone.

“Doc, sorry to be blunt but my tits fucking hurt,” you cry, tears welling up in your eyes. At this point, the pain had become unbearable.

“That’s pretty normal hun, it’s a common side effect for some women. As I told you on Monday, the use of a hormonal birth control that contains progestin can increase the likelihood of producing breast milk even if you aren’t pregnant. It’s your hormones adjusting to the pill and it’s going to take your body three to four months to adjust,” your doctor explained.

‘Wait three to four months,” you shout, "Doc, you didn’t mention anything about that. What the hell am I supposed to do?” you ask rashly.

Your doctor hesitates, “Well, we could go back to the copper IUD but then-”

“Then, I’d get my period yeah absolutely not,” you frantically cut her off.

“We could book you to come back in and try another route but I’m booked until the end of the month,” she suggests.

“Of course you are, you’re like the only nice physician in the office, everyone wants to see you,” you laugh bitterly.

“There is something else that may help until we can see you in the office...many women have said that it helps,” she says.

You cross an arm around your chest, wincing slightly as your arm presses tightly against your chest, before dropping your arm back down at your side, “Okay…what is it?”

“You could massage them or have your husband stimulate your nipples,” she says nonchalantly.

“Stimulate my nipples?” you hesitate, your eyes widening at her suggestion.

“Yes, have him use his fingers or-”

“You’re not serious?”

Your doctor chuckles at your curiosity, “Yes, nipple stimulation and other sensual activities, can trigger and release the hormone, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the love hormone. Once oxytocin is triggered, your hormone levels are boosted and then it increases arousal and stress relief. Once it's released into the bloodstream, it helps alleviate breast tenderness and breast pain as well assisting with the flow of breast milk so yes, it’ll help.” she says pointedly.

You stare ahead, wide eyed and mouth agape. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

“Look honey, many women have come in and told me directly that it helps, believe it or not, it even helps induce labor, but that’s beside the point, many women have been in your position and they have reported that it works. So at least try this out, and see how it makes you feel, just until we can get you an appointment and have you come in and then we can try something else. Alright?” she asks.

“Yeah alright, thanks again Doc,” you huff, your hand rubs at your temple before dragging it down your face.

“No problem hun, keep me updated through the portal,” she says.

“Will do,” you hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch.

That was six hours ago and now you’re standing in your bathroom as you wait for the bathtub to fill up. You read online that heat therapy could reduce some of the pain. While your husband was at work, you sprawled yourself out across the couch with a heating pad on your chest. It managed to ease the pain for a bit until the set timer turned the heating pad off and the second you stood up, the pain worsened again.

To be honest, you’re a little embarrassed to bring it up to Frankie. It's not like Frankie won’t want to do it, he’d be very interested but what the hell are you supposed to say to him. Hey honey, my tits hurt and they’re leaking breast milk. Can you play with them a little so they feel better? He loves to engage in a little titty appreciation but this is a whole different ball game. You really aren’t in the mood to have this conversation with Frankie tonight, unsure of how he would react and possibly causing a bigger issue.

You can hear the TV through the bathroom door, Frankie is watching some game. But when he hears you croak out in pain when you remove your bra, hands clutching at your swollen breasts, he moves lightning fast towards the bathroom door.

“Querida, are you alright in there?” he asks through the door, his hand wrapped around the door handle.

You bite down on your lip, sighing before you finally bite the bullet and admit what’s going on. You crack open the door just enough so he can hear you better.

“It’s-,” You let out another exhausted sigh as you rub your temple, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Remember, a few days ago, I went to my gynecologist and we decided to switch birth control methods?” He nods, eyes full of concern.

“The pills are making my hormones go crazy and they’re making my tits swell and well…” you pull the door open to gesture towards your breasts. “I’m like a fucking pregnant woman but without the damn pregnancy,” you grumble.

You immediately clock the worry on his face but Frankie can’t help the fact that he is practically salivating when he looks down at your tits. You notice his jaw slacken, his lips part as he takes in the curve of your breasts, they have grown a noticeable difference in size. You hear him inhale sharply when his stare drops to your nipples, dark and swollen.

Suddenly feeling a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, you bring a hand up to cover your breasts, he inhales once again before speaking, yet you speak before he does, “It’s fine, apparently a bath will help, and I’ve got the water running. I’ll be out in a few minutes babe,” you press, a tight smile on your face.

You see it all over his face, he wants to help but he doesn’t know how. His big, deep brown eyes filled with worry. “Okay baby, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything,” he says quietly, eyebrows still raised. You can sense the uneasiness in his body language but he doesn’t press the subject.

You thank him and shut the door, hearing him step back towards the bed. You slip off your panties and toss them into the hamper, then step into the hot water, sighing as you dip beneath the water.

After a few short minutes, you slowly bring your hands up to cup your breasts, experimentally kneading them. You press your hands more firmly and you bite down on your lip as you try to muffle a quiet moan. Huh. It does help. You continue toying with them until the water is no longer warm and your fingers become pruny.

Dragging yourself out of the water and stepping out of the tub, you pull the plug out, the water spinning through the drain. Leisurely, you dry yourself off, pull a thin white tank top over your head, and drag a clean pair of blue lace panties over your legs.

As you open the door to let the steam out of the bathroom, you grab your fuzzy robe from the hook behind the door, wrap it around your damp body, and head into the bedroom to catch the rest of the game with your husband.

Yet, to your surprise, you find the TV off and instead see Frankie sitting up in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and the other holding his phone as he squints at the screen.

You chuckle as you walk over to your nightstand. “Thought you were supposed to be wearing your glasses?” You tease, your lips forming into a smile.

“I look dorky with ‘em, ‘sides I don’t need them right now,” he mimics your tone and turns his head to watch as you pump some of your cocoa butter body lotion into your hand and work it into your skin.

“So, I did some googling,” he starts, a sly smirk creeping up onto his face as he continues, “It said…messaging them and sucking on them would help.” His eyes are still on the bare parts of your damp skin, completely enamored by how your skin looks in the dim light of your bedroom.

You tense, hands freezing, streaks of lotion yet to be fully rubbed into your skin, “Baby, that’s ridiculous,” you laugh him off.

“No, I’m serious look,” Frankie sits up and moves across the bed, holding out his phone for you to read the article he was studying beforehand.

“I don’t know about this Frankie,” you shake your head, frowning while you avert your eyes from his.

“Come here,” smirking devilishly as he brings his hands up to your arms, pulling you towards the bed.

“Frankie–” you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

He tilts his head up to look up at you with those big brown eyes that you often find difficult turning down. “Trust me,” his hands rubbing up and down your arms soothingly.

“You know I do, Frankie, the hell did I marry you for,” you tease, you sneak your hands behind his neck and interlock your fingers as you lean down and press a soft kiss to his head.

“Then c’mere, let me help,” he whispers and it sounds more like a plea. He’s pulling you down onto the bed, guiding you to sit up against the pillows. His hands find your robe, untying the knot in the soft belt across your waist. You lean forward slightly while he pulls your robe off slowly, his eyes watching your face, searching for any indication to stop but he doesn’t find any.

He tosses the robe behind him on the bed as he leans down over you, nudging your legs open as he settles himself between your legs. He brings his hands back up to the thin material of your tank top, cupping your tender breasts in his large hands.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, fuck–, so pretty baby,” he babbles lowly, goosebumps erupt on your skin, even after years of being married to him he still knows exactly what to say to make you feel so desirable.

He gently squeezes your breasts, his thumb sweeps over your nipple back and forth, you whine softly as your hands find his hair, burying your fingers in his curls. It hurts but it’s pleasurable, the pressure he’s using feels better than what you were doing earlier in the bath.

Frankie pinches your covered nipples between his rough fingers, hardening under his touch, you hiss when he tweaks them tightly, Frankie pauses, his eyes meet yours for a moment, “it’s okay–feels good, keep going,” you whisper to him.

He brings his mouth down to one of your nipples and sucks it through the material with his other hand still fondling your other nipple. “Fuck– that feels good Frankie,” you moan, he whimpers lowly and feels his cock twitch in his boxers. Your eyes roll back in your head, your mouth falls open and he hollows his cheeks, sucking harder around your nipple.

His mouth lets go of your breast, you look down to see the wet patch that formed over your peaked-covered nipple before he hastily pulls the tank top over your head, tossing it onto the floor, Frankie lets out a shameless groan when his eyes hungrily lock on your bare chest like a missile to a target.

He leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your breast. You feel the warmth of his breath over your breast, a tingling sensation sneaks down your body. His hot mouth closes around your pebbled nipple.

“Shit, Frankie,” you arch further into his mouth, and he moans and his tongue flicks up against your peaked nipple, and then he bites down softly, his eyes open, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Frankie feels a slight warm gush fill his mouth, his eyes slip closed, whimpering around the bud.

You tug on Frankie’s hair, pulling his mouth away from you, your stomach twisting at his reaction when he feels the gush of liquid filling his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen-”

“Baby, hey, it’s okay. I was just surprised-”

“No I know, it’s just gross,” you frown, feeling the pang of embarrassment in your belly.

“It’s not–it’s not gross. I–I liked it,” Frankie says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask softly.

He laughs lightly and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth then another just below your jaw. His beard scraping along your skin as he places wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, all the way down past your collarbones until he reaches the valley of your breasts once again.

“Relax baby, I got ya,” he whispers against your skin.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your head falls back against the headboard, and your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, petting at his long brown curls. He ducks down to bring his mouth to your nipple, he parts his lips around the bud, his tongue circling around the bud a few times, licking at your nipple, he closes his lips and sucks softly before tugging it between his teeth, he hums around it, making you grasp at the sheets beneath you, a low ache building in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s it baby boy,” you say softly, petting his hair. You open your eyes when you feel him press his cock against your leg, his cock stirring in his boxers at your praise.

He’s loving this, loves the taste of you and loves how good he’s making you feel.

His hand palms your other breast, squeezing and kneading the meat of your tit, beads of milk collecting at the peak. He takes your nipple in between his calloused fingers and pinches it harder between his index and middle finger, the milk pours out from the bud down his hand and onto his forearm.

Frankie feels the warm liquid on his arm, his mouth letting go of your breast, his pupils full of lust never leaving your face as he lifts his left hand up and licks a long slow, thick stripe from his forearm up his hand. Your mouth falls open and your chest heaves at the sight.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby,” he groans, his eyes closing at the taste of you. His cock twitches against your leg, now painfully hard in his boxers.

He dips his head back down and licks up the milk leaking down your torso up to your nipple. He moans once his hot mouth latches around the stiff peak and his tongue swirls around it. He laps up the warm white liquid he’s sucking out of your breast. “There you go baby, just like that,” you sigh, closing your eyes and your head falls back against the headboard.

One of his knees perches onto your leg, he grinds his cock against the meat of your thigh, he moans deeply, his fingers digging into the flesh of your breasts. “So, needy for me huh, baby boy,” you tut, gripping firmly onto his soft curls.

He whines quietly, and unbeknownst to Frankie, he starts rutting his hard length against your leg in slow, shallow thrusts, you feel a rumble of a moan in his throat around your nipple. At the sudden movement, your head snaps up to see your husband getting himself off against your body, his teeth sinking into your breast.

You’ve never seen him like this before, he’s insatiable and relentless and it makes your pussy pulse and clench around nothing.

“Ohhh that’s it– good boy Frankie,” you moan breathlessly, feeling him suck harder on your breast with a deep groan.

You grab at Frankie’s hair again, your hand combs his hair back while tugging at his hair, gently pulling his head back and he whines loudly when you pull his mouth away from your breast. You catch a glistening sheen on his lips when you direct his head to your other breast.

Your eyes meet his dark, blown out pupils as your thumb rubs his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. You thumb the bottom of his plump, soft lip, wiping the milk off of his mouth. Your thumb slips between his lips and you whisper, “Who’s my good boy?”

He shivers beneath your touch, “I am,” he murmurs softly, his head resting down on your chest once again. Your hand cradles his head and you move your hand down along his head to cup his face.

You watch your husband’s eyes shut as he closes his mouth around your nipple and continues suckling from your breast, “Fuck– Frankie, keep going,” you pant into his hair, your hands still toying with his curls, eliciting another whine from him.

He shifts and begins fucking himself into the mattress once again, seeking any type of friction possible.

Watching your husband getting himself off to your body sends a sharp, hot spark of arousal down your spine straight to your core, your pussy throbbing and your panties now wet and sticky with your slick.

You smirk and bring your lips down to his ear, whispering the word that you know lights a fire within him. “You’re making mommy feel so good baby,” and Frankie whimpers, his mouth swallowing your breast whole, his hips grinding down faster into the mattress.

“That’s it, baby, atta boy, such a good boy for mommy,” you coo into his ear. Frankie lets out a high-pitched whine, his hips stuttering and groaning when he feels himself spilling out all over the inside of his boxers. Your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at him, realizing he just came simply from putting his mouth on you.

His hips shudder, occasionally jerking erratically, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he hisses from overstimulation, you continue whispering praises into his ears.

While his mouth works on relieving your breast you take matters into your own hands, bringing your fingers down to your neglected cunt. You press your fingers into your covered slit, feeling the wetness of your pussy through the material before pushing your panties to the side. You move your fingers to your throbbing clit, circling eagerly while his tongue swirls over your nipple.

He bites down on the bud a little more harshly, feeling another gush of warm liquid in his mouth, “tastes so good mi corozòn,” he whimpers against your breast, closing his eyes while his teeth nip at the wet bud.

Feeling a cooling wetness from his eyes seeping onto your breast, you briefly look down to find tears stinging his eyes from the pleasure, the teeth marks on your nipples, your skin all wet and red from his mouth.

He continues sucking at your breast, licking up the sweet taste of you into his mouth and moaning around your nipple, savoring the taste.

You slip your fingers into your wet heat with a moan. “So good, Frankie, ohhh– you’re doing so well for mommy,” you gasp out while grinding your hips up into your own hand. He whimpers, his cock twitches, throbbing lightly against the mattress, he’s getting hard just from hearing that word once again.

Your other hand roughly tugs on Frankie’s soft locks, pushing his head further into you, swallowing more of your breast into his mouth.

Frankie was too far gone to notice, but you realize he’s grinding himself into the bed once again, still moaning and whimpering into your tender flesh. You thrust your fingers into your pussy, timing them to Frankie’s thrusts into the bed, the wet squelch from your fingers thrusting in and out obscenely echoes in your bedroom.

“That’s perfect, Frankie— don– don’t stop…shit. I’m so close–” You curl your fingers inside yourself, petting at the spongy spot deep inside while his teeth nip and lick and suck at your tit.

You shout Frankie’s name as your back arches off the bed, legs shaking around Frankie’s body when your orgasm finally sweeps over you.

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, moving fast to sit up and back on his knees, his hands making quick work of pulling off his underwear. His cock bobs up against the soft swell of his stomach. He hisses when he wraps a large hand around the girth and he thumbs the wide blunt of his tip smearing the beads of pearly white dribbling out from the slit.

Your tongue pokes out, licking your bottom lip before biting down on the flesh. Your hands massage your breasts, your fingers pinching your erect, sensitive nipples under Frankie’s fucked out gaze.

Desperately, he fists his cock over your figure. “Come, baby. Be a good boy and come for mommy,” you order him while staring into his eyes, dark and dilated, his mouth hanging open as he strokes his cock.

Your low voice and your words are all he needs to bring him over the edge. The thrusting of his hips gets more erratic as he jacks his cock tighter in his hand and increases the pace, the wet, lewd slap from his strokes gets louder, his whimpers and pants filling the otherwise quiet room.

“There you go, atta boy, give it to me Frankie, let it out," you encourage him softly.

Your eyes watch the muscles in his soft belly tighten and his thighs tensing up, his moans growing louder and louder and louder, his eyes roll back into his head, “Fuck– mami,” a long drawn out, agonizing groan slipping past his lips, you watch as his cock twitches in his hand, his hips stammer as long, thick, warm ropes of cum paint your stomach.

“That’s it baby, just like that, you did so good. So good Frankie,” you murmur. He opens his eyes and looks back down at you, still catching his breath while he watches the last of his cum spill onto your swollen breasts, he groans seeing the marks he’s left on your skin. Your tits are covered in splotches of red and teeth marks from his mouth, his come and the milk from your breasts leaking down your chest and onto your stomach.

