#thirstworldproblemss
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Favorite moon Knight fics??
Fav Moon Knight Fics you say....?
It's possible I might have a few so freakin' many, 'nonny, you don't even know...
List Notes:
Fics are Sorted by type of pairing, then alphabetically by Title
Uses AO3 Ratings: General audiences - Teen & up - Mature - Explicit
Check your Content Settings if you're 18+ and want to be able to see mature content (Settings -> scroll down to Content You See -> Community Labels -> Mature -> show)
Graphics: MK header is mine; adorable moon & stars divider by @straywords
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— MK System x Reader —
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B-Roll by @heybluechild
[ Marc x F reader, 2.2k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: You and Marc make a sex tape. (smut, humor)
Chocolate by @bits-and-babs
[ Steven x F reader, 6.1k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: After weeks of pining for your coworker Steven Grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly. (pining, soft smut)
Disaster [ao3] by @softlyspector
[ Marc-centric MK system x F reader, 6k, T, oneshot ]
Summary: Marc's mental health takes a turn for the worse when you give him some news. After chasing him to Chicago, you, Steven, and Jake are left to pick up the pieces. (heavy angst--mind the warnings!, angst with a hopeful ending)
The First Time by @youvebeenlivingfictional
[ Marc x F reader, 3.2k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: The first time you and Marc catch one another in a tight spot, you both make it out by the skin of your teeth. You’re both wounded; you’re both riled up as all hell. (violence, angry smut, feeeeeeelings)
Gift of Min & Redux [ao3] by @astroboots
[ Steven x F reader x Marc (x Jake), 21k, E, twoshot ]
Summary: Marc brings back a trinket from his trip that may or may not contain an ancient sex god/aphrodisiac. Either way, Marc’s not telling, and it’s for you and Steven to find out. (Smut, sex pollen)
Idling by @juneknight
[ Jake-centric MK system x F reader, 10k, E, in progress as of 7/6/23 ]
Summary: Jake keeps having to front for Marc and Steven's new girlfriend. (angst--mind the warnings!, promises of future smut)
keep your vigils on the road [ao3] by @charnelhouse
[ Steven x F reader x Marc (x Jake), 4.2k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: They’re on the run. It’s kind of a vacation. (smut, violence)
Killing me by @astroboots
[ Jake x F reader (x Steven/Marc), 2.4k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: Jake takes it “easy” on you after a long night with Steven. (smut)
Moon Struck [ao3] by @softlyspector
[ MK system x dancer F reader, 43.3k, E, series ]
Summary: Steven asks you out, Marc falls in love (slowburn, some angst with a happy ending, eventual smut)
No fish were harmed in the making of this meet-cute by @writefightandflightclub
[ Marc Spector x F reader, 2.1k, G, oneshot ]
Summary: You have a dilemma. You don’t want to sell the man any more fish. But you do want him to keep coming back to your shop 👀 (fluff, humor, angry meet cute)
Obsessed by @juneknight
[ Marc x F reader, college AU, 7.2k, E, twoshot in an ongoing series ]
Summary: Marc likes eating pussy and offers to eat yours.
(smut, college roommates AU) ...Honestly, I probably could have listed ALL of Dorm Room Marc here. Other Favs: The Thing About Marc Spector, Pushing Buttons, Sweet Requitement
Pornstar MK Boys: Marc, Steven, Jake by @runa-falls
[ MK system x F reader, porn star AU, 3.0k, E, threeshot ]
Summary: as a fluffer, it’s your job to know how to keep the boys interested. each alter has their own preferences (porn star AU, smut)
Shadow of a Doubt by @writefightandflightclub
[ Marc x F reader x Steven (x Jake), 7.1k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: Marc was first. Steven was second. Khonshu’s never going to love you. …And you’re wondering if Jake will ever get there at all. (relationship/character exploration, some smut, angst with a hopeful ending)
Sting by @bits-and-babs
[ Marc x F reader, 3.5k,E, oneshot ]
Summary: Marc relies on your amateur skills to patch him up following a brutal fight. (blood, smut, pain kink)
Stone Heart by @magpie-to-the-morning
[ Steven x demisexual F reader, 1.5k, T, twoshot ]
Summary: Maybe Steven’s one-sided friendship isn’t so one-sided after all... AKA a Moon Knight Pygmalion AU (fluff, romance)
Take Care of You by @tropes-and-tales
[ Steven x F reader x Marc, 3.8k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: For Steven, it was love at first sight. For Marc, it was a slower thing. (smut, feeeeeeelings)
Where To, Miss? by @foxilayde
[ Jake x F reader, E, 7.5k, oneshot ]
Summary: Jake Lockley is your driver, escorting you safely in your nighttime travels. There’s something about him. Tonight, you’re going to find out what that something is. (violence, blood, and surprisingly soft smut)
— Intra-MK System Pairings —
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All this time I was just waiting for you by @nakimochiku
[ Steven x Marc, E, 20.6k, complete ]
Summary: Things never seem to go Steven’s way romantically. Marc helps him work on that. (pining, smut with feeeeeeelings)
in the aftermath by queenie
[ Steven x Marc x Jake, E, 37.5k, complete ]
Summary: Having his own body is strange (separated into their own bodies after the show AU, slow burn, eventual smut)
last night i watched myself sleep by sweaterlou
[ Steven x Marc, E, 19.4k, complete ]
Summary: A look into Marc and Steven's relationship progression; from sharing a body to sharing a bed. (pining, smut)
the loneliest number by unstuckintime
[ Steven x Marc, 9.6k, E, complete ]
Summary: The problem with Steven is that he wants so much and he’s so lonely. He’s so lonely and he asks Marc for it all the time. (smut, feeeeeeelings)
making two reflections into one by marin27
[ Steven x Marc, 101k (as of 9/22/22) , M , incomplete ]
Summary: After falling into the sands of Duat, Steven is sent back in time to fix things. He may or may not end up fixing the wrong, but no less important, things. (TL;DR: The fic where Steven fixes his relationship with Marc as the Moon Knight plot happens in the background.)