His hair is a mess, his pupils are blown out, he looks completely in a haze, utterly fucked out. You smirk up at him and click your tongue, “You made such a mess on mommy, Frankie.”

His cheeks warm, the redness creeping down his neck and chest, he’s embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he mumbles, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

You move your fingers down your stomach, gathering his cum onto your fingers, “Don’t get shy on me now, come here my love,” your other hand reaches for him.

He crawls up towards your side, you slip a coated finger into your mouth and you close your eyes and hum. Frankie curses quietly to himself, seeing your pearly-covered finger slipping into your mouth and back out devoid of sheen.

You bring a finger up to his mouth, your fingertip pressing against his lips, “open,” you order. You take advantage of his jaw slackening, sticking your glossy finger into his mouth and his lips close around your digit. You feel his tongue flatten underneath your finger then swirls it around your finger as he sucks it clean, he closes his eyes, his brows furrow, and he moans at the salty taste.

“See, I keep telling you, you taste good, sweetheart,” you smile down at him, tucking a single brown lock behind his ear.

“You did so good for me baby, made me feel so good,” you tell him while holding his patchy-bearded face. He chuckles timidly before pressing his lips to yours, licking behind your teeth, tasting himself in your mouth and mumbles a faint I love you against your lips.

Frankie pecks your lips again before sitting up and walking over to the bathroom. You hear him flick the light on and the tap turning on and off while your eyes drift shut. You feel the warm wet rag dragging across your tummy and your tits, and then down between your folds as he cleans you up with tenderness.

You open your eyes again when you hear him pad off towards the bathroom once more, watching him toss the washcloth back in the bathroom before he tucks himself into your side and nuzzles his face into the valley of your breasts, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin.

Frankie’s low voice breaks the comfortable silence, “Next time it hurts, you tell me cariño, ‘m more than happy to do that again,” he says shyly, feeling the smile on his face against your chest.

You fail to suppress your giggle, “Yeah, you enjoyed yourself didn’t you, sweet boy?” Your fingers run through his long soft brown curls, your fingertips grazing down his neck, a hint of sweat at the end of his hair along the back of his neck.

“Mhm,” he hums, and you grin into his hair, pressing your lips to his messy curls, your eyelids heavy with sleep. He feels your fingers still, Frankie tilts his head to look up at you, “Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re not done mi vida, I still need to make you come again.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #sub!frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #noelle's workshop

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 6 days

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 6

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note:

Just a heads-up that the next part of this series will offer two reading options due to sensitive topics in the upcoming section. There will be the original post titled "Keep Moving Forwards, Part 7" with the unedited content, and another version titled "Keep Moving Forwards, Part 7, Summary" that summarizes the material to avoid any discomfort.

For those who have asked to be tagged, you will be automatically tagged in the summarized part to ensure no one accidentally encounters content they might find triggering or uncomfortable. If you are tagged and wish to read the original, please visit my main page when the next part is posted tomorrow at 12:00 PM EST. The two options will be posted simultaneously.

Thank you for your support and understanding. I'll see you tomorrow.

This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Days blurred together as you continued to heal. Azriel made himself scarce, sending Anthea to check on your progress and report back to him. However, he still ensured your meals were slightly more palatable than the standard fare of the training camp, often adding fruits or sweets when he could. Over the next two days, you shared your meals with Anthea, who only ever took a bite or two before refusing any more, despite your encouragement. Neither of you asked many questions, and your interactions remained brief. You no longer needed help turning over, but your body was still weak, limiting you to short walks across the room.

On your first attempt to walk, you collapsed, and Azriel appeared like a shadow to help you up. You quickly pushed him away, determined to maintain your independence. You also began hiding knives under the mattress and storing non-perishable food in the bedside drawers, preparing for the day you could leave. Your stash included two apples, a pear, and some rolls. Not much, but it was a start.

By the fourth day, you had enough strength to get out of bed and look out the window. The camp outside was a bleak sight. You could see distant mountain ranges, but the camp was nestled in a clearing deep in the woods, a space likely carved out by the Illyrians. The thought of ancient trees felled, sent crashing into the mud for this camp turned your stomach.

The camp itself was a muddy mess. To your right and left, you saw other log cabin-like structures similar to the one you were in, each with pointed roofs and a few windows. Below, the ground sloped down to rows of small, mud-splattered tents on wooden platforms. Footprints crisscrossed the muddy ground, and soldiers moved up and down the hills. In the center of the tent village was a larger log structure, which seemed to be the mess hall, where soldiers gathered at mealtimes.

Scattered among the tents were slightly larger tents, likely for higher-ranking soldiers, and raised platforms with canopies, tables, and chairs, their purpose unclear. On the edges of the camp were fenced-in pens where soldiers, each with their hulking wings, practiced sword fighting. They took great pleasure in knocking each other into the mud and continuing their fights with fists, resembling wild animals.

A particularly ostentatious Illyrian soldier often removed his shirt during fights, choosing to battle bare-chested, swinging his sword with reckless abandon. You half-wondered if only the strongest survived because they were killed before they could even make it to battle.

You noticed very few females around, and the ones you did see were in the same state as Anthea—battered, seemingly brutalized, and sneaking between rows of tents. They quickly retreated to hiding spaces or even into the woods at the sight of a group of males. Over the next few days, you watched Anthea tread a careful path from the mess hall to your cabin, ducking behind tents and listening intently for male footsteps before scurrying like a mouse to the next sheltered area. Every female seemed fearful of the soldiers, and it wasn’t hard to piece together why.

It rained incessantly here, with daily torrential downpours turning the meadow into a muddy quagmire. Despite the rain, the soldiers carried on with their training. Many ventured into the treeline in groups, disappearing for most of the day or night and returning either exhausted or invigorated. You never saw anyone without wings coming or going from the camp, making you acutely aware that you might be the only non-winged creature among them.

Once Anthea decided you had spent enough time wrapped in bandages, she brought you new clothes. She apologized for the fit, noting that they only had sizes for males, and these were the smallest options available. While they hung from your body and required extra rope to keep the pants up, you were grateful for the offer. Azriel continued to flit in and out at random times. In your time spent at the window, you often saw him leaving early in the morning, wandering into the tented area, and entering the larger tents. He rarely interacted with the soldiers, maintaining his role as Spymaster, keeper of the High Lord’s secrets.

On the seventh day, Anthea brought your breakfast and wished you a good morning as she set it down on the bed. You remained curled up by the window, but as she dropped the tray, you called over your shoulder, “I think I would like to go.”

Anthea paused, turning to you. “Go where?” she inquired.

“Just go,” you replied, stretching your legs out and standing to investigate the meal. You picked up a piece of toast with purple jam smeared on it and met her eyes, which widened slightly at your request.

“I don’t understand. Where do you want to go?” she asked again.

You shook your head slightly. “Go away from here.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, picking at the scabs on her hands.

You chewed and swallowed the toast, the rhubarb and strawberry blend coating your tongue with its sour deliciousness. “Not sure yet. I just need to get moving. I can’t stay here anymore.”

Anthea looked at you, still utterly puzzled. “You... you can’t leave.”

You stopped chewing, placing the toast back on the plate and wiping the crumbs on your pants. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“No one leaves,” she stammered. “They always bring you back.”

A lump formed in your throat. It wasn’t that you couldn’t leave; Anthea just couldn’t imagine a world where anyone could. “You tried to leave?” you asked.

Anthea nodded, her gaze cast to the floor. She didn’t elaborate, just continued nodding.

“What happened?”

Anthea shook her head slightly, pressing her fingers into a wound that oozed around them. She didn’t speak.

“Did they hurt you?” you asked.

Anthea still didn’t speak, just shaking her head as she found a new scab to pick at.

“Anthea,” you said, reaching for her to stop her from scratching. She took two steps back immediately, running into the swords and axes poised at the edge of the fireplace, sending them clanging to the floor. Azriel appeared instantly as Anthea dropped to the floor, trying to pick up the weapons while apologizing profusely. He looked between Anthea and you, trying to piece together what had happened. Anthea continued apologizing until Azriel knelt beside her and began picking up the weapons too. She whispered her apologies again before Azriel placed his hands on her shoulders. She jumped slightly, and her eyes seemed to glaze over.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Nothing is wrong.”

Anthea nodded, tears filling her eyes as Azriel released her. She quickly stood, glanced at you with a tear rolling down her cheek, then briskly walked out of the room, covering her mouth with her hand. You turned to the window and watched her exit the house, heading into the nearby woods.

Azriel finished placing the weapons back in their spots before turning to you. “What happened?” he asked.

You watched the treeline for a second, and when Anthea didn’t reappear, you turned back towards him. “Nothing,” you said.

Azriel looked around the room, then back at you. “You’re standing.”

“Yes,” you replied.

“That’s,” he paused, stuttering slightly, “that’s good.”

You nodded before taking a few steps toward him. “I want to leave.”

A flash of emotion crossed Azriel’s face, but it was gone before you could read it. “Where are you going?” he asked.

You looked up at him, noting how he towered over you, forcing you to crane your neck to see his face. “It’s none of your concern.”

Azriel sighed, running his hand through his hair—a gesture you had begun to notice he did when nervous or uncomfortable.

“Look, I-” Azriel started.

You interrupted him, “I appreciate what you’ve done, and you’ve been very generous. I just think I need to move on.”

“If this is about what happened earlier-” Azriel started again, but you cut him off once more.

“It has nothing to do with that,” you noted. “I just want to be on my way and out of your hair.”

Azriel paused, searching for the right words. “Let me at least get you where you want to go,” he finally said. “It’s not like your journey was going well the last time.”

You scoffed lightly. “There’s no need for that.”

“Please,” Azriel insisted.

“If I say no, will you make me stay?” you asked.

Azriel paused. “No. I won’t make you stay.”

“Good,” you replied. “I want to leave then. Today.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. “No, that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Azriel glanced out the window as clouds began rolling in for the daily downpour. “It’s going to rain soon.”

You didn’t bother looking out the window. “Then I will leave after.”

Azriel looked back at you, his eyes pleading. “Can you just wait a few more days?”

“What am I waiting for?” you asked shortly.

“Just give me some time to plan.”

Your brows furrowed. “Given you aren’t coming with me, I don’t particularly understand what you need to plan for.”

“Just, please,” Azriel pleaded, his eyes filled with yearning. “Stay a few more days, and then you can leave.”

You ground your teeth, feeling like a caged animal. “Fine.” There was no way you could push past him, and it was clear he could outrun you if you tried.

“Thank you,” he said, his face relaxing slightly. He ran his hand over his face. “What happened with Anthea?” he asked again.

You stopped, annoyed he repeated the question. “I asked her if I could leave, and before she could answer, she accidentally knocked down the swords.” You pointed to the weapons now restacked.

“Got it,” Azriel responded. He glanced at your half-eaten breakfast. “Are you done with this?” he asked.

You nodded, crossing your arms, the bruise on your side causing a pang of pain.

Azriel picked up the tray and left, leaving you alone in the room once more. It was clear your request had bothered him as his anxiety left hard rock in your stomach. You wouldn’t be staying long, certainly not a few more days.

Authors Note: Thanks for all the continued support from the following readers who asked to be tagged!

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantasyreader28

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honeypiehotchner · 2 years

Text

Recompense (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

My suitemate made me write this /hj

Also talk about returning to Hotch fics with something completely out of left field 🤪🤪

Warnings: 18+ only pleaseeee y’all know the drill, slight sub!Hotch/dom!reader, light bondage, grinding, angst, MAYBE dubcon if you absolutely squint

WC: 2.1k

Hotch had been gone for weeks, which isn’t unusual, but still takes its toll. To combat it, you and Hotch have been planning a dinner for when he gets back.

“Should we go out or stay in?”

“Stay in,” Aaron said, exhaustion laced through his words. “I’m so tired of eating out.”

“I know you are, babe,” you murmured. As much as Hotch loves his junk food, he hates eating out so often. He misses your home cooked meals, homemade lunches. He misses running every morning, coming back to your sleepy eyes as you fix coffee for the both of you. “We’ll stay in. I’ll cook.”

“No, no, I’ll cook, you’ve been cooking a lot.”

“I actually haven’t,” you admitted sheepishly. “Cooking for one is hard and I’ve been too lazy anyway.”

“Honey…” He knows when you say ‘lazy,’ you really mean you’ve been missing him and it’s been getting to you. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I know you will.”

Every night he called, and every night a new facet of the date was planned. The menu, the table setting, the music.

If this hadn’t been the fourth case in a row that the BAU was called on, this feeling of missing him wouldn’t be as bad. But he barely had six hours of sleep before he was called out on the second one, and he didn’t even get to come home before the third. With the fourth one, he was home for a blissful twelve hours, but he was exhausted and slept for eight.

Needless to say, it’s been a while since the two of you have really seen one another.

The day that Hotch texts you that he’s coming home can’t come fast enough.

You haul yourself out of bed immediately, flipping lights on and throwing clothes over your body to get ready for the day. There’s a lot to be done, and you can’t wait to get started.

You have all day because it’s a long flight and they haven’t actually left yet, but still. There’s no time to waste.

+++

Hotch doesn’t know how time got so far away from him.

He texted with you when the jet landed, but you weren’t quite ready for him yet, so he went to the office with the rest of the team. His plan was to do paperwork for a few hours, then check back in with you.

Well, he worked for more than a few hours. And forgot to check in.

By the time he looks up, it’s well past the time when he was supposed to text you. It’s dark outside, for Christ’s sake.

He immediately calls you instead, but you send him straight to voicemail. He forgets all about the work he was doing and grabs his coat and keys.

He makes it home in less than half the normal time, but you’re not there. You’ve left a note on the counter, telling him you’ve gone for a drive to get a milkshake, and you don’t know what time you’ll feel like coming back.

He calls you again. Voicemail again.

This time, he leaves one for you. Telling you to come back -- begging, more like. His only hope is that it works, and that you’ll be walking through that door tonight.

+++

The sight before you makes your mouth water. And you hate it because you’re supposed to be angry, but you can’t be when your partner is sitting in front of you with his hands tied. Literally.

He took one of the chairs from the dining table and placed it in the middle of the living room. He’s out of his tie and has it tightened around his wrists, palms facing each other, fingers curled into fists.

“How did you even do that?” is the first question out of your mouth.

He chuckles. “You think I’d do something to you that I haven’t tried on myself?”

“Oh,” you squeak, but really, you’re thinking, that’s hot. “Right.”

You set your things down and lock the door behind you. You’re not sure exactly what to say. If you weren’t mad at him, you’d be on top of him right now. You’d be all over him. But you’re resisting, and you’re keeping your feet planted firmly here, by the front door.

“I’m sorry,” he says from his place in the living room.

“Is this your apology?” you deadpan, gesturing to his self-made predicament.

“Part of it,” he admits. “Do you want me to get up?”

You’re not sure what happened exactly to flip the switch, but something did.

You shake your head, lifting it to meet his eyes. “No. I’ll tell you when I want you to do something.”

He hears the shift too and he nods. “Yes ma’am.”

You like the sound of that.

With a heavy sigh, you cave.

Slowly, you strip your jacket from your shoulders. “Why weren’t you home on time?”

“I-I got caught up in paperwork--”

“We’ve talked about that, Aaron.”

“I know,” he replies, shameful.

“What should you have done?” you prompt him, hanging your jacket on the hook by the door. You spin around and cross your arms over your chest, waiting.

“I should’ve set an alarm,” he says. “Or three. To check in and keep myself aware of the time.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Why didn’t you?”

“I forgot.”

You click your tongue. “Not a good enough answer.”

“I know,” he says quietly, hanging his head.

His head remains hung in shame as you walk over toward him, toeing off your shoes by the couch. Aaron registers the noise, but doesn’t lift his head until you tell him to.

“Look at me,” you murmur, standing in front of him, but not touching him. His hands are mere centimeters from your legs where they rest on his knees. You see him tighten his fists and you know he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. “Lift your arms.”

Aaron does as he’s told, albeit confused. Until you sit down on his lap.

You face him, your breath caressing his lips. You reach up and guide his arms back down, looped around your neck.

“I would’ve had you tie them behind your back,” you comment, “but since you’re already like this, we’ll make do.”

He nods, looking into your eyes intently. It’s been so long since he’s kissed you. It’s torture for the both of you to have your faces this close, but not touching. It’s hurting you just as much as it is him, but you are determined to take your time.

You can feel him hardening beneath you, much quicker than you expected, but still it doesn’t surprise you. It’s been a while since the two of you have had sex, too. Not over the phone, at least.

You roll your hips, earning a low groan from the back of his throat. You smirk.

“I’m not sure what I want to do,” you muse, letting your fingers wander to the buttons on his shirt. You begin undoing them, one by one, while you speak. “I could take something that I’ve wanted for weeks. I could refuse to let you cum while I do it. Or,” you finish the last button and snake your cold hands over his warm, toned chest. “Or I could let you cum, on one condition.”

“What is it?” he asks quickly, already breathing hard. Between the way you’re sitting, straddling him, your scent, and your hands, he’s ready to burst. “I’ll do it.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” you chuckle. “It could be something you hate. Or not necessarily hate, but something you prefer not to do.”

At that moment, Aaron knows what you mean. And he doesn’t like it. But he also doesn’t like the alternative.

“Okay,” he says.

You grin. “Someone’s desperate.”

“You have no idea,” he replies.

“Believe me,” you snap. “I do.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry--”

“Be quiet,” you tell him, removing your hands from his chest, to instead work on removing your pants. “Lift your arms.”

He does, and you step back, stripping yourself of your pants and panties, kicking them away. He watches them wistfully, and you have to snap your fingers to bring his attention back to you.

You take your shirt off as well, loving the way his eyes darken when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. And knowing that he can’t touch you.

You straddle him once more, noticing his bulge has gotten considerably larger.

If there’s one thing Aaron hates, it’s cumming in his pants. Especially when he could be touching your skin.

It makes a mess, sure, but the mess is always the least of his worries. He has them dry cleaned regardless. But it’s the pain. The agony. Being confined when you’re right there, stripped naked for him -- for yourself, really, because you’re angry with him right now. None of this is for him. This is all for you.

You guide his arms back around your neck, wanting to feel them there as you begin rocking your hips. You feel his muscles flex, the physical sign of his internal strife.

You’re sensitive on most days, but it’s especially bad when you haven’t felt him in a while. Just the feel of his dress pants against your core sends sparks through your entire body. Not to mention when you clit brushes against his belt.

You can’t stand it anymore, so you kiss him, hot and heavy, moaning into his mouth. He stretches his arms straight out, desperate for some relief. You pull him toward you by the back of his neck, your nails scraping his scalp.

His tongue easily finds yours and takes control. You let him, at least in this aspect, knowing he’s dying for it. You like it when he does, anyway, so this is an easy concession.

Your first climax comes soon, but it isn’t enough, so you don’t stop.

Without needing to be asked, Aaron goes for your neck, sucking and biting as you ride out your high. You keep his lips there, pressing your hand on the back of his neck. When the pressure is a little too hard, you hear him groan, and that’s enough to make you wild.

His hips jerk every now and again, the movement difficult on its own with the way he’s sitting and the way you’re grinding against him.

“I know you’re fighting it,” you murmur against his ear, sending chills down his arms. “You’re going to give in.”

The truth is, it is harder for him to climax when he’s constrained, but at the same time, he is fighting it right now. He hates that you noticed, that you know him well enough to catch it, but he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. You know him as if he is you. And the same goes for the way he knows you.

“Come on,” you press, lifting his head from your neck to look him in his eyes. Your lips brush against his as you say, “I want to hear you.”

He closes the gap between your lips with a fierce growl. The sound alone sends a wave of heat over your body, like molten lava poured overtop of you. You spread your legs wider, chasing your next climax, noticing for the first time how wet you’ve made the fabric of his pants. Or maybe some of it is from him, too.

“Let go,” you demand, lowering your hands to rake your nails over his chest. He shudders at the movement, his head falling onto your shoulder. His moans are broken, almost sobs. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You reach down and rub your clit, desperate to reach your climax at the same time as Aaron. Your sounds drive him over the edge.

He tenses, cries. His hips jerk in sync with yours, and you feel him twitch beneath you -- a harsh movement for you to be able to feel it through the layers.

You drive your hips down toward his, already cumming when he finally breaks, and climaxes with a shout. It lasts much longer than normal, purely because of how constricted his movements are.

“That’s it,” you murmur, pressing your chest against his, relishing in the sweet pleasure of your simultaneous highs. “That’s it, baby.”

He rests his head on your shoulder, his chest heaving.

“Are you okay?” you ask, chuckling a little when he nods.

“I’m great, I’m— Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Here, let me.”

“No, I got it,” Aaron flexes his wrists and the tie comes off, falling to the ground.

Your eyes widen. “That’s hot.”

“Really?” he laughs, smoothing his hands down your arms.

“Oh yeah,” you nod, holding his face. He’s still hard beneath you. “Continue in the bedroom?”

His only response is standing up, with you in his arms, carrying you down the hall for more ‘apologies’.

#aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader smut #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch fanfic #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch x fem!reader smut #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner angst #hotch angst

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youaremyhome · 2 years

Text

Pieces of the Night: Blackhole Horizon

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk.

Notes: 3k words. Ya'll i've been struggling to write only because i have so many ideas for this fic and can't control myself lol disclaimer: I know nothing of marketing/business majors

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

It was easy to get access of your class schedule. Easier to switch to your class with just a smile and a last name.

The shock on your face was downright adorable the first day. He should’ve known you were the type of person to sit in the second row, a seat conveniently open beside you. By the time you recovered, the professor addressed the room, forcing you to stay put. You bolted right out of your seat once the lecture was over, giving Rafe no time to corner you. And he’s realized it was a problem to get you alone. Anywhere you went, you had friends. Whether it was new acquaintances or your roommates, you were frequently being escorted like the princess you were. Luckily for him, you knew no one in your shared class.

So, imagine his surprise come next lecture, you've completely moved seats to the back row. He pegged you as someone that followed societal rules, like the silent one in college where you usually don’t move your seat from the first lessons. It wasn’t a bother to him, he simply slipped into the seat next to you. Thus, the game of musical chairs began.

Wherever you went, Rafe followed. No matter if you came in last minute (he had an open seat ready for you since it was a full class) or if you came in early (he made it a habit to come in twenty minutes before start time), Rafe was sitting next to you by the time the professor was lecturing.

On Wednesday of the third week, Rafe comes strolling in, ready to play another round of this fun game. Except, you’re in the same seat from Monday in the fourth row. He can’t contain his victorious grin. Puffing up his chest, he eases his way into the plastic chair. Blue eyes flicking over the multitude of different pens you have at the ready, notebook open to a fresh page and there’s still five minutes to go.

“Good afternoon,” Rafe says your name pleasantly. Maybe if he goes with a softer approach today, you’ll reply. “Do you have an extra pen I can borrow?”

You have the spinning chair angled away from him as he watches your shoulders rise and then deflate down with a hard exhale. He bites at his inner check, simultaneously loving and hating how clearly you ignore him, how you get under his skin so quickly with little to no effort. He swears if you weren’t in this class, he would just skip it half the time.

The older professor drones on in a deep and gruff voice, Rafe paying more attention to the little loops of your e’s and a’s as you note take. Toward the end of the lecture, the old man makes an announcement.

“Alright. Turn to the person next to you and make a list of ethical and unethical marketing strategies in any field. That could be retail, medical, real estate, whatever. You have twenty minutes.”

You pivot in your chair to the right, away from Rafe but he snatches at your armrest and pulls. Chairs bump together with a muted clunk. Those pretty, long lashes frame your wide eyes perfectly, a tiny hiccup bubbling at your throat.

“You’re my partner,” He grumbles lowly.

Students sat close by turn their heads and watch the small commotion, a growing interest that’s been spreading in the lecture hall the last week or so. Rafe doesn’t give a shit, a possessiveness he’s only felt with you worming at his chest. His focus stays steady as you wilt under his gaze, a soft, okay, leaving your pink lips.

Pleased, he lets go and maneuvers his foot underneath the pegs, hooking his ankle to keep you rooted there. Your knee bumps with his as you shift around, flinching back and shifting again. It's cute how nervous you are. Delicate fingers clicking the pen multiple times before drawing a line down the middle of your paper, marking an ethical and unethical side.

“Let’s start with the unethical. You should be good at that, right?” You ask with honey on your tongue.

“Yeah, angel, we can start with that.” Rafe rakes his eyes over the outfit you have on today. Jeans that mold your ass and a cropped sweater that edges up as you lean over to write. “How about distraction?”

Beginning to write the line of the d, you stop. Eyebrows creased with a twisting lip as you keep your eyes down. “Like spam ads in social media?”

Rafe hums in agreement. Waits until you're done writing to add, “Ignorance.” Without questioning him this time, you press the pen to paper. Leaning in, he pretends to look at the paper when he breathes out, “Teasing me in those jeans.”

You reel back, those beautiful eyes full of fire and directly on him. You don’t miss a beat. “Forcible consumption.”

He grunts out a laugh. “Doesn’t matter when the customer is so satisfied.”

“Inappropriate, false claims,” Your voice squeaks with the amount of willpower it takes for you not to scream at him.

“Go on a date with me.” Though he outlines the way your lips shape words, his voice overlaps yours towards the end. Rafe drops his elbows to his knees, invading more of your space. A slick smile forms as heat rushes south from the expressive fear rippling on your face.

“No.” Your voice drops a notch, clipped and final as you scoot back. Long fingers curl on the bottom edge of the seat and slide you close, his right thigh slotting between yours.

“You know I only like hearing that when my dick’s in you.”

The sharp inhale accentuates the lines of your throat, and chest heaving up and Rafe wants to experience all your gasps and sounds when you’re completely naked. Memorize all the tics you have from responding to his touch, his mere presence.

Dr. Thomas breaks the tension as his voice rings out. “Once you’re done you can turn it in and go. Have a good day.”

Rafe snatches the paper before you can and flourishes your names up in the corner. Standing and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he looks down his nose at you.

“Friday. Seven sharp.” With your frozen posture, it looks like you're invisibly tied to the chair. The mental image of you at his mercy has his dick pressing at the zipper. “Don’t be late, baby.”

Rafe ensures his voice is loud enough for the onlooking sorority girls to hear, letting the rumor mill take care of the rest. By the end of the week, everyone will know you’re off-limits. Even if you aren’t aware of it.

With a bounce in his step, Rafe turns in your work together. With only one side filled in.

🌙

When Friday evening arrives, Rafe is walking up your apartment steps right at 6:58pm. Pushing the buzzer, he adjusts his shoulders as he clears his throat. He waits for another moment before he presses the buzzer again, longer this time.

Pulling out his phone, he texts you. I’m here.

Cracking his neck to release growing tension, Rafe waits awhile more. Having expected your reluctance. He could give you time. Demonstrate how he could be patient, reasonable, kind even The past interactions with you perhaps weren’t ideal but each time you had managed to catch him off guard and derail his thoughts or plans. This time he’ll be better, he can be understanding and be good. Wants to spend time with you, pick inside of that witty mind of yours before he bends you over the closest flat surface.

His phone vibrates. I’m not.

Rage surges up his chest. “Fuck!”

Rafe spins and punches the brick wall. A welcome pain zinging up his hand to his foreman, another grunt as blood smears his knuckles. Jogging down the short stairs, he steps off to the side into an alleyway. With stiff fingers, he produces a small baggie from his pocket.

Coming into the date, being fully sober was a top priority. Not an ounce of smoke, powder, or drink had entered his bloodstream today. He wanted to be emersed in your presence, knew if he found the right spot inside that stubborn head of yours, he could be high on you alone. Now, he tilts the bag onto the juncture of his thumb and forefinger, cocaine building into a tiny lump. Sniffing sharply, he lets out a loud breath as the bitterness sticks to the back of his throat.

Scouring through social media, rage bubbles in his blood when none of your friends have posted anything, no pictures of you which means he has no idea where you are. Taking off down the street, the best course of action is to scope out the closest bars.

Only, you’re nowhere to be found. And after hours of looking for you and getting kicked out of a bar, he returns home with an odd sense of betrayal inside him.

From Friday night to Sunday morning, Rafe binges. Alcohol, weed, coke, girls, anything he can get his hands on or nose in. It masks the stinging rejection that flurries down his bones, raging with the music and causing fights. He lets out all those self-destructive impulses he struggles to hold in, and lets them have free rein throughout the weekend. Tells himself he’ll be better come Monday. For himself, for his dad. For you.

It's a struggle to wake up early Monday morning. But he’s determined to steer you towards his path once more, show you how easy or hard he can be, depending on how you play. This is a game of cat and mouse, of fish and hook. He intends to win.

Oh, but do you play dirty.

Early to lecture, Rafe reclines back in his seat as he fiddles with a pen that he’s stolen from you before. With the toxic anger seeped out of him from the weekend, he’s momentarily stunned to see you waltz in with his grey zip-up on. Lust and anger war in him the longer he stares at you. The zip-up is baggy on your frame, black leggings complete the comfy vibe you have going on. Damn you for doing the bare minimum and still getting a reaction out of his cock that twitches with delight from the thought of you covered in his scent. It doesn’t matter if no one else knows that’s his sweater, the sight makes him want to worship and devastate you all at once.

Your nose is turned up to him as you primly sit, not a glance at him. Rafe takes it with stride, only taking peaks at you from the corner of his eye. He mirrors your attitude and shows no regard for you, no brushing of hands or teasing whispers. And it’s so goddamn funny how you pick up on this, on him ignoring you that for the first time, you glance at him. If he knew ignoring you would’ve gotten your attention, he would’ve done it long ago.

He keeps a straight face, feigning interest in what Professor Thomas is lecturing as he feels the nervous energy wafting off you. Clocking the bouncing of your leg, the touching of your face, and curtaining your hair to hide the side of your face. He’s never been one to recognize emotions well, a feature of his mechanism he’s detested since childhood. With you though, it’s like reading a language he’s never heard or seen before but it’s instinctual, the want to learn. The sense that it was created just for him.

When the professor declares class over, he feels your hesitation. Like you're anticipating him to say something, to look at you. Casually, he puts his blank notebook away as you finally get up and begin your quick escape until you’re stopped. Not by him this time.

The professor waves you over to the desk, calling out your last name. Rafe watches as you skip in your steps with nerves as you head over. The exchange is too quiet to hear, the line of your mouth steadily curving down the longer you stand there. After a small nod from you, you exit the room. With languid steps, he follows, keeping enough distance so you don’t catch him.

Dr. Thomas’s office resides in the building across the courtyard, third floor, conveniently tucked in a corner and by the stairs. Blunt teeth graze at his cuticles as he flattens his back against the wall, listening to your conversation from the cracked door. He’s a bit late due to taking the stairs.

“…From a reliable and respected source. I do take this very seriously.”

“B-but I haven’t!” There’s a panicked edge to your tone. “Sir, I would never plagiarize on my work. And I have no record of it –”

“Yes, well there is a first time for everything.”

“Sir, I swear on it. I would never cheat or steal someone’s work.”

“Be that as it may, I am going to let you off with a warning. Only one. Should there be a next time, I, unfortunately, must inform the dean and have him handle it from there.” A sigh from the professor. “I do have to say, I see how bright of a student you are and would hate for this to be a dark mark on your academics. This could affect your academic career, and your scholarships if you have any. Be wise in your decision-making.”

Your voice is wobbly. “Yes, sir.”

Rafe slips through the stairs door when he hears shuffling. His heart picking up speed since the confrontation, an odd weight in his stomach as he imagines your face at the news. Someone had reported you for plagiarizing your recent paper.

He didn’t realize how much of a hard-ass Dr. Thomas was and wonders if he should’ve chosen a different professor of yours.

Propped up against the brick wall, he fidgets with his gold ring. Twisting it this way and that around his finger. A couple more moments later and you’re coming out the same doors he did not long ago. Your momentum from pushing the door open generates a breeze through your hair and oh, how he wishes to bury himself in those tangles.

“Where were you?”

You whirl around on the spot, startled with a small yelp. Once you register its Rafe, the center of your face scrunches up. You open your mouth for a moment, and it seems like you change your words at the last moment. “I don’t have time to deal with you. I have bigger problems.”