(back in time redo AU, slowburn, pining, feeeeeeelings)
Our Body by apartment
[ Marc x Steven, 1.4k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: There are benefits to sharing a body, Steven realizes, especially when getting kidnapped is commonplace these days. Or: the "you don't have him; he has you" meme, plus marc's attempts at being a boyfriend (violence, smut)
paths diverted by solarzenith
[ Steven x Marc, separate bodies, 6.8k, E, oneshot ]
Summary: Khonshu reanimates them, with an ultimatum: come back as one, or come back separate. Marc makes the decision readily, too easily, and Steven had no idea Marc wanted him out of their head so badly. (pining, angst with a happy ending, smut)
see through my act, tell me I'm wrong by snapdragonpop007
[ Marc/Jake x Steven, 31k, T, complete ]
Summary: “Leave him alone,” Marc scowled up at Jake from the reflection on the tiled floor. Jake ignored Marc and made a beeline right towards the gift shop as The Man In The Gift Shop Named Steven got back to his feet and went back to the register. “Jake if you go in there I swear to god—” (Steven gets a separate body AU, slow burn, feeeeeeelings)
— Canon / MK System x Layla El Faouly —
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do not enter is written on the doorway (but you can stay) by FlowerCitti
[ incidental Marc x Layla x Steven, 19.8k, M, complete ]
Summary: When it came to heroes and other vigilantes, Marc didn’t have any interest in interacting with them. He travels with Khonshu’s will, continuing to protect those under the moon and following through with Khonshu’s severe judgments. He kills and keeps Khonshu content and fed, shielded under the darkness of night and the flickers of the moon. (Or, Marc meets the Avengers. And then gets shot in the head.)
(plot-centric MCU crossover)
Marc/Layla Ficlet by @writefightandflightclub
[ Marc x Layla, 0.3k, T, oneshot ]
Summary: How did Marc tie the knot with Layla? (mild angst)
not quite a meet-cute by notmadderred
[ MK system-centric, Marc x Layla x Steven, 8.3k, T, complete ]
Summary: Layla meets Jake and things get complicated for both of them. (character exploration & bonding)
so this could be the death of me (or maybe just a better me) by @quinnathy
[ MK system, Marc x Layla mention, 25k, T, complete ]
Summary: One time Marc saves Steven, one time Jake saves Marc, and one time Steven saves Jake. (And so forth.) (character exploration and bonding, some angst)
To Sleep by @radiowallet
[ Steven/Marc x Layla, 1.2k, T, drabble series, ongoing ]
Summary: Sometimes Steven dreams. For Marc it's a nightmare. Layla El-Faouly does not sleep. (angst, yearning, mentions of canon-typical violence)
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— Canon / Gen (no Pairing) —
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Jake's not very good, very bad day. No worse than that by Beyney
[ Jake-centric, gen (no pairing), 6k, T, oneshot ]
Summary: The Avengers think Moon Knight just has no marbles left to lose. The system is not amused. Khonshu is gleeful, and Jake just doesn't want to deal with this shit anymore. At least the god will keep bringing him back if this mission goes way more sideways than it already has, right? ...Right? (MCU crossover, Jake whump, violence/death mention, does some of the MCU crew a little bit dirty for the sake of the story)
That's all I've got for you for now, 'nonny, but this is definitely a non-exhaustive list. I've read so many wonderful MK fics, I'm sure I've missed some that should've been on here and will no doubt discover even more amazing stories in the future. Chances are I'll wind up coming back to add to the list, and you all should feel free to reblog/reply/send me an ask with your fav MK fics!!
Thank you for the ask, dear anon friend! And thank you for being patient with me—it turns out I have a lot more fav MK fics than I originally thought, and it took me a little while to get this list together. Hopefully they'll be something new-to-you here for you to enjoy! 💕
🧡 twp
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Hey, friends.
This is a writing-only blog for me, twp ( @thirstworldproblemss ), for people who want to see just my fic. Follow and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new. (Full disclosure: I write very slowly, so the whole posting new things thing happens approximately once a year. I wish I was joking.)
To see the full catalogue of my writing:
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View by fandom or character:
The Mandalorian: Din Djarin
The Mentalist: Marcus Pike
Moon Knight: Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley
Prospect: Ezra
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse: Miguel O’Hara
Triple Frontier: Benny Miller, Frankie Morales, Santiago Garcia
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author: twp, cowritten (generally with @astroboots)
length: <1000, 1-5k, 5-10k, 10-25k, 25-50k, 50-100k, >100k
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🧡 twp
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Wishing you the very
Happiest of Birthdays!!!
…and an even lovelier next year 🎊🎂🥳
🥰🥰🥰🥰 thank you!!!
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Rainy Night Patrol
CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Summary: Miguel comes home after a night of patrolling with a lot of pent up tension to find you sound asleep.
Content: Somnophilia, panty-tearing practises (in this fucking economy?!??! I know gurl) jerking off with panties kind of? overprotective Miguel is our favourite Miguel. Rough sex. Multiple orgasms and overstimulation (cause do I evern write anything else anymore?). Implied violence against random street criminals.
A/N: Pre-established relationship with pre-established consent for somnophilia.
Word Count: 4,800
Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist
Rainy nights in New York are the fucking worst.
It brings out the worst in people. Stressed-out bankers who will push old ladies out of their way to get to a seat on the subway. Drunken assholes who piss everywhere, making everything reek, and alleyway mugging seems to increase by a disproportionate amount whenever it's pouring.
It surprises Miguel that street robbery even happens outside of comic books anymore. Do these people not have a computer? Cybercrime is a thing. A successful phishing scam targeting a bank employee can net millions overnight.
Yet here Miguel is, headbutting this public nuisance for trying to rob and assault a sorority girl on her way home, fists eating into the man's face. Even though it is evident by now that there is no way the man has a fighting chance, he refuses to stop. He's hissing and spitting at Miguel, lunging at him with the ferociousness of a rabid racoon.
The easiest solution would be to bite and paralyze and call it a night. But from the reek of stale sweat and copious body Axe spray coming off of this asshole, Miguel has no desire to put any part of this man's body into his mouth.
So here Miguel is, putting this bargain-bin Sylvester Stallone wannabe in a headlock and slamming his head into a street lamp in an attempt to knock the man unconscious, instead of where he wants to be: home, in your questionably sized apartment and lumpy feeling bed.
Christ, he hates this city.
By the time it's all said and done, and everything is wrapped up, it's already past midnight. As he slinks in through the window sill into your bedroom, you're fast asleep.
You're lying on top of the quilts, the bedside lamp still on, which means you've been up waiting for him, even though you're supposed to have an early morning tomorrow. Something, something about how it's year-end and you have to present... something or the other.
It's... endearing that you still do that, try to wait up for him every night, even though you should know by now that more often than not, he'll be home much too late for you to still be awake.
Climbing inside the bedroom, the post-fight adrenaline is still surging through his veins. He's riled up, irritated. There's heat brandishing under his skin that is pushing at the edges begging for an outlet.
He glances in your direction. You look so soft in the dim bedroom light, half of your face buried into the pillow.
No, tonight is not the night. You need your sleep.
With a shake of his head, he walks over to his side of the bed, letting the Unstable Molecule fabric of his suit recede until he's left standing naked in the half-darkness of your bedroom.
Dragging away the sheet, he tucks it over you, you hum and shift in your sleep. Leg swinging Akimbo over to his side before he's even had the chance to lay down. The oversized sleep shirt does nothing to disguise the curves of your body, falling completely off one shoulder and riding up to reveal the tantalizing curve of your bare thigh.
Shit.
His mouth waters at the sight, cock half hard just from watching you. It's not helped by the adrenaline still buzzing in his head. It wouldn't take much to get him the rest of the way there.
Miguel groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the tension growing between his temples. How exactly is he supposed to be getting any sleep with you lying next to him, all soft heat and sweet little hums that make him want to grind up against you like a cat in heat?
The weight in the bed shifts as you roll back away from him. A quiet snore issues from where you’re digging your face deeper into the pillow, clearly exhausted.
Fuck, guess he's just going to have to try. It'd be cruel to wake you now.
He slides into bed next to you, settling for the comforting warmth of you next to him, as he curls one arm around your waist and wraps himself around you. Burying his face into the warm nape of your neck and taking a deep inhale. The smell of your shampoo and soap that pleasantly lingers on his skin, washes away the memories of the stench of rain-soaked streets of this city, the disgusting smell of sulphur and piss.
New York throws a lot of stuff in his way. Muggers, arsonists, would-be murderers. It's nothing he can't handle. And he can handle what it throws at you too. Whether it is torrential rain or some freak force of nature threatening to put you in harm's way, it doesn't matter. He keeps you safe. And despite all the close calls, you're still here. Still alive. Still his.
His hand slides over the curve of your thigh at the thought, needing to feel your warmth underneath his fingertips. Goosebump prickles your skin at his caress, and he watches the way your back arches, pressing into his touch, even in your sleep.
A slow steady warmth blooms in his chest at your reaction. It's a heady blend of protectiveness but also pride. The universe itself can throw any tantrum it wants. He'll protect you from it all.
Your eyes stay shut, still clearly asleep, but your mouth parts with a needy hum, and Miguel gives you what you want, easing your body back into his arms. Like clockwork, you snuggle back against him, and the slight wiggle of your ass brushing against his front ensures there's no half about how hard is dick is anymore.
Needy heat rolls off his back in waves, and he slides one hand under the hem of your shirt and up along the softness of your stomach. If you were awake, you would be leaping away and smacking him for tickling you. But now the touch just makes you stretch and let out a contented little hum, your nipples already drawn up tight and hard for him by the time he reaches them.
Why are you so reactive when you're sound asleep? Part of him thinks you must be doing this on purpose; there's no way you can't be when he feels you shift again, the soft lace of your panties brushing up against his aching cock. He palms your hip, following the edge of the lace down over the curve of your ass, then hesitates.
You only pull out the lacey panties when you really want to rile him up. Saving them for special occasions because (as you never fail to mention while scolding him whenever he's ripped another pair in the heat of the moment) 'fancy underwear isn't cheap!' One of these lacey thrilly little things easily would set you back at $80 a pop. Miguel isn't exactly hard pressed for cash, but he sees your point.
Still Miguel doesn't know what he is supposed to do when you keep pressing back against him the way you are at the moment. He grits his teeth, jaw muscles protesting as he grinds them together, knowing fully well he's fighting a losing battle. It’s really only a matter of time. Miguel isn't a fucking saint, and right now the need riding the length of his spine is burning hot enough to incinerate him.
Oh fuck it!
Hooking a finger around the hem of your panties, he eases them to the side, and his hips hitch forward, rubbing himself against you. Sharp pleasure skitters along his back, and he has to bite down the groan in his throat. He draws back, and does it again, letting his cock ride along the curve of your ass. Letting his aching, leaking cock settle between your cheeks, the delicate lace trapping him in place against you.
You’re definitely gonna bitch at him later for stretching out the elastic. But that's okay, you'll forgive him, the way you always do.
He holds there, gently rolling his hips, doesn't go too forceful or too eager with his thrusts, some half-formed intention to not wake you. Thighs shaking as he savors the contrast between your smooth skin and the textured lace. He tells himself that he should take it slow and not disrupt your sleep. But Miguel's never been a patient man.
His hands are already moving, reaching, before his brain has anything to say about it, fingers hitching your panties even further to the side, and fuck the elastic, he'll buy you a new pair. Shit, he'll buy you twenty new pairs. A whole fucking store of panties if that's what you want.
He pulls back, presses forwards again, cock sliding between those plush thighs, the head, slick with precome, gliding smoothly against you.
And fuuuuuck.
He drops his forehead against your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut to ground himself. He can feel how wet you are, drenching his cock as he skims the hard length over and through your slick folds. You're warm and inviting and oh so fucking tempting. You may still be fast asleep, but your body is telling him it’s oh so very ready for him.
God you feel so fucking good.
Angling his hips, he slides the sensitive head of his dick against your slick folds, notching himself against your entrance, gritting his teeth against the way your pretty pussy clenches at the threat of invasion. He holds himself there, breath hissing between his teeth as he teases you both, with tiny, incremental movements forward, in, and back.