Rotating on your heel, you make it two steps before he’s calling out again. “Maybe, I can help with those problems.” His steps are quiet as he slinks up behind you. “I am a very…respectable person, ya know.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

This time, Rafe’s ready for your hand when you raise it. Fingers squeeze around your fragile wrist, pulling your body close. Baring your teeth like a feral cat, your neck angled back as you struggle to gain space.

“You.” You seethe. “It was you. I should’ve fucking known.” Your other hand hits his shoulder, Rafe’s hand snapping up to restrain it. Grinding your teeth, a closed mouth squeal lets out. Fumbling with your squirming limbs, Rafe drags you to a thick oak tree. It’s only when strands of hair are sticking to your face that he sees the tears cascading down. Your voice cracks as you ask, “Why?”

A pang hits the middle of his chest, offering up his own sneer to you. Your mascara is clumping with your fat tears, your eyes reddening and still, you look so pretty. Bringing up both hands encased with your wrists, a thumb swipes the apple of your cheek catching the hot liquid on his skin, letting it soak into him.

“You know why,” Rafe answers softly.

A distressed whine climbs up your throat. “Rafe, please, just stop this – whatever it is. I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“Let me make it clear then.” Softening his hands, he strokes at your damp skin. “You. Just you.”

You scoff. “I’m not just going to be with you, Rafe. You’ve hurt me, you’ve r-” you inhale. “You’ve hurt me, a lot.”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Do you know how crazy you sound? Like a freaking maniac!” You divert your attention across the courtyard. “Couldn’t you find any willing girls to get your dick wet?”

“I have.” Rafe deadpans. “Yours is just the best I’ve had. And I always get the best of what I want.”

Your shoulders slump, the tone of your voice strained yet comes out strong. “I’m not going to roll over and be your bitch to use. I don’t have to do anything for you.”

“You sure about that?” Rafe can’t help but smile, it’s not his fault that you make him laugh and his cock hard. “Cause I’m pretty sure that my dad plays golf with the dean once a month. Be such a shame for a smart mind like yours to go to waste.” Eyes glossy with your lower lip wobbling, he tuts at the fresh flood of waterworks. “You just had to make it so difficult for yourself, angel. Twisted my hand right up.”

Contrary to what you must believe, he didn’t want to go down this road with you. Wanted to give you some resemble of a choice in this. He hadn’t expected you to not care about his potential exploit of your nude photo or the bravado you showed the next day after his midnight delight. Everything you do is so unexpected for such an unassuming girl. This was the natural next step to take.

He can practically hear the gears turning behind your forehead. Quiet with shallow breaths, nose beginning to drip as well. Rafe works on his patience as you come to terms with all of this, and begins to softly rock you, wanting to soothe that wrinkled line by your eyebrow.

Abruptly, you’re burrowing your head into his chest. Weeping into his shirt, soaking it with tears and snot. Your fists gather up the fabric, pulling and pushing but you’re not struggling, only letting out emotion. Smiling, he wraps his arms around you comfortingly. This cry was different, (he gets excited knowing he could already categorize your cries), this was a grieving cry as you surrender.

He hushes you gently as you mumble. “I hate you.”

Rafe doesn’t bother responding to that. Dipping his head down to the shell of your ear. Lips grazing the thin skin. “You ready for that date now?”

#rafe cameron fics #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #smut #fanfiction #outer banks #obx #dark fic #series #outer banks fic #outer banks smut #dark!rafe cameron

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omelu · 7 days

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The Class Ever After

So for a long time (since about 2018ish) I’ve had this kind of EAH story idea floating around in my head. Basically it’s about the class directly under Apple and Raven (aka the first-years) and how they handle the whole aftermath of Legacy Day and the destiny conflict. Pretty much all of the eah ocs I’ve made fit into this idea, and while I don’t really have a plot per say, I have lots of scenes, concepts and ideas floating around in my head (and in my computer).

I found a draft I had written that was supposed to be a “beginning” to the story and I revised it. I don’t know if I’ll extend this to an actual fic (since I have a lot of other original projects I want to be writing right now), but maybe I’ll write down some of the concepts and scenes I have.

The Class Ever After (snippet; ~1700 words)

Legacy Day was, by far, the biggest event at Ever After High. Thronecoming, Spring Fairest, and even Graduation Day were just breadcrumbs in comparison. That was fitting, since Legacy Day was so vital to the survival of Ever After. Every year, Ever After High’s second-years donned their ceremonial outfits, climbed the steps to the podium, and pledged to follow their fairy-tale destiny to the world by signing their names into the magical Storybook of Legends.

Without Legacy Day, fairy tales would stop being told.

Without Legacy Day, Ever After would go extinct.

Without Legacy Day, everyone would go poof.

And that’s how Marshal Nottingham found himself teetering on the edge of his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the second-years lined up on the terrace. He’d never been to a Legacy Day ceremony before, and so he felt that it was his duty to study it all as closely as possible. The grand, book-shaped podium glittered in the moonlight, tall and regal. Above it, half a dozen mirrors magically floated in the air like jewels on a crown, prepared to broadcast each student’s face to the audience as they made the most important pledge of their lives.

All around him, students buzzed with conversation. Third and fourth-years leaned back in their seats, reminiscing about their own Legacy Days. Faculty members congregated in their designated section, deep in hushed, frantic conversation. Second-years lined up in the hall, pacing anxiously or straightening their parent's outfits. First-years, like Marshal, watched anxiously to see what would happen.

“I should’ve brought my MirrorPad,” he muttered. “It would be much easier to take notes.”

In the seat next to him, Owlen von Rothbart yawned. “Oh, give it a rest. It’s not like you’re going to forget how to sign a book next year.”

Next year. Marshal looked up at the podium, dark eyes glittering. In just three hundred and sixty-five days, it would finally be his turn.

“One year!’ Marshal shook his head. “That’s barely any time to prepare! Do you know how quickly a year passes by if you’re not paying attention?”

Owlen just shrugged and flicked his mahogany bangs out of his eyes.

Marshal sighed. Normally, he got along well with Owlen. When he’d met his new roommate just a few weeks ago, on the first day of school, he knew that they’d be friends. Both boys were destined for villainy, and more importantly (at least to Marshal), both of them cared about keeping their shared room clean. They had so much in common that sometimes Marshal was taken aback by their differences. He just couldn’t fathom how casual Owlen was when it came to preparing for his destiny. But whenever Marshal brought it up, Owlen brushed him off and changed the subject. Which he was doing again now.

“Are they going to start soon?” he asked, craning his neck to see if Headmaster Grimm had gotten up yet. “I want to get some more barre practice in before curfew.”

Marshal sighed. Sometimes, he felt like the only one who took his destiny seriously.

“Hey, Marshal!” Bella Donna Gothel and Amber Fox stood in the aisle, waving at him. “Can we sit by you guys?”

“Of course!”

Bella and Amber slipped into the row, brushing nonexistent dust off of their formal clothes. Bella had dressed in a purple witch gown adorned with thorns, while Amber had opted for an orange pantsuit with a foxtail hem. Her bright red hair had been swept up in a ponytail, putting her fox ears on full display.

Marshal and Owlen had met the two girls in their General Villainy class, and together, the four of them had formed a coalition of sorts. Bella was the daughter of Rapunzel’s princess-napping witch, and Amber was the daughter of the fox who had tried to eat Coach Gingerbreadman once upon a time. With Owlen, the son of the sorcerer who had cursed the Swan Princess, and Marshal, the son of the sheriff who chased after Robin Hood, they made up the FVEAs– Future Villains of Ever After.

Marshal liked hanging out with the three of them. They understood what it was like to have a villain for a parent. They knew what it was like to have other kids run away from them, to be scolded for being polite, and to live with the hexpectation of being ruthless at all times. Being a villain kid was tough, but Marshal knew he could handle it with these three at his side.

“Ooh, don’t look now, but–” Amber elbowed Owlen in the ribs and stealthily motioned to the aisle.

Laura Stahlbaum, the daughter of Clara, glided down the aisle, shimmering in her red and white dress. She was holding hands with a short boy made of wood. Nathan Nutcracker. The two were laughing about something, looking every bit like the picturesque fairytale couple they would become one day.

Owlen’s face went pink and he slid down in his seat.

“You should say something to her,” Bella gently urged.

Marshal frowned. He didn’t understand why Bella and Amber kept feeding into Owlen’s crush on Laura. He wasn’t her destined prince. In Marshal’s mind, he should just forget about Laura and focus more on mastering evil spells.

“Absolutely not.” Owlen slid down further as they came closer. “You know she’s with Nathan Nutcracker.”

Marshal swelled with pride. Owlen was staying strong in his destiny!

“Hi Owlen!” Laura called, waving daintily at him as she passed their row.

Owlen sat up quickly, fixing his feathered bow tie and blushing madly. “H-hey…”

Marshal deflated. Or maybe not. Even if Laura and Nathan’s story didn’t technically end in a fairytale wedding, Owlen still had no part in their destinies. Why was Marshal the only one who saw that?

The fairy lights dimmed as Headmaster Grimm took to the podium. A hush fell over the crowd. Marshal sat at attention.

“Today is a momentous day,” he began, his voice deep and regal. “Today, we will witness the very magic that allows the world of Ever After– and our lives– to exist.” He shifted to face the second-years, who had lined up on the podium stairs as he had spoken. “By fulfilling your destinies, you ensure that stories continue to be told. You ensure that we all have a future. No part is too small or insignificant. You each have a part to play, a duty to fulfill. I urge you not to take this responsibility lightly.”

Marshal straightened his spine. Even though Headmaster Grimm was speaking to the second-years, he could feel the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders. He wished he could be one of the students lined up by the podium, but he only had a year to wait. One year before his destiny began. Yes, he would grow to be despised and hated, but he would be fulfilling his duty to the world. He would have a purpose.

Headmaster Grimm finished his speech to thunderous applause and stepped back, letting the second-years into the spotlight. Marshal watched intently as a girl carved of wood took the stage and announced herself as Cedar Wood, destined to be the next Pinocchio. He gasped when the key magically appeared and the Storybook of Legends flipped to life. Though he couldn’t see the book, he could see the story playing out in the girl’s eyes. The slight changes in her expression as she saw her whole life play out in front of her. Marshal longed to be in her place.

When she signed, the crowd erupted into cheers.

“Go Cedar!” Nathan Nutcracker cheered, leaping onto his seat.

“Sit down, you scratching post!” Cato en Boots hissed, his ginger ears flicking in annoyance. “Some of us are trying to watch!”

Sheepishly, Nathan plopped back down and the ceremony continued. Marshal watched it all with wide eyes, trying to commit each pledge to memory. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Owlen take out his MirrorPhone and start lazily scrolling through MyChapter. He frowned. Shouldn’t he be paying attention? His focus shifted to the rest of his friends. Amber looked at her long, sharp nails, and yawned. Bella was quietly using her magic on a patch of clover growing through the terrace tiles, letting it wrap around her chair leg.

Marshal’s spirit sank. Once again, he was the only one who cared. Suddenly he felt alone, like he was stranded on a little island with all the passing ships too far away to call out to.

He was distracted from his internal woes when Apple White took the stage. The daughter of Snow White was a legend amongst Ever After High’s students, a person that everyone admired and looked up to, including upperclassmen. She was everything any future fairytale should aspire to be.

She delivered the pledge perfectly, grinning so widely that she could have been mistaken for the daughter of the Cheshire Cat. When she signed the book, the crowd erupted into its loudest and most raucous cheers yet. Someone started tossing confetti in the air, and a few royals tossed their crowns with it. Apple White was the ultimate celebration of destiny.

The celebration died almost instantly when Raven Queen took the stage. Lightning crackled behind her. Marshal sat a little straighter. She was the first future villain to take the stage. Next to him, his friends abandoned their distractions, staring up at the future Evil Queen with wide eyes. Hope stirred in Marshal’s chest. Maybe they cared after all.

He watched with bated breath as Raven nervously stumbled through the pledge. Her key appeared, and the Storybook of Legends flipped open. Raven watched her destiny unfold with a frown. The hope in Marshal’s chest stirred and became something uncomfortable, settling like a pit in his stomach.

The quill appeared, and Raven reached for it– and then hesitated. Stopped. Suddenly, she pulled her hand back, squared her shoulders, and looked directly into the audience.

“I am Raven Queen,” she announced, her voice powerful and bold. “And I’m going to write my own destiny. My Happily Ever After starts now!”

She slammed the Storybook of Legends shut. Above her head, the projection mirrors shattered and exploded, along with Marshal’s hopes for his future.

Next to him, his friends cheered.

#ever after high #eah #eah ocs #my writing #snippet #eah fanfic #i haven't posted my writing anywhere for a long time so i'm a little nervous #especially since this is a revised version of an older piece #but if people enjoy this i can maybe flesh it out a bit #redesigning one of my old ocs sent me down a rabbit hole lol

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stormflower8 · 9 months

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south asian!ballister part three!

it's times like these where I can't help but feel a little bad for people who have little to no interest in these headcanons, because this is my third day in a row posting these and I feel as though they may be clogging up the tags a little bit

oH WELL

speaking of, part one is here, and part two is here!

also, I saw someone asking if people can use these in their own headcanons or fics or art and YES, absolutely yes!! but if you do, please tag me (or whatever the equivalent of that is, I'm still very new to tumblr, this is like my fourth post) because I would love to see it!!

okay I ripped up tumblr to find this but this stream of headcanons is inspired by this post!

specifically this part "I find the idea of Nimona not being able to handle spicy food but loving it at the same time hilarious Especially considering the fact that they’re living with two Asian men and Asians don’t play about spice (I swear to this day my Mama burned both her and my tastebuds off) They try really hard to look tough and eat all the food they’re given But snot is running down their face and there are tears in their eyes and they need to take constant breaks Poor baby coughs when you add sriracha to their food Whereas Bal and Ambrosius are out here guzzling hot sauce like it’s water Nimona prays on their downfall while also begging the boys to teach them their ways"

credit to @a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual for the above segment

so, naturally, ballister and ambrosius have an incredibly high spice tolerance

back in their institute days, they would have little contests on who could intake the most spice without faltering

neither of them could consistently best the other, it was inconsistent results and basically was just a 50/50 situation

ambrosius is the kind of person to eat a ghost pepper straight and be like "oh that's kind of spicy" in the most casual but mildly interested voice ever. as if he's pleasantly surprised

pre-canon, ambrosius would have bal test the spice level of dishes, but post-canon, he realized that wasn't the best idea, so he gave the job to nimona instead

there's this south asian condiment called "achaar", and it's basically... okay I have no idea how to explain it but the wikipedia definition is South Asian pickles, also known as Avalehikā, Uppinakaayi, Pachadi, Loncha or Noncha, Achaar, Athāṇu or Athāṇo or Athāna, Khaṭāī or Khaṭāin, Sandhan or Sendhan or Sāṇdhāṇo, Kasundi, or oorugaai is a pickled food made from a variety of vegetables and fruits preserved in brine, vinegar, edible oils, and various South Asian spices.

it basically adds a sort of tangy spicy flavor to your food

and while that sounds kind of strange I swear it's good

actually I don't like achaar very much but I've heard from family members that it's good LMAO

anyways, ballister uses it religiously. he LOVES that shit

there is a jar of achaar on the table at all times

ambrosius doesn't like it and it's too spicy for nimona, but they get it anyways because of how much ballister likes it

speaking of food,

there are certain south asian foods that ballister really holds close to his heart

like, he got them at the orphanage, but never at the institute

so like, street foods

specifically pani puri (also called golgappa and probably more names) because it's my favorite

for those of you who don't know what that is, it literally translates to "water (pani) deep fried bread (puri)" but that is the worst explanation ever so just google it

ballister, obviously, can't cook anything except rice and chai (I mean, seriously, just look at him. he's banned from the kitchen), so he never learned to make any of those traditional south asian recipes he loves

one day, post-canon, ambrosius finds a place that specializes in pani puri and remembers ballister describing them to him pre-canon and decides to grab some

he brings them home and when he shows ballister, Ballister was silent for a moment, a tantalizing, tense moment that had Ambrosius all but holding his breath. His anxiety began rising as his gaze flickered from Ballister to his setup on the table and back again. Maybe I misread his reminiscence all those years ago, Ambrosius panicked internally. Oh god, maybe I completely misremembered it and he has no connection to this at all. Or, worse, I crossed a line I shouldn't have even approached. "Uh," Ambrosius managed an awkward chuckle. "I saw a place, and it reminded me of something you once said, and I thought it might be a good idea but I guess it wasn't and I probably shouldn't have led with 'I have a surprise you'll like' because that just sets up expectations and-" His rapid-fire speech was completely silenced when Ballister crossed the room in a few long strides, cupped Ambrosius's face in his hands, whispered "I love you so much." in a voice that sounded almost choked up, and kissed him.

anyways, south asian food, especially street food, holds an incredibly special place in his heart

this last one I'm kind of torn on my approach to it, but it still felt worth throwing in the pot

horrible pakistani dramas

god I hate them

so, there are two options here

option A, ballister hates them too

he can't stand them, he complains about them whenever they come up, if for whatever reason he has to watch one he'll rip apart the plot so much so that the writers would never recover if they heard him

or option B, ballister has a love/hate relationship with them

because let's be real, no one other than my thrice divorced aunt ACTUALLY likes them

now option B can go a number of different ways

maybe bal really hates the idea of them and hates the plot, but goddamnit it, they STILL get him stupidly invested in the plot to the point where he's yelling at all the characters in urdu and on the verge of ugly crying and going on an angry rant and just bundling himself up in a miserable blanket blob

or maybe he hates them in theory, but they're a guilty pleasure that he only really indulges in for the kind of entertainment where it's so bad it's entertaining

I honestly have no clue if ANY of those are in character, but I'm sure if I shoot either one of them or some combination of multiple, it'll be at least slightly accurate, right?

finally, two super short ones!

ballister has a rule against no shoes in the house

"oh, but he's seen wearing shoes in the house in the movie!" uh, yeah, in a dusty ass abandoned tower. only AFTER he had it all cleaned out and actually furnished (post-canon) did he (and ambrosius!) start taking off their shoes indoors

and

he sits down to eat or drink

even just a glass of water, he'll sit down for it

even if 'sitting down' entails sitting on a table

it's just a force of habit at this point

looking at my notes, that is actually everything I have written down! this means that these headcanons will probably cease now, as it might take me a while to come up with more.

we'll see though!