Pleasure swirls through him, hot and heady, his ears buzzing with electricity. He's lost in it, but not so far gone that he misses the noises you're making, your reaction. Those little sounds of dissatisfaction, the way your back arches, pressing your hips back against him. All of it telling him the same thing.
He presses his mouth to the corner of your shoulder. Has to hide the feral grin threatening to break out, because for all his vague intentions of letting you rest, part of him has been waiting for this. Part of him has been aiming for this exact outcome.
You. Awake. Fully ready to take him.
He presses forward again, just far enough that the head of his cock slips inside you, and is rewarded by your body clenching warm and wet around him.
Fuck, you feel too good. You always fucking do. It punches the breath right out of his lungs, needy heat singing through his veins and along every nerve ending in his body until he goes dizzy with it. There are advantages and disadvantages to enhanced senses, and right now, he's fully feeling both. Needs to get on with it, because he intends to have you coming on his cock at least twice before he's done.
Hooking an arm around your waist, he cups your mound. He stays there, pressing with his fingers and the heel of his palm, until he's rewarded by your hips hitching forward into the pressure, then rocking back again, causing you to sink down further onto him. A gasp and a small soft moan falls from between your lips.
He does it again, encouraging you to rock forward and then back again, taking him deeper each time. Inch by brain wracking inch, you take him in. He can feel your tight little pussy stretch around him, adjusting to his cock, as he presses your hips back and back and back until you're taking him all down to the root. Until he’s buried as deep as he can go.
Somehow it's not enough. Not when he's waited this long.
He centers three fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, resting the heel of his hand just above your pubic bone, and then he presses down.
Your pussy clenches tight, and you jolt hard against him, gasping awake with a breathy 'oh' that does funny things to his brain. Makes rational thought skitter away from him, and when he hears his name on a long gorgeous drawn out moan everything inside him roars to attention.
"Miguel."
Satisfaction thrums under his skin. You’re awake, and he wants you awake for this. Wants you to know exactly who is about to fuck your brains out.
"That's right, nena," he croons, easing his hips back, and skimming his lips up from your shoulder to nip at your exposed neck, careful not to break the skin, relishing the sound of the perfect little gasp of yours. "I'm right here. You ready for my big cock, baby?"
"It– mmmmmm– It feels…" you mumble, voice still stumbling and sleepy.
He slams back into you just as you're trying to find your words, taking a bit too much pleasure in interrupting them when he hears you whine out a breathy, "Fuck, fuck!"
"What's that?" Miguel raises a hand to your chin, cradling it in his palm, tilting you back until he can press his lips to the edge of your jaw. "What does it feel like, tell me."
"Fee-feels like– ngh– like I'm already– taking your big cock." Your words are staggered, stuttered out each time he fucks his cock into you, and Miguel smiles.
"You are," he tell you, "You're taking me so well, nena."
It's a struggle for him to get the words out smoothly. He’s rolling his hips at a steady pace, fucking you in earnest now that you're awake to appreciate it. Every slick slide into your needy little pussy has pleasure burning sharp and insistent through his nervous system, overwhelming and inescapable.
He pauses, moving his hand away from your clit for a second, and grins when you whine and clutch at his arm.
"Patience," he scolds you "I've got you. I'm just gonna..."
He tucks his hand under your panties, and you stiffen against him, making a sound like an outraged cat. He knows exactly what you're going to say even before the words leave your lips, so he ignores you, sliding his fingers along the boundary where you're stretched so wide around the base of him, getting them nice and slick.
"You didn't take off my panties!? Miguel, these are my good wuh– oh fuck."
The words cut off when he locates your hard little clit, settling two fingers over it this time, one on each side, the way he knows always drives you crazy.
"What was that, nena?" he bites back a smile, "Something you wanted to say, huh?"
You suck in a breath, but he doesn't give you a chance to answer, fucking into you hard, and wastes no time resuming his former rhythm. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken moan.
"Sorry, baby," he teases, "I didn't quite catch that."
You don't answer. There's no way you're going to, not with the way your body is drawing up tight, gasping for breath as if he's driving every last ounce of oxygen from your lungs.
He knows your body as well as he knows his own, and he has you caught now, like spider with a fly in its web. He keeps holding you tight against him, hips angled to drive up against just the right spot inside you, the one that has you sobbing and clawing at him with every thrust, each one forcing you forward against the fingers he has bracketing your sensitive little clit.
No more words from that smart mouth of yours now, only gasps and whimpers and cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name.
You're clawing at his forearm, breath stuttering in and out of your lungs in staggered gulps. Your heart beating loud and fast and alive in your chest, and he can tell that you're close now. He can feel it in the way your tight little pussy clenches and quivers around him, clutching at his cock like it wants to hold him close, closer, closest.
"Mi– Mi– Mig–" The sound stutters out of you in time with his thrusts, high pitched and desperate—cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name, more whine than words. Pride swells in Miguel's chest at seeing you, hearing you like this, strung out and stuttering on his cock, begging him for your pleasure.
Pleasure that only he can give you.
"That's right, nena." He fucks into you hard. Can feel you clench around him relentlessly.
"I'm right here."
You're squeezing him so goddamned tight.
"Fucking you."
It takes everything in him to hold to the same angle, the same pace. To give you just what you need, the way only he can give it to you.
"Making you come," he bites out.
You writhe against him, whining louder now, sweet noises growing higher pitched.
"Come for me, nena," he demands, and you shudder against him, your voice rising into a wail.
Your hot little cunt clamps down tight, fluttering around him, and bright spots of pain bloom into pleasure as your fingernails dig into his arm, drawing blood. Your pretty eyes flutter shut as the whole of your body tenses under him.
Fuck, you're coming.
"That's– fuck– That's it," he grits out, slowing his thrusts, rocking against you gently to help draw out your orgasm. To buy himself a freaking second so you don’t take him over the edge with you. He keeps the soft rolling rhythm until the wracked shivers seizing your body settles. Counting down the seconds until the grip of your nails into his biceps is easing, and then…
"Again," he demands, snapping his hips forward, fucking into you hard, "Come for me again, nena."