-Storm

#nimona 2023 #nimona #ballister boldheart #riz ahmed #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #south asian #desi #supposedly drinking water sitting down is good for you #but I'm not sure if that's right #don't quote me on that

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ankhmutes · 10 months

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Sinful Sunday

I guess this could be any Pedro Pascal character, I kept it generic enough that it could be pre-outbreak Joel, Javi, Frankie, or any modern character of Pedro's.

I’m trying something new. I can’t decide which pedro pascal character to use, so… I do have to thank @chaotic-mystery for inspiration, I saw a fic earlier by one of her mutuals Gracie and kind of ran with it.....

Sorry, no minors under the cut.

Warnings: semi-public sexual indecent act in a church (ish?) swearing, graphic mentions of sex I'm trying! I'm new at this warning thing...

It had been a long time since he had set foot into the building, but he had decided to try, just to make a good impression. He had gone for years wen he was younger, naturally, but he fell out of habit when he left home.

Now…

He was sitting in the fourth row, not quite front, but not too far into the center that he would stand out if he tried to leave. He kept shifting in his seat as he tried to get comfortable in the hard pews. The flimsy excuse they had for cushioning wasn’t cutting it, not after the long-ass night he had spent in your bed, and it was worth it. He had exhausted himself pleasuring you, spent hours eating you out and wringing orgasm after orgasm out of your destroyed pussy before slamming his hard hot dick into it making you cry his name over and over as he pulled several orgasms you didn’t know you had left in you.

His back was aching, and he smirked to himself as he remembered that move he had done, that had you gasping loud enough to scare the dog. He still managed to impress even himself, in his middle age, that he could make a young thing like you lust after him like he was something like that Daryl Dixon fellow from the Walking Dead show.

He felt a faint buzzing in his shirt pocket, he shifted as he grabbed his phone, feeling around for his non-existent reading glasses that he had left behind in his truck. He squinted, seeing your name flash on the screen-

My girlfriend💕

When had you changed it? It used to be your name, but you had gotten ahold of his phone and put in something with hearts on it and crap that he couldn’t figure out how to fix. He brushed his thumb up, opening the screen and he frowned. You were sending him fruit? Peaches?

🍑

Then it hit him. He remembered you trying to teach him about emojis. Peaches- they meant something but what? He racked his brain, trying to remember when the phone buzzed again, and his memory was suddenly and very thoroughly refreshed.

Ass.

More accurately, your ass framed by a gorgeous crotchless pair of panties, an butt plug in it,

Stretching myself nice and wide open for you

The one you had shown him last night, teasing him as you straddled him on the couch.

The phone vibrated again, and he could feel his dick hardening instantly, almost as if an Pavlovian response, anticipating more of your teasing.

“Are you okay? Is it an emergency?” your brother asked, leaning into his shoulder as he scrambled to slide the phone into a pocket.

“No- just a… busy day, lots of questions, because I’m gone.” he said, adding on some other excuse, his brother would buy it. He knew his brother would believe anything if it tied into work. It always worked, no one understood completely about work, but it was always a good excuse.

A moment later he reached for his phone, adjusting himself discreetly and fixing his belt. His thumb flicked again, and there you were.

Spread eagle on the coverlet, a delicate scrap of lace masquerading as a nightie- or was it shirt? He didn’t care, he was too focused on the nipples that lay underneath, adorned with – was it his tie? So that’s where his tie went, he thought to himself as his mouth went dry.

All Tied Up ...

Six buzzes later, he was painfully hard and trying not to jump out of his seat every time he felt a buzz.

It had gone from nudes, to close ups, to tiny, short videos.

Now it was video, with audio. He had mistakenly opened one, and your quiet moaning and whimpering his name as he listened to you come, your wet pussy audibly being toyed with had filled his ears. He had scrambled for his bluetooth thing, jamming it into his ear. He was glad that he had learned enough about bluetooth to know it was streaming directly in his ear, and he listened to every bit of that video - twice- while the phone laid in his breast pocket, right next to his beating heart.

“hot, mi hijo?” his mother asked, leaning forward as she looked at him with concern, patting his knee and starting to fuss over him slightly. “You’re so flushed, are you all right?”

“Y– yeah, Imma go pee, cool off for a sec.” he said with a nod as he fidgeted slightly, making sure his rock-hard dick was hidden behind a bible he had grabbed to walk down the aisle quickly, nodding his apologies as he left into the foyer, his eyes checking for the closest bathroom. He suddenly turned, choosing to ditch the bible and sliding outside into the parking lot, sprinting for his truck. Leaping into the truck and slamming the door quietly, he let out a long sigh.

Undoing his belt, his hands slid down as he tugged the zipper open.

A knock on the door made him scream.

You smirked at him, your eyes glinting with mischief.

“Miss me?”

"Motherfucker...”

You slid into his truck, scooting forward and shutting the door. You immediately slide down to the floor, your mouth moving up to cover his cock and take him in your mouth before he could even say your name.

His dick burned in your mouth, you could feel it pulsing with each beat of his heart. He was so rock hard, the cum starting to ooze out of the slit. Your tongue slid around it, tasting it delicately as your hand fondled his balls, and he let out a long sigh, a hand sliding down to brush your long hair out of your face, helping you set your rhythm.

You could feel him hold back, you knew all he wanted to do was ram your mouth down on his dick, and make you take all of him down your throat.

He was going to hell.

It didn’t take long, his other hand finding its way to your wet pussy, fingers sliding in and out of your slit around your thong under the flimsy excuse of a sundress you had been wearing. His rhythm sped up to match your own ministrations, the both of you working in tandem to bring yourselves to orgasm almost at the same moment.

“Fuck! Oh jesus. Fuck, what…” he gasped out, half afraid he was going to hell for coming in a church parking lot, the hot come shooting down your throat, you gulping down every drop as if your life depended on it. You had been thirsty for him all morning, and his come was like nectar of the gods, the heat warming your belly. Your orgasm hit you right after, his hands moving just right, hitting the right spot to make you see stars, your walls squeezing his fingers so tightly, he wasn’t sure he could feel his fingers.

“Oh god. We’re going to hell.” he said after a beat, half-laughing as he leaned back, catching his breath as you moved up from the bucket seat in the truck. “Baby, how did you find me?”

“Your phone.” you said with a laugh as you licked his come off your lips. You could see he would be hard again, just from the heated gaze you felt from his eyes on your lips.

The loud chattering and bells brought the both of you back to reality.

“Shitshitshitshit…” he muttered to himself as he tucked himself back in his jeans, did up his belt and shirt and became presentable again. He looked up, only to find you had disappeared. You were like a fucking ghost, but he didn’t care. He knew just where to find you later.

His phone buzzed one last time as he was walking back to the church to help his mother set up for the seniors potluck. You had no panties on, your pussy dripping wet. He gulped, sliding a hand in his pocket and finding your panties, soaked with your juices from your orgasm he had given you earlier. He blushed, digging his hand deep in his pocket, making sure it wouldn't accidentally come out.

He knew just where to find you, and that fucking potluck couldn’t end soon enough so he could get back to business. Or rather, back to the business he would much rather attend to, rather than socialize with his mother and her friends at a church potluck, but he did have the pictures and videos to keep him company…

Until he nearly choked on his own drool, when you sent that video of you in his shirt using a toy to pleasure yourself, coming so hard you squirted all over his bed.

“Ma. Go. Now.”

#ankhmutes writes something #pedro pascal smut #smutty fanfiction #joel miller x reader #javier pena x reader

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ladycatofwinterfell · 3 months

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Red roses

Summary: Catelyn receives roses from a secret admirer, prompting Ned to take up the challenge. The issue being that no one knows they’re dating yet

For the fourth year in a row I write Valentines fic <3 This is short and kinda silly, but I hope you’ll like it all the same!!

“Ned.”

He looked up from the coffeemaker to see that Catelyn had poked her head out from her office.

“Can I have a word?” she asked.

She was smiling, though something in her voice told him it was urgent. Still it could not be that urgent, they didn’t work in a particularly urgent field.

“I’ll be with you in a minute” Ned told her.

It looked like she wanted to argue, but in the end she just nodded and disappeared into her room without closing the door.

While Ned stood there and watched the coffeemaker as it painstakingly slowly filled the pot he wondered what it was she wanted. They had never spoken a lot at work when they weren’t sitting in the same meeting, and it grew even more rare after they began seeing each other outside of the office.

After what had been far longer than the promised minute he had joined her in her room with a mug of coffee in one hand.

“That might just be the slowest coffeemaker in the world, why can’t Robert just get a new one?” he said, more to himself than to her, as he pushed the door closed behind him. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“First of all I wanted to say thank you for the flowers, that’s very sweet” she began. “But then I also wanted to remind you we agreed on… discretion.”

Only then did he notice the vase with a bouquet of red roses that stood on the desk behind her. A beautiful bouquet, to be sure, but not his doing. If she had not bought them for themselves someone else was behind it.

“I didn’t give you the flowers.”

Catelyn smiled.

“You don’t have to pretend just because we said no affection at work.”

“I’m not, it really wasn’t me.”

Who was giving her flowers anonymously?

Catelyn’s smile faltered just a little.

“But there was a card” she said.

Everything grew more confusing with every words she said. Was the person behind the flowers also claiming to be him? Whatever was the reason for that?

“With my name on it?” he asked.

“No, but considering what it said I just assumed it was you.”

She turned around and took a small, pink card out from the bouquet, reading it again. When he reached to take it from her so he could read what it said himself she held it to her chest.

“Better not” she told him.

Then she crumpled up the delicate little card and threw it in the trash can sitting by the side of the desk.

What did it say? How bad could it be? And who was writing to her?

“I suppose I should throw away the roses too” she then said, turning back to him.

Ned couldn’t claim to be entirely happy about someone else sending her roses, but then who was he to make her throw them away? They hadn’t even put a label on it. And whoever had given her the flowers didn’t know about him.

“Keep them” he said. “Beautiful roses for a beautiful woman.”

The slight blush that crept up her cheeks was lovely. Ned had to suppress the urge to reach out and cup her face.

“I unfortunately can’t stand around in here all day, but I’ll see you tomorrow if not before then” he said instead.

“Great.”

Barely did he have time to open the door before she was speaking again.

“And also can you please start properly formatting your documents? Reading them is headache inducing.”

Ned didn’t answer to that. She had had the same complaint since they started working together, but no one else seemed to have an issue with it. Never before had he been so heavily criticised by a colleague, it was as if she wished to oppose him every chance she got. Not that he held back when he disagreed with her either.

“I might consider it if you ask nicely” he responded.

Not that she ever would.

On his way back to his own office he passed someone that was going in the other direction.

“Stark” Littlefinger said with a nod.

“Baelish.”

He didn’t nod in return, merely kept walking. Petyr Baelish’s presence in itself was hugely annoying, he wanted away from there as soon as possible.

Though after a few meters he stopped and looked over his shoulder. Littlefinger had indeed stopped by Catelyn’s office, he was leaning against the doorway in a very obnoxious way.

Of course it was him, they should have known immediately. It was no secret the bastard was interested in Catelyn, it had been obvious for a long time. But that he was not alone in, and Ned would rather die than be bested by Petyr Baelish.

~*~

Catelyn sighed when she entered her office and saw the heart shaped box that sat next to the vase of roses. She had figured out who the secret admirer was the moment Ned had left her, and decided to accept it. Petyr’s thing for her was childish, in a way. It would never happen. He was almost like a little brother.

She had wished for it to be Ned the moment she saw the roses. Even as they had agreed to keep it secret until the relationship was more… defined she had wanted Ned to be the one to give her roses. Instead Petyr had given her roses. And chocolate, it seemed. He had to know how she saw him, though he was a persistent one.

Petyr must have been encouraged by that she had kept the flowers. Perhaps it had been the wrong decision even as they were beautiful and Ned had encouraged her to keep them.

With a sigh she leaned against the desk and picked up the box. It was as red as the roses she had received the day before. And glittery at that. Flashy, one might say. She would have liked to throw it away just because, but she was weak for chocolate.

So against herself she opened the box and found a small card that was similarly shaped. When she picked up the card she expected to find writing similar to the previous day’s, but it was different. The handwriting was not the same, and the card was signed.

It only seems fair I also get a turn

Ned

He had also realised whom her secret admirer was, even as they had not talked about it. It was a secret admirer he did not like, at that. He never had and Catelyn could not understand why. There was nothing wrong with Petyr.

It was ridiculous of her to smile, still she did it. Before she truly knew him Ned had never struck her as the romantic type, though he was. She didn’t believe him to be consciously romantic, he just did certain things without thinking of it.

The chocolate was conscious, though. He was competing against Petyr. A stupid competition, he was well aware of that he had already won. He had to be. She liked his note better than the other one even as it had lacked a poem about how beautiful she was.

“More gifts from your secret admirer?”

Catelyn put aside the box before meeting Cersei’s eyes.

“So it would seem” she said, tearing the note in half.

She kept tearing the note until it would have been impossible to piece together what it had said. The pieces, just like Petyr’s card, went into the trash can. Though for an entirely different reason.

“Now would you look at the files I emailed you?”

Catelyn sighed. There was always an urgency with Cersei, she wasn’t awfully patient.

“I got here two minutes ago and my day doesn’t start for another eight” she told her. “I’m getting a cup of coffee.”

“You’re so fucking slow, how did you even get this job?”

She would look at the files once it was working hours. Before that she had a whole eight free minutes.

“You’re one to talk, this is the first time you’re on time in what? Two weeks? More?”

When she received no answer she just walked past Cersei.

No one had put on a pot yet, no one ever wanted to be the one to do it. They wanted coffee, but no one wanted to make the effort to brew the damn thing. She was almost always the one to do it in the morning.

While she was waiting for the highly volatile coffeemaker to start gurgling the few people who were there on time stuck their noses out from their rooms. The sound of the coffeemaker usually had that effect.

“You put on a full pot, right?” Jaime called.