Miguel locks his arm in place, holding you at the angle that will let him hit that perfect spot inside you every time, the one that makes your eyes roll back in your head, and he intends to have you seeing stars. He hears your breath leave you with a strangled noise, feels your pussy clench tight and perfect around his cock, and grins through gritted teeth.
If he times it juuuust right, he can send you over the edge a second time. He's done it before, forcing you into another orgasm before you've even come down from the first, and he’s not above using his enhanced reflexes to make you do it again.
And right now? The way you're writhing against him, hands and arms and pussy clutching at him, like you're trying to pull him closer—pull him in, despite the fact that he's already fucking you as deep as he can go. All of that tells him his timing was spot-fucking-on today.
It doesn't take long. It never does when he makes you come this way. And thank fuck for that, because the feel of you clenching around him is almost enough to take him over the edge with you. He has to grit his teeth as he slows to the gentle rocking rhythm you like best when you’re coming. His free hand fisting in the bed sheets, claws digging into them in a way he knows will earn him another scolding later. But R.I.P. your damn linens. Better them than him. You may have come twice, but Miguel's not ready to be done with you just yet.
This time, when you come down, he keeps things slow and gentle until you go loose and boneless. Forces himself to slows further until every muscle in your body melts under his grip. You sink down into the mattress with a little sigh, like you're ready to drift back off to sleep just like this, safe and snug in his arms, his hard cock still buried inside of you.
And if he wasn't so hard up, skin crawling with need and desperation, maybe he'd let you.
But that’s not happening tonight.
Unfortunately for you, Miguel's too hungry for you. Starving. Wants to lick and bite and swallow you down to the very marrow of your bones.
He's been good. He's been patient. Has held himself back while he made you come. Twice. Satisfaction burns bright in his chest, almost as bright as his need for you. Two fucking times he's gritted his teeth, holding back his own orgasm by the skin of his fucking fangs as that pretty little pussy came around his cock, squeezing him so tight that for a second he was sure he'd black out and see god behind his eyelids.
Miguel is out of patience.
Any intention to go easy on you because you need the rest is gone. Any consideration for your early morning tomorrow has flown the nest.
Hands on each side of your hips, he rolls the two of you, easily flipping you forward onto your stomach and drags you down along the bed. You stay limp and relaxed, as you let him move you like a ragdoll, positioning you the way he wants, head and chest resting against the matress, ass in the air.
Once he's got you where he wants you, he takes just a second to admire you, taking in the way those pretty lace panties highlight the curves of your ass but do nothing to conceal your slick center, pulled to the side as they are, leaving your pussy fully exposed, all pretty and puffy from how well he's fucked you and glistening in the low light.
You shiver under his heavy gaze, and he can see the way your pussy clenches, can see how wet you are, shining slick, halfway down your thighs.
Miguel must've taken too long with his one second. A soft inquisitive "hmmmmm?" emerges from where your head is buried in the pillow, and you rock your hips gently side to side.
His dick jerks at the obvious invitation. Precome oozes from the tip, and he takes himself in hand, lets himself stroke once to spread it along his length, as though he wasn't dripping with you already.
"What's that, nena?" he bites out. He's so fucking hard for you, cock aching from holding back, but even now, he can't help but tease and goad you. "You want more? You didn't get fucked good enough already? Does that pretty pussy want my cock?"
"Mmmmm.... yes," you say, one hand outstretched behind you, making a 'gimme' motion at him.
The gesture is ridiculous, but he can't help the way it makes his chest pull tight. You're always so ready to have him, no matter how much he tires you out. Suddenly, he can't wait another fucking second to be inside you again.
He starts to line himself up, the wet heat of you just kissing the head of his dick when you tense up and make a sound of alarm. Fear stings his spine, and he freezes.
"You okay, nena?" he asks, pulling away from you, suddenly terrified that he's hurt you somehow.
Miguel has always been big—even before the "accident" that changed him—and he's bigger now, exponentially stronger. He’d thought he was being careful, but fuck, it'd be all too easy for him to let his strength get away from him, to go harder than you can handle.
"Are you hurt? Was I- Was I too rough?"
Because he forgets sometimes. Forgets that others don't heal at an accelerated rate like he does. That your body isn't protected by enhanced endurance that lets him walk off falling from a building, barely feeling the six broken ribs and fractured arm that results.
It's why he needs to protect you.
Always.
Unlike him, you can be hurt. Can be broken, can be killed. And if he’s hurt you, then he–
You make a negative sound, shaking your head.
"No, you big doofus," you mumble out into the pillow, and Miguel's heart slowly starts to ease its way out of his throat. "The panties. Take them off first. Don't want them to tear."
He stops, blinking in confusion as his eyes narrow down at you.
Your. Fucking. Panties!?
Really? His mouth curls down into a peeved frown. That's your fucking priority right now? After he's fucked you silly, made you come twice the way only he can?
"You want me to take your panties off, nena?" he demands, tone low and harsh, edging forward on the bed until he’s looming over you.
"Yes," you confirm. "They’re my last good pair." You’re nodding your head energetically in a way that tells him he hasn't done nearly as good of a job of tiring you as he thought. He’ll have to fix that.
With a snarl, he lances the crotch of your panties with a single claw, ripping them off your body.
"Miguel!" you squeak, clearly not expecting that, your voice pitched with disbelief, "Did you just–?"
"They were in the way," he manages to rasp out, lining himself up and pressing forward, unceremoniously shoving inside.
The tight, hot clench of your pretty pussy is blindingly good. It always fucking is. And just like always, Miguel is lost to it. He holds there, buried as deep in you as he can get, shuddering against you. He's damn lucky that extraordinary stamina comes bundled along with super-senses, or he'd probably come every damn time he slips inside you. It'd be all over at the first thrust.
Fuck, he has to move.
He pulls out, and you gasp and claw at the sheets, shuddering under him as he starts to fuck you again. Obscene wet, squelching sounds fill the room, along with the echoing slap of flesh on flesh as he fills you over and over and over. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking perfect. He grits his teeth, trying to get a handle on the feeling, but it’s overwhelming.