How was both he and Cersei on time? That had never happened.

“Of course I did.”

What kind of question even was that?

Though a full pot meant it would take forever to be done. They all hated the coffeemaker, sometimes she believed that was the only thing that united them. Maybe that was why Robert downright refused to replace it.

Catelyn went back into the office to fetch her chocolates. She hadn’t had breakfast, the chocolate would have to do. It was something, at least.

While she was standing there with her gift and staring at everything but the suspicious stains on the grey carpet that covered the floor she was joined by Petyr. It was hard not to notice the way he eyed the box she was holding.

”Good morning” she said.

”Good morning” he replied.

He was good at pretending, apart from the initial looks at the box one might have not known how it bothered him. It felt almost mean.

”Did you get those on the way here?” he asked. “Strange breakfast, I mean.”

There was a choice there. She could say that yes, she had indeed treated herself to a box of chocolate on her way to work. She could also tell him that the person who had given her the flowers must have also given her the chocolate.

”It was on my desk when I came here. Do you want one?”

She held out the box towards him and after a moment’s hesitation he took one.

”Thank you.”

The gurgling from the coffeemaker died down and not a second passed before the others came to get their coffee. Ned was one of them.

~*~

Catelyn, ever the one to make coffee in the morning, had done it that morning too. And as so often before Littlefinger had been waiting for the pot to fill up with her. Ned couldn’t understand how the man wasn’t embarrassed with himself.

Before he could stop himself he walked over to them, stopping briefly to put a hand on Catelyn’s hip and kiss her cheek.

“Dinner plans still on?” he asked as he took a mug from the shelf.

He hadn’t heard of there being any reason for why they wouldn’t be one, but it was better to be certain, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t want any confusion regarding that.

“I’m looking forward to it” Catelyn said.

When he glanced at her while filling his mug he saw that her cheeks was a shade redder than usually and there was a smile playing on her lips.

“Lovely.”

He was aware of that she followed after him when he returned to his office, but didn’t stop until they were both in the room.

“Does this mean we’re official?”

His heart must have done a flip in his chest. At least it felt like that. He hadn’t considered the implications of what he had done, he had acted in the moment. He had seen Littlefinger and Catelyn and he had felt a strong need to do something about it.

Ned took a sip from his mug before he turned to look at her.

“If you want us to be” he heard himself say.

Time passed very slowly before she had given her answer.

“Then we are.”

It wasn’t harder than that. He had believed it would be, but it was easy. So very easy. He wondered how long it would have taken if Littlefinger had not given her those roses.

Catelyn was shining. Beautiful, really.

“Great.”

Immediately he regretted that. Who responded that way? Who said ‘great’ after making a relationship official? He, apparently.

“Thank you for the chocolate, by the way” Catelyn smiled. “I liked it.”

“I took a chance.”

And it seems he had hit some sort of jackpot.

#do not ask me why there’s so much focus on the coffeemaker. i do not know what happened there #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned stark #ned x cat #my fic

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jaime-brienne-fic-exchange · 9 months

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Author Reveals and Lil Oathkeepers

For the fourth FOURTH year in a row, we find ourselves at the end of a hectic and wonderful exchange, and it's all thanks to the people who make it possible: the readers and writers and behind the scenes support! This year we had 47 participants, which is incredible really.

Author identities have now been revealed, so glory in your victorious guesses or find a new favourite author at your leisure. The entire collection can be found HERE

Not ready for the party to end? There are several ways to extend the fun!

The Lil Oathkeeper 2023 collection is live! Lil’ Oathkeepers are bonus gifts inspired by prompts shared by consenting participants, and can be any size and shape. It can be art! A video edit! A moodboard! A fic shorter than 1000 words! Or… a fic longer than a 1000 words, but you probably know that. Anyone (you don’t even have to be signed up to the exchange) can make and gift a Lil’ Oathkeeper. The spreadsheet with all prompts is available HERE. Browse and be inspired. The LOK collection will remain open, so take all the time you need

Keep making and tagging me in rec lists!

In addition to reblogging those rec lists, next week I will be posting a round-up of all stories in the collection.

Comment, comment, comment! Us authors are a delicate lot, and a kind word or two can make our day.

Thank you all again, you make this exchange so much fun to run!

#jaime x brienne #braime #brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #jaime brienne fic exchange #asoiaf #game of thrones #jb fic

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krikeymate · 9 months

Note

There’s Blood In The Wine (fic title)

Christina Carpenter was trying her best.

That's what people would say.

She's trying her best.

Tara's always wondered what that means. If it meant they didn't deserve better, because their mother was trying. If this was fair, because their mother tried.

Tried to pick up the pieces of the shattered glass that she herself had thrown.

She's a single mother, they say, they excuse. Never mind that she's the one that drove her husband away. Oh but she's raising two problem children, one who never asked to be born sick and the other an angry teenager, a handful.

It's so hard, they say. It must be so hard, so taxing, to force one daughter to raise the other, to deal with a teen as angry as all the rest.

At 8 years old, Tara thought she understood her sister completely. Now, with each year that passes, she realises there was still so much more to learn. And she has learnt, because she gets so angry too.

Now, at 12, she thinks about the new excuses people will give her - raising two ungrateful children, bitter and resentful. How could she parent them? (She never even tried).

Christina doesn't come home most nights, but the nights she does, she'll sit herself down at the kitchen table and drink. And drink. And drink.

Those nights are the worst.

Those are the ones where Tara goes hungry, because reminding her mother that she exists only brings pain.

She always remembers anyway, hours later, stumbling up the stairs, banging on doors, dragging her from her bed for no reason other than she wants to scream at her, to remind her how she ruined her life.

She never does it when Sam is home. She never drinks as much when Sam's around.

But Sam's never here these days.

And Tara's alone.

Staring at her mother's back from the doorway.

She shouldn't have skipped lunch. She should have taken the sandwich Mindy had offered her.

This is the fourth night in a row that her mother has been home. The odds were against it. (Tara's never met a bet she had a chance of winning. She always bet Sam would be there for her, after all).

It takes her by surprise. She shouldn't have been surprised.

It has her knocking back against the wall with an audible thump. She thinks her heart must be just as loud as her mother turns to her.

"You," the woman says, sneer upon her face.

Tara doesn't remember what she used to look like. Maybe she always looked like that, and Tara was just too young to understand it. Maybe it's a special look, just for her.

"Come here."

She thinks about running. She's probably faster than her mother, she could make it upstairs, barricade the door. Mom'll probably forget about this all tomorrow, after another bottle of wine.

She finds herself standing before her mother anyway, eyes fixed to the ground. Cowering like a dog.

Maybe if she drops to the floor and rolls onto her back her mother will just call her pathetic and leave her alone after a few kicks.

"What're you doing here," her mother slurs out, poking her sharply in the shoulder.

"Schools finished," Tara mumbles. There's no right answer, she realises it the moment the words leave her mouth.

Christina stands, towering over her daughter. "Don't get smart with me," she growls, hand waving through the air, wine bottle still in its grip. "You think you can just-"

It skims too close to Tara's cheek. Her mouth becomes dry as her lungs fail her. All she can see is that bottle, the way it comes towards her.

She runs.

Another mistake.

(All she does is make mistakes. Maybe her mother's right, maybe she is-)

The bottle smashes into her back. She can feel the way it shatters against her jacket. The unexpected force has her falling, tripping over clumsy feet.

There are shards piercing her hands, her arms. She can see the way they glint in the light, the swell of blood dripping from two dozen entrance points, but she can't feel a thing.

There's only this burning in her chest and behind her eyes. Only run. She's numb. To the pain, to the fear, to her mother's words screamed after her.

But hey, she's trying her best.

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Tara Carpenter #my writing tag #fuck christina carpenter club #trigger warning -> child abuse #-5 year gap #fic title prompt

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hopetorun · 1 year

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“it’s almost just like how it was before” for the made-up fic title meme!

my first thought for this was actually leon goes to tampa futurefic but the @msmargaretmurry did this in a response for the same meme so i'm going to take this in a different direction.

our story starts in buffalo, new york, on june 24, 2016. draft day. auston matthew goes first overall to toronto, and patrik laine goes second overall to winnipeg. and then, instead of what actually happened that day, it goes the way people thought it would: jesse puljujarvi goes third, to columbus. and edmonton, picking fourth, takes the guy whose nameplate they already have velcroed to an oilers jersey: matthew tkachuk.

so matthew trucks his way up to edmonton, with aspirations of adding "winger for connor mcdavid" to his resume. now i'm gonna level with y'all: the oilers made me very, very mad in the summer of 2016 and hockey in general made me very, very made in the fall of 2016, so i've memory holed a lot of the details of the next couple of years. but luckily i'm not writing this story for real, so i can fudge and slur my way through that part!

matthew's career trajectory in edmonton isn't all that different from in calgary -- he's good pretty much from the jump, and with some ups and downs improves as he gets older (and a little calmer). he does get to add winger for connor mcdavid to his resume, but he ends up sticking mostly on the second line, as one of leon's wingers. there's a lot of reasons for it, but in part it's because it just drives the other teams bananas. annoyingness/60 off the charts. and matthew and leon are both having a blast the whole time.

i don't think they click instantly when matthew shows up in edmonton in 2016, because matthew's a hotshot, high draft pick, legacy, the whole nine yards, and leon's still feeling a little insecure about his place with the oilers. at least matthew's not a center.

so they don't click instantly, but it comes pretty quickly. matthew's a friendly guy, when he's not antagonizing every flames player on the ice (which frankly leon thinks is very funny), and he's smart about hockey, and a fun guy to hang out with.

and so we get a few years of the mcdavid-draisaitl-tkachuk era in edmonton. a lot of goals, and maybe not as much defensive responsibility as everyone wishes, a lot of people on twitter and capfriendly's gm tool getting stressed about the contract math. and they're right to be stressed about the contract math -- that's a lot of high-end offensive talent to have stored up, and it's gonna get pricey.

and then it's the 2021 offseason. matthew's already been a holdout, and he got his deal but everyone knows the next one won't be any easier, and mcdavid and draisaitl have their long-term deals but they're only going to get more expensive. they've been swept two years in a row in the playoffs. the front office wants results, and cap flexibility (that flat cap is already hurting). so matthew gets traded.

now, i don't think he and leon ever dated or anything at this point, but they were kind of dancing around the possibility for a while. another few years, or maybe one good solid playoff run, and it would've happened. (and by it i do mean falling into bed without actually talking about anything, but they would've talked eventually. both of them are too soft and serious about important things.) so for leon, matthew is this possibility. someone he almost got to have. it haunts him a little, when he lets it. and he misses the camaraderie he had with matthew, and how well they clicked on the ice. but that's just the business. he makes new friends and finds new guys to click with on the ice, and sure none of them make his heart beat too fast in the same way but he shouldn't be looking for boyfriends amongst his teammates anyway.

they keep in touch, a bit. it's hard with the grind of the season, and the time difference (matthew's on the east coast now) that doesn't even get any easier in the summers. leon fills up the space matthew took up in his life with other friends. more time with connor. other teammates. a dog. (it's a hassle, without someone living with him, but he's got a very generous neighbor and a big backyard and money to burn on fancy kennels if he wants.)

leon dates someone else, eventually. pretty seriously, living together kind of stuff. it is easier to deal with the dog this way. he learns just how annoying it is to play against matthew, and he tries not to laugh when matthew stares him down. the two of them get dinner with connor when the oilers are in raleigh (hey, we're playing the it almost happened game here anyway) and talk about the oilers circa 2017 experience. none of them win cups, but matthew gets the closest. leon determinedly isn't jealous, and sends him a nice text when the canes wash out in the conference final. again. but you know, it's not like leon misses him daily or anything. just at odd moments, when a play breaks down and he ends up with the puck, and he spins to find matthew on the ice, because matthew would've seen the same thing he did. and matthew's not there. matthew hasn't been there for years.

he doesn't ever ask if matthew's dating anyone, and matthew doesn't volunteer the information. he thinks it'll sting too much to find out, even though he is dating someone, and he hasn't told matthew about it.

matthew finds out, though, at an all-star game down the road. they're both there, and leon's boyfriend is too, and leon doesn't even introduce them. matthew's just saying hi to everyone, the way he does, and leon's boyfriend says leon invited him, and from the look on matthew's face, he doesn't even have to say boyfriend because matthew's got it all figured out. that shouldn't bother leon, and it bothers him a hell of a lot. (matthew's dated people too, but no one seriously enough to do something like this, and leon is right that he'd be hurt if he found out.)

leon signs a contract extension in edmonton. thinks about the possibility of retiring as an oiler. gets dumped, because his boyfriend gets tired of the late nights at home alone. the core of players he was striving for a cup with in edmonton is slowly breaking up. early-ish retirements. trades. the usual stuff. and leon wants to win, and he's starting to think that isn't going to happen in edmonton.

there's two years left on his contract and, well. he's looking, a bit. eyeballing other teams, looking at where he thinks he might be able to help the most. he has a full NTC, now, and the oilers won't be happy if he asks to be moved, but he thinks they'll make it happen. he can be flexible, a bit. he's good enough to command a decent return. connor will forgive him. he'll resent it, the freedom that his presence has given leon to do things like bail on the oilers when the going starts getting tough again, but he'll get over it. the deadline is creeping up now, and the oilers could still make the playoffs but it's looking more and more like they won't, and on the other side of the continent matthew's still -- well, he's not tearing it up like he used to, but he's putting together a decent season on a competitive team. and leon's jealous.

so he finally puts in the request. feels a little guilty but not enough to not do it. this is a business. he wants to win. he's won everything else, individually. maybe they've even won the president's trophy once or twice. but he wants a cup. the cup isn't the first thing he thinks about when all the chips are down and he's going to be matthew's teammate again.

it takes some getting used to, when it actually happens. matthew doesn't just plop back onto leon's wing and learn to read his mind all over again. matthew's an established guy on the team, he's already got a line. leon's playing a bit of wing, a bit of center. leon knows better than to have expected everything to just slot back into place but there was a stupid part of him that kind of wanted it anyway. it was so easy before! and now matthew's got a whole life here and leon's the interloper.

i think from here leon spends a while being in his feelings about it. not wanting to push too hard and upset the balance of this team, because they're winning. they're playing well. it feels good. but then the team's 2c gets hurt and he ends up slotting in, matthew on his wing again and oh, oh, that's the thing they used to have. leon is totally swept up in it, and along with it the crush he used to have on matthew. the thing that always felt like it could happen is still there, simmering under the surface. leon feels it when matthew slams him into the boards in a hug, and he feels it when matthew compliments him in a scrum and he feels it at the bar after the game, drink in hand and matthew leaning in close and grinning too wide.

it's not the same, exactly. they're both comfortably into their thirties now. older. more settled. matthew has a house in raleigh, which he never did in edmonton. even leon, uprooted midseason and in a new area, feels older and more stable than he ever did at 22.

they still don't act on it. matthew thinks leon got over it. leon doesn't want to rock the boat. but leon can't stop himself from pushing a little. touching when they don't need to. knees pressed together on the plane.

matthew does realize leon isn't over it somewhere in here. he's not an idiot. he knew what the vibes were back in edmonton, and he knows that leon's hand on his back at the bar isn't platonic. but leon doesn't push, and matthew's careful about these things. and they're winning, winning so much. winning in a way they weren't when they played together before, and it feels incredible.

gonna go big romance here and say this one ends when they win the cup. neither of them's on the ice but they pile off the bench together when the buzzer sounds, and after they've had their turns with the cup -- it feels even better than leon thought it would -- and after the night has finally wound down, leon grabs matthew by the wrist the way he's wanted to since matthew was 20 years old and so transparently trying to make everyone like him.

matthew comes toward him easily, until they're nearly touching, and leon finally, finally kisses him.

#i'm SO sorry this took so long #i think there's a lot to flesh out in here and it really feels like one of those stories where i'd have to write it to learn the story #which isn't bad necessarily but it is stressful; home by now was one of those and i was SO unsure of the character arcs #and to the person whose prompt i still haven't gotten to: i'm working on it #my fic #fic by daisysusan

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andydrysdalerogers · 11 months

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Sliding Into Home - Take Your Niece to Work Day

Pairing: MLB!Frank Adler x Abigail Hernandez (OFC)

Synopsis:

After a trade from Boston to Los Angeles, first baseman Frank Adler would seem to have it all. Money, women, an amazing niece, yes Frank should have it all. Except for one thing. One thing that left after a mistake five years ago. Los Angeles should be the chance to start over. Except she is supposed to be in Boston. Not his new medical director.

* A Frank Adler AU x Major League Baseball Story**

Warning: ANGST (i can't stress this enough), second chances, cheating, eventual smut, slow burn, drug use, abandonment issues, betrayal, domestic violence (i may have missed some), flashbacks

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: You Left Me

Soft skin.

Wet lips.

A needy moan.

“Frankie...”

She was there, her beautiful body underneath him.

Abby.

He kissed the delicate skin of her neck as he rocked inside of her. “God Baby, you feel so good.”

She gripped his back harder. “Don’t stop Frankie, don’t stop.”

“Never Cricket. I love you.” He kissed her lips softly, muffling her cries.

“I love you too.” Her back arched as Frank hit that spot inside her. “There,” she cried.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me Cricket?”

“Please Frankie,” she moaned.

“Let go for me Abigail,” he ordered in a low voice. “I got you, cum for me.”

Her eyes shut as bliss took over. “Frankie...”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Fucking shit!”

Frank bolted up, sweat across his brow. He looked down at the mess on his abs. Fuck, he muttered. It was the fourth night in a row that he had dreamt about her and released his load. He laid back against the pillows as he tried to calm his heart. Seeing Abby holding Mary had broken the hold he had on himself. He had tried not to think about her in the last five years but now, now he couldn’t stop. Wet dream after wet dream about his girl. Fuck. Not his girl anymore. After a few moments, he got up and cleaned up, got dressed and made Mary breakfast.

It was just the two of them for the next couple of days as Scott headed back to Boston for a family reunion. Except Frank forgot and had no sitter for Mary while he played. After talking to his coach and manager, the Dodgers agreed to have a suite set up for Mary and have an attendant watch her.

“Why can’t I just stay home?”

“Because you’re nine.”

“I’ll be nine tomorrow too.”

“And tomorrow will be the same.”

“Frank...” she whines.

“Mary,” he replies in the same tone as he makes the turn into the players parking lot.

She crossed her arms. “You’re not funny.”

Frank cracked a smile. “Not true.” He pokes her side to get a giggle. “Got you laughing.” He parks and they get out, with Frank grabbing his bag.

Holding hands, Mary swings as they walk. “Can we have burgers after?”

“Sure. As long as I get a good report on you Nug, then we can get whatever you want. Food wise,” as he sees a look in her eyes.

She pouts. “But we need a dog.”

“We don’t need a dog.”

“You’re never home so how would you know?”

“That’s low,” he replies. “I’m working.”

“You’re playing baseball. That’s not working. That’s fun.”

Frank looks down at her and sighs. “That’s fair. I’ll think about it ok?”

As they walk in, a woman approaches. “Mr. Adler?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I’m Cissy Roberts. Mr. Phelps sent me to watch Mary during practice and the game.” The woman was shameless as she checked out Frank, he eyes drifting over his arms and down to his loose jeans. She looked back at his face and smiled. She then looked at Mary. “Your daughter is beautiful.”

“She’s my niece, but thank you,” he replied. She was attractive, blonde with light blue eyes but he could read ‘gold-digger’ a mile away. He knelt before Mary. “Behave, please. Here,” he gave her a few bills. “There should be food but if you see something you want, get it.” He hugged her, “and we’ll get burgers if you can annoy this one as much as you can,” he whispers.

May giggled. “Thanks Frank! Hit a home run for me!”

“Will do Nugget.” He turned to Cissy. “Thanks.”

She batted her eyelashes. “My pleasure,” she replied in a flirty tone.

Frank turned towards the locker room, rolling his eyes. Every woman was the same. Well not every woman. Just one wanted Frank for him and not his money. But since her, he hadn’t met anyone that didn’t see dollar signs when they looked at him. Which is why he vowed to stay true to Mary only. As he made his way down, he failed to notice a certain Latina who watched the entire exchange.

Abby’s blood shouldn’t have boiled at the sight of Todd’s assistant flirting with Frank. The twenty something was blonde with her large boobs out in her “professional” team polo. But when she spotted Frank’s eye roll and annoyed face, she smiled. He’s not interested. That thought made her giddy.

During the fifth inning, Abby was walking from the owner’s suite back to the offices when she spotted a familiar blonde wandering the corridor. “Mary?”

Mary turned to Abby and smiled. “Abby!”

“Sweetheart, what are you doing walking alone in the hallway?”

“I needed the bathroom, and I didn’t want her to go with me. I’m nine and I don’t need someone to watch me while I peed.” She crossed her arms.

“Ok, but it is not safe to wander by yourself. She should have just walked you there and waited outside.” Abby rubbed her temples and sighed. “Did you use the bathroom?” Mary nodded. “Ok, let’s get you back.”

Abby walked Mary back and only stopped when Mary spotted a bear that had Frank’s name and number on its little jersey. She pulled out her crumpled bills, but Abby stopped her. She flashed her company badge and credit card, getting a discount for the bear. “Save your dollars, baby girl.”

Finally, after consulting an attendant, she found Frank’s suite and was allowed in and frowned. Cissy was sitting on the couch on her phone, laughing and checking her nails. “Yea, pretty sweet gig to just watch his kid or whatever. she’s just a …”

“You might want to be careful on how to finish that sentence,” Abby growled as she looked at the young woman.

Cissy didn’t even bother to say goodbye when she hung up the phone. “Abby, this is...”

“Its Dr. Hernandez,” Abby cut her off. “And what were you thinking, allowing a nine-year-old just wander around alone? Do you understand how dangerous that could be? She was your responsibility, and I would think impressing your boss and other team officials would be high on your list.”

Cissy blanched but Abby had no sympathy for her. “You are dismissed, Miss Roberts. I will speak to Mr. Phelps about this incident.”

Cissy grabbed her bag and stalked towards the door. “I don’t know why you care,” she said, flipping her hair. “It's not like he’s your boyfriend or fiancé.”

Abby laughed. “But she is my goddaughter. I will always fucking care.” At those words, Cissy practically ran from the room.

“That was awesome,” Mary said. “Frank said we could get burgers if I made her leave. Does this count?”

Abby laughed. “I’ll make sure it does. C’mon,” she looked at the screen. “Frank is at bat.”

They watched the game as Mary chattered about what had been happening since her trip to the emergency room. “I’m trying to convince Frank that we need a dog.”

“What kind?” Abby took another bite of her ice cream sandwich.

“I don’t know. But one I can cuddle with when Frank’s not home. Scott’s nice but sometimes I need someone else to cuddle with.”

“Oh,” Abby had no other response at the honest answer she gave. It was the bottom of the ninth and Frank was back at bat. The Dodgers were tied with Miami, the bases were loaded and needed a walk off to win the game. Abby watched the familiar routine of Frank at bat. It was something that she had been memorized with since high school. He would tap the bat against his boot, legs spread, swing the bat in a circle before popping that elbow and then stare down at the pitcher.

He could see him grip the bat a fraction, anticipating the pitched. She sucked in a breath and waiting for the pitch. She could feel it, the pitch was going to be perfect for him. Frank never wavered and brought the stick around and then... CRACK!

Abby and Mary stood with the stadium as the ball flew into the left field, waiting to see if I would be a pop fly or if it had enough power behind it. “C’mon,” she whispered. “Get there.”

The crowd roared as the ball sailed into the seats. A walk off grand slam. The fireworks went off as the cheers from the crowd became deafening. Mary jumped into Abby arms, cheering her uncle as he ran the bases and met the rest of the team at home plate. The guys were jumping and cheering for the win.

“C’mon on Nugget. Let’s get down to the family room and wait for Frank.” Mary smiled and grabbed her bear and held Abby’s hand as they made their way down. As they walked the hallway, an unexpected figure stopped them.

“Hey beautiful, I was looking... for you.” Mike observed Mary and tried not to show his emotions. “Hi Mary.”

Mary looked at him for a moment before smiling. “Uncle Mike!” She let go of Abby and jumped into Mike’s arms.

“Wow, Nugget, you have gotten so big,” he said in a happy tone.

“I haven’t seen you in forever, Uncle Mike. How are you here in Los Angeles?”

“I got a job out here a couple of years ago.” He put the girl down and leaned over to kiss Abby. Mary watched as their lips met and frowned. She changed her expression when Mike turned back. “Where are you two headed to?”

“Oh, Abby was watching me because the lady who was supposed to watch me let me go to the bathroom by myself and I got lost. Abby found me and took me back and basically fired the other girl. It was so cool. Have you ever seen Abby be a boss? It's so awesome!” Marry chattered.

“That’s great.” Mike’s smile was tight.

“Yeah, I’m just walking her to the family room and let Todd and Frank know what happened.” Abby offered a weak smile to Mike. “I can’t believe she just let Mary wander around. I don’t even want to think about what might have happened.”

“I understand, beautiful. I’ll walk with you.” Mike took Abby’s hand as Mary took Abby’s other hand. Mary chattered like normal for the five minutes to the room. As Abby went to find out how long the team would be, Mary sat with a water next to Mike. “How do you like Los Angeles?”

“It's ok. It sucked for a little bit and it really sucked when I got sick. But Abby took me to the emergency room with Scott and she made it better. She’s the best.”

“Abby took you to the hospital?”

“Uh huh. Frank was on a road trip and Scott freaked out, but it was ok. She cuddled with me until Frank got there. That’s why I said I should get a dog. That way, I have someone to cuddle with.”

Abby walked into the room. “They’ll be about 20. Frank was doing interviews and needed to clean up according to Todd. Told him about the little bitch from earlier and he’s going to handle it.” She smiled at Mike but got a stony look back. “What is it?”

“I didn’t know you had taken care of Mary when she was sick. You never mentioned it,” he said in a hard tone. Abby blanched. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.” The couple sat in silence as they waited for Frank. Mary could sense the tension and played with her bear. She would look up every time the door would open. Finally, a familiar face came in.

“Frank!” Mary ran up to her uncle and gave him a big hug as he crouched on the floor. “You hit a home run!”

“I told you I would Nugget,” he said, ruffling her hair. He looked up to see Abby and smiled and then saw Mike and the smile fell. “Abby, Mike, nice to see you.”

“Hi Frank,” Mike said gruffly.

“Thanks for watching her. Phelps told me what happened. Thank you, Cricket, for stepping in.”

“If you need help watching her...” Abby began.

“Thanks, but a couple of the guys mentioned a service their wives use for their kids, and I’ll just have them take care of it.” Frank swallowed. “Anyways, I promised this one a burger,” putting his hands on Mary’s shoulders.

“Can we go to Bob’s? Its soooo good.”

“Sure Nug.”

Mary turned back to the couple. “Did you want to go with us? They made real cherry coke, just like at home.”

Before they could respond, Frank interjected. “Its just us Nugget. Got some things I want to talk to you about and I’m sure Abby and Mike are tired of babysitting you.”

“I am not a baby!” Mary stamped her foot until her attention was taken by the door again. “Johnny!”

“Hey Strawberry!” Johnny greeted the girl, effectively distracting her. Frank turned back to Mike and Abby.

“Thanks again. Sorry she was a bother.” He waved and turned back to Mary and Johnny.

Mike took Abby’s hand and walked her out. He was silent as he walked them to his car. “My car...” she started.

“I’ll drive you back in the morning,” he said sharply. He opened the door for her, and she slid in. Mike climbed in and drove fast down the mountain. Abby could see that his jaw was tight, eyes narrowed. She swallowed and trembled.

“Mike...”

“You lied, Abigail. You lied to me that night. I told you I didn’t want you near them.”

“I’m sorry but Mary was really sick and she...”

“I don’t give a fuck! I don’t fucking care about any of the Adlers!” He pulled into their home and screeched to a halt. He climbed out and pulled Abby out of the car. He dragged her in and slammed the door. He threw her into the living room, narrowly missing the coffee table. She stumbled and cowered away from him.

“Mike, please, I’m sorry...”

Slap.

Abby’s head snapped to the side, her skin on fire as she cupped her cheek. Her expression was stunned as she looked at Mike. The rage in his face disappeared as he realized what he had done. “Abby, baby...”

“Don’t touch me!” Abby ran to the bathroom and locked the door. She went back to the far wall as Mike tried the door.

“Abby, baby I am so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I am so sorry.” Mike begged at the door. “Love, please.”

Abby sobbed as she clutched her knees hiding her face. Mike had never struck her before. She heard Mike hit the floor, sobbing just like her. “Baby, please, I am so fucking sorry.”

Abby fell asleep on the floor.

Mary was bouncing in the booth, telling Frank and Johnny the story about Cissy and Abby. “And then Abby said, But she is my goddaughter. I will always f-ing care.”

“Mary,” Frank admonished.

“What? I didn’t say it,” she said as she shoved another fry in her mouth.

Johnny laughed. “Strawberry, you are a crack up.” He turned to Frank. “So, what is the deal with Dr. Hernandez? I know you have a past; you told the team as much but...”

Frank hung his head. He turned to Johnny. “It’s a long, complicated story.”

“I have time,” as Johnny sipped his coffee. “I’m not going to the bar tonight seeing as I saw the blonde I wanted to see,” he winked, making Frank groan. Johnny laughed but after a moment got serious. “It looks like you need a friend, Adler.”

Frank considered it for a moment. Yeah, he had Scott and Steve and Andy, sure, but he had no other friends after Bobby Fuller had helped screw him over. “Ok,” he said, “I guess it would have to start the day I met Abby.” Frank told him everything, from the day they met to being drafted, Mary and finally that night in Vegas. “I promise Johnny, I didn’t touch that girl. I’m not that guy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Johnny replied. He looked over at Mary, headphones on, watching whatever video. “That sucks for Mary, having to go through all of that.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I don’t date. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve hooked up with women when I’m on the road but it's always one night. And I never bring anyone home to Mary. She’s my whole world.”

“But Mary is going to get older,” Johnny reasoned. “Eventually you want to have a family for her, right?”

“I did, with Abby. But now, now I don’t know. I still want it to be with Abby. I can’t stand that she’s with him.” Frank checked on Mary before he continued. “When we were in Arizona, I saw Mike grab Abby, and she looked uncomfortable. She spotted me after, but I just made it look like I hadn’t seen her. I check her over every time I see her, but it just looks like a one off.”

“Fuck, he hurt her. I’ve only talked to him a couple of time but I get a vibe. Have you talked to her about it?”

Frank shook his head. “I don’t have the right anymore.” He sighed.

Johnny chewed on some of the fries. “Look, I know you don’t want to date but you should have someone you can go to events with. Because the jersey chasers at these events are ruthless.”

“I don’t want a girlfriend, Storm.”

“I’m not saying she’ll be your girlfriend but if you guys hit it off, then maybe it can lead to something.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “I’m going to regret this but who do you have in mind?”

Johnny smiled. “My sister, Susan. She’s great really. She’s a scientist at JPL and I feel like I could trust you with her. Maybe, Susie can help with getting Abby to open up. Kill two birds and all that.”

“I don’t want to lead your sister on.”

“So, meet with her. Tomorrow, for coffee. I’ll go and everything will be platonic. Bring Mary if you want. I know this place that has a kid's area and good coffee.”

Frank took a sip of his cola and stared into space. Johnny was right, having a friend be his date at these events would make life easier. He had done them solo in Boston if he wasn’t able to get out of it, and it had been rough having other player’s date all around him. He got rid of them but felt like his teammates blamed him. Another reason to leave Boston behind.

“Fine, set it up. But I mean it Johnny, I am not looking to get serious with anyone right now. Or ever.”

Johnny smiled as he whipped out his phone. “Sure Frank, whatever you say.”

This is how Frank found himself seated across from Johnny and a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Susan Storm was Abby in blonde. And while this should have been something that intrigued Frank, it just made him want to be with Abby more.

“Johnny tells me that you have a niece?” Susan asked, sipping her tea.

“Yeah, Mary. I took custody of her when she was about six months old. She’s my world.” He smiled fondly at the thoughts about her. “I would have brought her, but she had a project at school with her classmates. Something to do with space, I forget.”