Your hot, perfect little pussy clenches and flexes around his dick, and a blissful burn sears against his spine, streaking white and hot with pleasure. A tell-tale sign, warning him of what's to come if he doesn't stop. He sucks in a breath, trying to stave it off, barely hanging on to his control by the tips of his claws because he wants to feel you come around him one more time.
Because twice isn’t enough. Three times won’t be either. Nor would four, five, ten. Miguel’s greedy for you. Selfish. No matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will always want more of you.
More of your soft body pressed up against every inch of his. More of your eyes looking back at him, glazed over as if you have no coherent thoughts left in that pretty head of yours. He wants all of that and more. Another orgasm. Another fuck. Another kiss. One more breath. Just more, more, more.
He curls his hand around your throat, feels the chaotic race of your pulse under his fingertips.
"Come for me, nena," he demands, "I need it. Need to feel you."
He tilts your face up, your back arched like a bow towards him. So fragile. So trusting, that you let him do this to you.
He dips down to claim your lips, snapping his hips into yours faster now. Ramping up the pace as he chases his inevitable climax, forcing you to yours.
You whimper and keen with each thrust, eyes rolling wildly. Your mouth hangs open, panting out sweet, stuttered moans that he swallows in a bruising kiss. Your whole body tenses under him, going rigid, then your pretty pussy starts clenching down around him as you come again.
This time, Miguel can't hold himself back. Doesn't even try. Lets himself succumb to the sight, the sounds, the smell, the feel of you surrounding him, coming for him. His stomach draws in tight, toes curling into the sheets, as he can feel his balls drawing up, cock swelling further as he manages a last few ragged thrusts. Then he’s tumbling over the edge with you, burying himself as deep as he can as the unforgiving bliss rises and spreads, blotting out everything else.
It's endless. Pulses after devastating pulse that won't stop. He comes and comes and comes, emptying himself inside of you until he's lightheaded, barely able to hold himself.
No amount of supernatural stamina can help him in this moment. Not when he can feel his spend filling you to capacity and more, so full that it starts leaking out of you, down the line of your thighs and onto his. His strength gives out, and he collapses into the bed, bringing you down with him.
The two of you lay there, trying to catch your breath. You’re trapped under his weight, your small back heaving under his larger chest, sweat slicking your skin to his. He has no desire to move. Shifts slightly to the side, a concession to your need to breathe, but refuses to go farther than that. He wants to keep you right here, covered and cocooned by his body.
You tilt your head until you can peek over your shoulder at him. There's a look in your eyes, one that he has only ever seen on you. One just for him, filled with exasperated fondness, heat and loving familiarity. One he wouldn’t give up for anything.
"You're getting me new panties."
A warm huff of laughter escapes him. The bright warm glow in his chest spreads outwards, filling him with contentment.
"Sure, nena."
"And coffee in the morning," you add.
He hums in agreement because that's fair. You're going to be in zombie mode otherwise.
"And cupcakes for breakfast," you finish triumphantly.
Miguel turns his head to observe you, the way you're trying to hide that satisfied grin into the pillow to not betray how fucking over the moon you are right now after he's fucked you silly.
Smartass. Always pushing your damn luck. But it's not like he's going to ever say no to you is it?
He puts on a show of sighing loudly with mock exasperation. "From Gladis, yeah?”.
You nod into your pillow.
"Mmhmm."
He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, circling his arm around your waist, easily pulling you to his side.
The rain is still pouring down outside, but here in bed with your warm body pressed up against his side, the sound of it pitter-pattering against the window is almost soothing. He can feel his eyes slipping closed as it lulls him off to sleep.
The rain isn’t so bad when you’re warm and safe in his arms. Nothing is, as long as you’re here with him.
He’ll keep you safe.
Always.
Credits and Dedications: I have to give so so so so much credit to my clown-in-crime @thirstworldproblemss poor woman doesn't even go here, and spent the whole of her evening writing porn to me in my DMs. 90% of the porny parts have been written by her. So for all those who enjoyed this, please go to her inbox and send her much deserved love!!!
I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!
#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara smut#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara fanfiction#oscar isaac#across the spiderverse#spider man 2099#spiderverse fanfiction#miguel ohara x you#marvel#spider man: across the spider verse#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara fic
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“Do you know what you have done?”
Fanart for Every You Every Me #13 by @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss
Took me a long while to post this, I actually didn't mean for so much time to pass before to post it hahaha Idk what to tell you, it just happened
#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara#spiderman 2099#fanart#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#atsv#spiderman across the spiderverse#comic
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Fan art for “Hide and Seek” & “Every You Every Me” by @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss
So, I just want to point out the parallel between Miguel biting Nena and (almost) biting Cielito.
And no, my heart is not okay.💔 I regret nothing
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara#spiderverse#canon x oc#every you every me#fanart#miguel fanart
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Wolves At The Door; Epilogue
Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]
Pairing: Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader
Rating: Holy shit M.
Summary: It was a little comforting to have a nightly ritual once more, however. Before it had been you and Karl discussing anything that struck him after dinner, and the silence continued to yawn around you at mealtimes.
A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our final installment! I'd like to thank you all for reading, and for having faith in me to see this through safe and sound. Never fear, you will always have your happy ending 💚 Enjoy!
Tag List: @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @silver-quinn01 @velvet-paradox @hijackser @mrs-wolfwood @nonstop-haikyuu @mic-sunderland @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fullofmoonsandstars @stargazerofgoldenwords @imthegreenfairy86 @karlskitten @nitrogennightmare @chunnies @thirstworldproblemss @highly-unknown @tartimaar-bloggeth @thesmartbiscuit @spoopyredacted @crowtrobotx @kotall-ohh @doggydale @jackie-loves-yalls-writing @simplysolo @teeheemax
x. Prelude
1. Indebted
2. Blood On Your Hands
3. Brush With Death
4. Come To Bed
5. Smells Like Snow
6. Hot Iron
7. Turnover
8. Backslide
9. Tender Gray Light
10. Hubris’ Weight
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of mental and physical duress and sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]
You hadn't been counting, but if you had, it would have been sixty-seven days. Sixty-seven days since Karl had vanished, sixty-seven days since you had heard another human's voice or even seen another person.
Sixty-seven days. You weren't counting.