The conversation was light and simple. And as the Storms and Frank left with a hug and a handshake, Frank felt optimistic for the first time in a long time.

Of course, nothing in life is that simple. Especially in Los Angeles, where there is a camera everywhere.

Taglist:

@patzammit @slutforchrisjamalevans @firephotogrl74 @texmexdarling @jennmurawski13-writes @before-we-get-started @tinkerbelle67 @bunnyforhim

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #chris evans fanfiction #frank adler #frank adler au #mlb au #dodger au #ofc abigail hernandez #sliding into home #chris evans #mike weiss #johnny storm #baseball au #frank adler smut #slow burn #chris evans au #cliffhanger queen

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cicadaknight · 10 months

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tag game (horizon)

tagged by @artekai 💕🤝💖 thanks, pal!

1. ride or die ship: fashav/kotallo straight to my grave. mythological tragedies, those two, i tell you what.

2. most annoying ship: the boat aloy takes to san francisco. can you imagine, never rowing before in your life and making that trek through choppy currents and storms? insufferable.

3. second favorite ship: aloy/kotallo. the parallels of aloy and kotallo being forced into roles they never wanted, being alone and outcast from their tribes, moving through their grief and rage by learning to trust a new found family? being seen by another for more than their physical prowess but their humanity and creativity? excellent shit.

4. favorite platonic relationship: SYLENS AND BETA AND GAIA. Sylens getting taken down a fucking peg or two by a teenage girl and an infinitely compassionate AI. Beta being able to collaborate with someone (and an AI) who sees well beyond her mistakes and faults. GAIA finding consistent, complex companions who remind her fondly of Lis. Sylens making Beta food and teaching her how to cook. HELP ME.

5. Underrated ship: So many. I really love Aloy/Drakka. The idea of him being such a counter to Aloy’s single-minded focus on saving the world by being an absolute goober. But her seeing that he cares so very deeply about doing the right thing and protecting his people. Alva/Beta is sweet. I dig Erend/Talanah.

6. overrated ship: the odyssey. just kidding, i already made a joke about a boat.

7. one thing i would change in canon: the entire last act? specifically varl’s death, that kotallo doesn’t fly to the grove with aloy, that aloy ends the entire tenakth/regalla conflict via single combat duel, and then fights alone twice more with erik and tilda. RIP all the build up to aloy understanding that she’s not alone and all the people in her life are as competent and complex and have just as much stake in the fate of the world as she does. and beyond that, i deeply regret the way they wrote talanah in hfw. she shoulda had that fourth bunk in the base.

8. something canon did right: don’t get me wrong, i wish fashav hadn’t died at barren light, but i love his back story and everything we find out through his journals. added so much nuance to carja and tenakth cultures and characters in just a handful of paragraphs.

9. a thing i’m proud of creating for the fandom: i’ve been in a perpetual state of burnout for yeeeeeears. this kotallo portrait was the first piece i’ve drawn in ages. i’m also working on a bookbinding project and doing art for Kotallo with amazing folks on Focus on the Heart.

10. a character who is perfect to me: Hekarro. I hope the writers, animators, and actor who made him come to life are very proud of their work.

11. character i relate to most and why: uhhh like every other neurodivergent queer with trauma and parental issues, i gotta go with beta.

12. character(s) i hate most and why: tekkoteh. absolute steaming pile of shit. genuinely every time i think i’ve reached peak hatred for that slime, someone writes a beautiful fic where i find myself despising him more. in my interpretation, there’s no world where he didn’t take advantage of, manipulate, and abuse kotallo after his parents died.

13. something i’ve learned from the fandom: awww this is cheesy, but i learned how to take a chance and post things i make again. most people are so curious and so excited to discuss lore or characters in good faith. oh, recently i did discover i missed MANY post-mission dialogues for side quests on my first few playthroughs.

14. three tags i seek out on ao3: i’m guaranteed to get drawn into anything re: kotallo and fashav’s early marshal days, lis character development, aloy/kotallo hurt/comfort (sue me)

15. a song i associate strongly with my otp/favorite character: i made this playlist based off this fic. it’s basicallg my score for fashav and kotallo falling in love during their marshal duties. instants by skúli sverrisson and anything by hermanos gutiérrez sends me into pondering fashav and kotallo’s lives together.

i’m gonna tag @poulticepurse @fogsblue @rowanisawriter @ayaitch @robo-dino-puppy if y’all wanna do this?

#tag game #h

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wynnyfryd · 1 year

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AO3 first lines

rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

a masterpiece of art, it’s true | yogi steve x adhd eddie pt 3, M, 3k

In the three minutes it takes them to get from the couch to Steve’s bedroom, Eddie seems to remember that he’s completely worn out from the combination of whiskey and coming so sweetly all over Steve’s tongue. Steve licks his lips, savors the evidence still lingering in his mouth, and tries not to look too over the moon when Eddie flops back onto his mattress with an exhausted huff.

stupid fucking star stuff | stardust au, M, 3.4k (in progress)

“Munson, stop tongue-fucking my merch displays,” Guy scolds him, shoving Eddie away from the glass he’s been drooling over. His beloved is laid out inside the case, lit up from behind like some fair maiden sleeping in a mystical wood, just waiting for her one true love to come and plant some sick riffs on her gleaming body.

“I’d be so good to you, baby,” Eddie whispers to the guitar, fingertips trailing over the glass lid.

relax (that’s that) | yogi steve x adhd eddie pt 2, E, 2.6k

The bats are choking him. One of the stupid little fuckers has its tail around his throat, and three more curl around his thrashing limbs, sinking their teeth into the soft flesh of his belly, gnawing their way through to the good bits, the muscle and sinew and his fucking intestines and—

“—Eddie!” Steve shouts, shaking his shoulders with his big warm hands

relax (lay back) | yogi steve x adhd eddie pt 1, E, 12k

“Eddie!” Steve calls out playfully as he weaves his way through the rows of mats, surveying the class’s posture. “Get those buns out of the air, come on, now.”

So yeah, becoming weirdly close friends with his former sort-of nemesis turned yoga instructor crush in the wake of surviving unspeakable evils together is, uh…

It’s going horribly.

TITS! magazine | exactly what the title says lmao, E, 11.8k

Now, this is a story all about how

My life got flipped turned upside down

And I'd like to take a minute

Just sit right there

I'll tell you how I came on the tits of a guy with great hair

No Son of Mine | hurt-comfort, M, 4.4k

I seen those boys kissing boys

Open-mouth in the street

But I raised my son to be a righteous man

I made it clear to him what fear of God means

The path we walk is only narrow and straight

No son of mine will wander astray

- Desert, Brand New

Steve shows up at Eddie’s door at 8:46pm.

i’ll stop the world and freeze with you | ice skating drabble, G, 617

Eddie flounders, arms flailing as his feet slip out from under him for the fourth time, and he lands chin first on the scuffed-up ice with a hard thud.

The Great Scavenger Hunt of 1986 | christmas fluff, T, 7.9k

“Steve,” Dustin calls as he skids into the Harrington kitchen on Christmas Eve Eve with his muddy shoes still on.

babysitters and book signings | famous author eddie au, G, 4.4k

Eddie’s not staring. The man currently shepherding a gaggle of college kids up to his booth is tall and blond and tan with wire glasses perched on his freckled nose and biceps that threaten to burst right out of his silly striped polo shirt, and Eddie is a professional who meets thousands of fans at conventions every year and he’s. not. staring.

patience is a virtue | edging pwp, E, 1.7k

Steve’s gonna fucking die. He’s close to planning his funeral arrangements at this point, absently running through a list of florists and pianists he might still know from his church days, desperate for a distraction because—

“Keep your hips still, sweetheart,” Eddie chides, forearm like a crowbar over Steve’s jolting hips as he pins him down again.

thank you for the tag @infinite-orangepeel 💜 tagging @gorgeousgreymatter-x @steddielations @aidaronan and anyone else who wants to play

#steddie #steddie fic #my fics #tag game #ao3 tag game

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jule1122 · 1 year

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Malex Fic - Let your heart be light

A day late, but this a little fluff for Day 2 of @rnmnewyear2023 Holiday Lights. This is part of an AU I haven’t written yet. The relevant things to know are Michael and Alex left Roswell after Alex was injured but before any of he events of S1 would have happened. Alex is a music teacher and Michael is an agricultural engineer working as a consultant. Pharaoh is Alex's service dog.

Title is from “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Thank you to @im-the-punk-who for the song suggestion.

Let your heart be light on AO3

The first year Alex taught at Bristol, Michael kept his distance. He wanted to give people a chance to accept that their new music teacher was a disabled vet with a service dog before reminding them that he also had a husband instead of a wife. But it didn’t take long for Michael to recognize some of the best parts of Roswell in Bristol.

He and Alex were welcomed without question. A small, farming community, Bristol had a hard time keeping and attracting younger residents. When the last music teacher retired, the school had gone two years without a music program until Alex agreed to take the job. The farmers and ranchers had been surprisingly open to working with Michael, eagerly listening to his ideas for making their farms more efficient and profitable. The fact that they were married to each other was unimportant in light of what they offered the community.

Once Michael got to know most of the families in Bristol and the kids Alex taught, his presence at school events was expected. He was reminded that not only should he be there to support his “handsome husband,” but in a town as small as Bristol, school events are community events. So Michael spends the first two weeks of December attending a series of school concerts.

The elementary concerts come first. Kindergarten through third grade on Tuesday followed by fourth grade through sixth grade on Thursday. The gym is packed both nights - filled with parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and any other adult that can claim a tangible connection to one of the children performing. Michael squeezes into a seat in the back row, letting the parents battle it out for seats with the best camera views.

Michael can tell how nervous Alex is at the beginning of each concert as he thanks everyone for coming and goes through the song order for the night. He keeps his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, and Pharaoh is pressed tightly against Alex’s leg. But once he turns to the students lined up on the stage, the tension in his shoulders eases, and even though he can’t see Alex’s face, Michael knows he’s giving the kids a reassuring smile before they begin.

Alex keeps the elementary concerts lighthearted and fast paced - full of songs about snowmen, reindeer and sledding. There is almost as much dancing as there is singing, and Michael can see the effort Alex put into making sure each child has a chance to shine. Alex plays the piano for some songs and directs the students for others - Pharaoh relaxed at his feet throughout. Michael laughs and claps along with the rest of the audience, regretting his choice of a seat in the back when Alex guides the kindergartners through pantomiming a snowball fight, and he doesn’t have a good angle to film him.

After the concerts, Michael sticks close to Alex while he accepts hugs from his students and thank you’s from their parents. Michael knows he’s beaming as proudly as the parents are, but he can’t bring himself to care. He loves seeing how much the school has embraced Alex and seeing Alex confident enough to enjoy the attention.

Every now and then, Michael feels a tug on his sleeve and one of the kids he knows from visiting farms or from Alex’s music lessons will be trying to get his attention. “Mr. Guerin’s husband,” they begin, which never fails to make him smile, before asking if he saw their solo or favorite dance move. Michael’s more than happy for them to reenact their favorite part of the concert while they wait for their parents to finish talking with Alex.

It’s late by the time they’ve said goodbye to everyone, and Alex has finished his part of the teardown. On Thursday night, as they make their way through the parking lot, Pharaoh happily walking between them, Michael gets an idea. “Next year we should get one of those antler headbands for Pharaoh.”

Alex gives him an unimpressed look, “She would never forgive you.”

Once they are in the truck, Pharaoh knows she’s off duty so Michael doesn’t hesitate to hold her face and kiss her nose before speaking to her. “You’d wear the antlers, wouldn’t you girl,” he coos. “They kids would love it if you looked like Rudolph.”

Alex just laughs and rests his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Stop tormenting my dog and take me home.”

“Yes, dear,” Michael teases back as he starts the truck.

The next week brings the high school choir concert. It’s Alex’s least favorite class since most of the students are only in it to get an art credit needed for graduation. If they don’t play an instrument and don’t want to take an art class, choir is their only option. There are only twelve students in the class so the gym is only half full - the audience dwindled down to parents and Michael.

The concert goes by quickly. Michael can tell the students are doing their best not to stand out, and Alex has chosen songs that focus on group singing rather than individual talents. When it’s all over, Michael couldn’t name a single song from the concert since he spent the whole time watching Alex at the piano, a sight he will never tire of.

The students rush off as soon as they are released, and it doesn’t take long for Alex to speak with the parents that stay after. Michael is happy to have an early night in this otherwise busy time of year. Once they’re home, he lights a fire in the fireplace and reminds Alex of just how much he likes watching him play the piano.

The last concert of the season is the seven through twelve grade band concert, and the one Alex is most excited about. He’s been eager to show off his favorite class to everyone, especially Michael. He’s been bragging for months about how hard this class works despite their limitations. Bristol is a small school district which means the band is also small, many of the students can’t afford instruments and while they can get them from the school, the school’s instruments are older and not in the best shape - Michael is working on that, slowly repairing what he can. Many bands rely on their students taking private lessons, and Alex is the only music teacher within reasonable driving distance, and many students don’t have time for lessons.

Alex let the band choose their own songs for the concert, and they surprised even him with the challenging material they picked. For the last few months, Alex has been holding extra practice after school three days a week to get them ready for the concert. They get to the school earlier than normal since the set up for the concert band is more complicated than the previous concerts. Even Pharaoh picks up on Alex’s nerves, sticking closer to him than she usually does when it’s just Michael and Alex.

Once the chairs are set up and the students start coming in, Alex and Pharaoh head for the band room, and Michael wanders back to the gym. He talks to some of the parents and teachers he knows before taking a program and finding a seat. It’s another packed house for the concert, and Michael ends up between Mrs. Winthrop whose grandson plays the french horn Michael fixed up over the summer and Linda Myers whose daughter is in seventh grade and plays clarinet. Her two younger daughters, who sang in the elementary concerts, lean over their mother to wave at Michael.

Alex spends a little more time introducing the band than he did at the other concerts. He makes sure to emphasize the difficulty of the material and all the extra work the students put in. Michael can tell he’s more excited than nervous so he’s hopeful the performance will live up to expectations. Once the music begins, Michael can’t look away from Alex. When he was working on his degree, Alex thought conducting would be his least favorite part of teaching, but he ended up falling in love with it. His passion shows throughout the concert, and Michael is not ashamed to admit he thinks Alex is hot as hell when he’s conducting..

The band’s performance is impressive, and they get a standing ovation after every song. Before the final song, one of the seniors Michael recognizes but can’t name comes out to the front of the band.

“Our last song is ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,’ and we had a bet with Mr. Guerin. If we made it to this point in the concert without any major mistakes, he would join us for this song, and I would get to conduct. Do you think we won the bet?” she asks the audience with a wink.

The applause is deafening, and Michael joins in, clapping his hands and whistling.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll take this,” she takes the baton from Alex’s hand and gives him the microphone.

Once she turns toward the band, Michael waits for Alex to walk to the piano, but instead one of the other students brings him a chair. The music starts, and after a few bars, Alex begins to sing:

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

From now on

Our troubles will be out of sight

Michael lets out a gasp as tears begin to stream down his face. Alex keeps his eyes on Michael as he sings, and Michael’s not sure he breathes through the entire song. He can’t believe his beautiful, amazing husband who barely left the house the first year they were married, is singing in front of his students and most of their community. He’s not sure he’s ever been prouder.

Mrs. Winthrop pats him on the shoulder and hands him a tissue. When the song ends, Michael is still frozen in place until Lisa nudges him and he gets to his feet along with the rest of the audience. “You got yourself a good one,” she whispers in his ear.

Michael wipes his eyes and nods without looking away from Alex, who is grinning and watching as his students take their bows. It’s all he can do to keep from flinging himself into Alex’s arms once the concert is over. He settles for standing next to Alex and tightly clutching his hand.

Everyone wants to talk to Alex - students and parents hugging him and thanking him for all his hard work. Alex easily deflects the compliments, but Michael loudly agrees with everyone who tells Alex how wonderful he is. Michael’s vibrating with so much energy that Pharaoh side-eyes him and leans into his leg like she does with Alex when he is stressed.

#rnmnewyear23 #malex fic #my fic #rnm fic #fluff #married Alex and Michael #Alex singing #Michael adores his husband #Christmas concerts

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