Spring was fully upon the forest, buds erupting on the trees and the river swollen with runoff from the melting snow. It was one of your busiest times of the year between scavenging fallen trees, resetting the snares and sorting through your seeds to plant. You were extremely busy and you didn't think about it at all.
Not even when the Duke made his first appearance of the season.
…
“It brings me joy to see you once more, my dear! This winter was long and harsh.” The large man exclaimed, mopping his sweaty face with a handkerchief. “I'm wondering if you might assist me with a small problem. It seems someone may have suffered a bit of an incident, a turn of bad luck.”
Despite this being the thing he always said when he had found an animal for you to nurse, your heart still gave a traitorous little jump in your chest. That is, of course, until a small doe limped around the rear of the cart.
“What's wrong, my dear?” The Duke queried, and when you glanced at him his expression was strangely stoic. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“No, I…” You hesitated. “I guess not. What's happened to this little girl?”
“She claims that she got her fore left leg caught in the fork of a tree. The woods have been so peaceful as of late though that, aside from the pain, she wasn't scared,” the Duke mused thoughtfully, a swollen hand resting gently on the animal's head. “Apparently her leg would have been broken had she panicked. She had to remain still for several hours to get free.”
You were always entertained by the way the merchant acted like he could understand the woodland creatures he brought to you, but if nothing else he clearly had a way with them. The black horse that drew his cart, for instance, had never balked or shied away in all the times that the Duke had rattled his wares around behind the creature's head.
You squinted upwards at the Duke. “So I'm salving and wrapping her leg?”
“Indeed, a simple fix.” He bent down, giving you a look so intent it made you a little uncomfortable. “And I'll give something to you as a token of my appreciation.”
“Huh?”
He simply winked, then gestured at the doe.
You were burning with curiosity. What could he be granting you? And for free, no less! Ablaze with possibilities you didn't dare hope for, you nonetheless dutifully tended to the small scrape on the deer's thin leg.
“A familiar task for you, I'd wager.” The Duke finally spoke again, cigar smoke wafting around his head like a cloud. You gave him a confused look, quirking your brow, yet his face remained amicably bland.
You eventually settled back onto your haunches, wiping a few beads of sweat from your brow. While the weather had yet to truly warm up, the sunlight was beaming through the still-leafless trees.
The doe staggered to her feet, bleating at you loud enough to make you jump. The Duke laughed as if in reply, that large hand landing on the animal's head once more. “Off you get now, little hind. You know the way home.” He murmured, giving her another pat before she departed. “She said thank you, by the by.” The large man informed you almost absently, already searching through his pockets for another cigar.
“Oh of course,” was your dry response, making him chuckle. “What's with all this cryptic stuff, though?”
“Ah, to business.” The Duke rubbed his hands together, his rings jangling discordantly as he did. “A favorite subject. Regrettably my gift is nothing really physical, it is instead a message.” His keen eyes felt suddenly sharp, as though he was seeing through your soul itself. “That iron horse does not forget its master so easily, especially one so gracious as you, my dear.”
You stared up at him blankly. Horse? What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
The Duke seemed entertained by your bewilderment, the man grinning and leaning back on the bench of his cart. “Perhaps it would be more apt to dub him the feral mutt you've brought to heel. After all, kindness and a warm meal are lures potent enough to drag in even the most stoic of men.”
“That's not funny.” You said in a curt tone, hating that you could feel your lower lip quivering slightly. “I…that's not funny, Mr. Duke.”
He was abruptly serious. “I don't jest lightly, my dear.”
“Then why would you say that?!” You snapped, getting to your feet and dusting off the knees of your pants. “I didn't help out just so you could sit up there and make fun of me-”
“My dear I assure you, I'm as sincere as the day is long.” The Duke insisted, knocking some ash from the end of his cigar. “Call it a…perhaps a merchant's intuition. After all, it's important to have a certain level of foresight, to be able to read the ebbs and flows of the market and adjust to demand ahead of schedule. How else would I keep my clientele?”
“You're not making any sense.” You growled, now frustrated with your corpulent visitor.
He tipped his head back, expelling another waft of smoke upwards. “Have a little faith, will you? Creature of habit that you are, have faith in the unseen, the unknown.” The Duke jabbed his cigar at you. “Or continue to wallow in your discontent, counting the days that you claim mean nothing.”
You recoiled physically as if he had struck you, taking in a deep breath to deny his words. But instead all that came out was a soft, pitiful, “I miss him.”
The Duke nodded, oddly sympathetic all of a sudden. “Have faith, my dear.” He clasped your hand between his own enormous paws, eyes sincere. “The spring is upon us, and new life grows eternal in these woods. Keep your lanterns lit.”
…
Damn, it's quiet.
It echoed in his ears, a looping nothingness like static. Abruptly his heartbeat interrupted it, thudding deafeningly in his skull. What the hell had the good-for-nothing organ been doing before that?!
The beat was slow, much slower than it ought to be. His thoughts were barely there, sluggish and disjointed.
Rain hammering what was once his face, the boom of thunder and the grinding shriek of metal–
No, no, he had dealt with that already. Where was he? It was so frustrating not being able to think, to string along a process to its conclusion.
He flexed his right hand, confused by how numb it was. Pins and needles lurched down the limb in a wave, making him shudder and grunt. That shudder dislodged…something, a huge, sharp something that, from what he could struggle to put together, was what had pinned him to the wall he was currently pressed against.
It didn't seem to matter if he opened his eyes or kept them closed, either way he was effectively sightless and plagued with vertigo. Had he gone blind?
A groan rattled dryly out of his throat. The skin on his lips cracked with the exhale, and he felt liquid begin to dampen them. His tongue flicked out on reflex, the man tasting rust and dirt. Unbidden came a warm flash as if from a dream, cinnamon and brown sugar, plum spice cake.
Standing was a challenge. More of a slow, creaking shift into what could be vaguely considered an upright position. Fingers scratching at the mud around him, the man levered himself off the ground with the help of what was left of his enormous hammer. The handle of it felt more brittle than he had expected, the scent of rust filling the air when his fingers gripped down.
How long has it been?
And then, a new thought occurred, one that seemed to fully shock him to life. Have I just been dreaming this entire time?
Had you just been some vivid hallucination? Had the Duke even scraped him off the ground and brought him to safety, or had he just crawled back into his burrow to die once the saga of he and Winters’ fracas had played out?
Was any of it real?
The ground squelched wetly beneath whatever was left of his boots as he staggered forward, but it also crunched in a grim manner. He didn't want to think too hard on that, instead focusing on sending out pulses of his power. He couldn't truly see, but at least he knew where metallic objects were in proximity to him and he could use that knowledge to keep from toppling over.
He wasn't certain how long he meandered through the sunless wreckage. Was it hours, or weeks? Slowly, painfully, one shuffling foot in front of the other, he continued on aimlessly. He wondered to himself if this was how earthworms felt, wriggling through the cold earth in search of sustenance and never deigning to see the sunlight.
He barely even noticed when it started to become brighter around him, reasoning that he must simply be imagining it when faintly from far, far above came a distant dawn chorus of birdsong. The man paused, straining his eyes to see in the dim light, and he could only just make out a faint glow in the distance. His legs, all but atrophied from disuse, protested mightily when he tried to up his pace, so he was forced to maintain the speed of a snail moving through cold molasses.
It was a long, hard trek. The rubble-laden floor angled slightly upwards to the…hole? cave in?, leaving the man to simply flounder and scrape his shins on the detritus he was too weary to lift his legs over.
As the light strengthened, he came to the sudden realization that he was all but naked. What was left of his clothing was in ribbons, caked with ichor, old blood and mold. His boots seemed to be coming apart at the seams, blooming white patches of mold eating into the remnants of the leather. He then shivered as the first bracing breeze of the outside world graced his lungs, and the coughing spasm it startled out of him seemed to dislodge more than it should have.
When he finally was able to straighten back up, his spine settled into place, releasing an earsplitting pop! as it did. Relief flooded his body, the pain dulling to a manageable throb. He took a few more tentative breaths, noting as he did how much brighter his surroundings had become. Had he been walking through the night, and just reached the entrance at dawn?
It doesn't really matter, he decided, squaring his shoulders. The only thing that matters is…
“I have to go back.” He grimaced at the rasp of his own voice, swallowing and trying again. “I have to…make sure it wasn't all in my head.”
I have to see them. And when I do, I…
His heart lurched painfully in his chest. What if it had all just been a dream? Some wild wish-fulfillment of a gentler, kinder existence while his body slowly repaired itself after his glorious defeat at the hands of Ethan Winters?
His empty stomach felt like it was caving in, fear and resignation warring in his gut, but after a moment of hesitation he shook the hair out of his eyes and stepped out into the cool yellow light of a spring morning.
The first thing he noticed was no humanoid footprints, to his absolute delight. No wolf prints, no footprints, nothing. At least he hadn't failed in that regard. Unless he had imagined it and those fucks who put up the fence had also been the ones to eradicate the lycans and their pets.
Gods, his head hurt. The sun, just barely over the horizon now, seemed like it was burning his retinas clean out of his skull. He shaded his eyes with his palm, grimacing in pain. He would go check the bulkhead he had entered through, he decided. Check the bulkhead, see if it even existed, then check for fresh tracks there. And then…and then…
He slumped against the rubble of the caved-in factory wall, running a hand over his face. His facial hair was extremely unruly and matted with grime, and he doubted the rest of him looked any better. Once he departed the village, put some distance between himself and this…malodorous valley, he would have to clean himself up. If you were real, if he hadn't imagined you in a fit of self-indulgent madness, he doubted you would be overly impressed with him showing up half-dead, reeking of stale sweat, mold and wet dog.
To say nothing of the fact that his clothing was in tatters.
It was a slow, zig-zagging walk back to where he had descended into the factory previously. At least he knew for certain that the bulkhead existed, the man reasoned with himself while he scrutinized the ground around the bulkhead that hadn't caved in. Again, nothing. No fresh marks, no scrapes, no scuffs. Not so much as a sparrow's tiny claw marks graced the ground. Seemingly the local wildlife gave the valley a wide berth, which made sense. Between Miranda's crow forms and the various nightmarish denizens of this place, it was only logical for normal creatures to avoid it.
He straightened up, squinting against the sunlight once more. He could only just make out that ridiculous fence way off by the outskirts of the valley, and if he remembered the fence…
The man gripped the remains of the haft of his hammer and began walking. It had only taken him a few hours of running to get here before, but after his…rest, it would seem that running wasn't in the cards for today. Or ever again, if the screaming in his calves was anything to go by. So walking it was, doing his best to ignore the tremor in his legs as he went.
He mainly left his attention on the ground, familiar enough with the valley that he could afford to do so. Back around the swamp he went, nearly losing the sole of one of his boots to the sucking mud that surrounded the area.
He had to get to you. He had to know whether you were real. The fear and hope cycled in his head, back and forth, round and round, and he wondered hazily if he had snapped (or snapped more).
Climbing the rise felt like an impossible task and yet eventually he stood at the top, sweating and panting but there.
Without an ounce of finesse, Karl Heisenberg gracelessly tore open a section of the fence and made his escape out into the forest, never once looking back at the village that had been his home for so many years. No, all that his thoughts could stay latched onto was the memory of plum spice cake and the way you had looked at him that night.
He had to get to you. He had to make sure that you were real. And…
He had to apologize.
He had to make this right.
If you hated him, that was fine! It was your right. He would hate him. What he had done was stupid. You made him feel something that he didn't understand, and for someone as self-assured as Karl, that was terrifying.
Cut them off at the source. More like run from a problem he didn't think he could handle, like some cowardly bitch. The man snarled at himself in discontent, his pace picking up to some sort of lumbering jog. Deer fled before him, nimble bodies flitting through the undergrowth as he did his best to retrace his steps. At least he had the river to follow, if nothing else.
Speaking of which.
Karl knelt beside the rushing water, grateful that he couldn't see his reflection. He had a decent imagination, he didn't need to confirm it.
It was cold as ice, the chill of it taking his breath away. Karl took another breath and shoved his head underwater, closing his eyes to keep…whatever was in his hair out of them. The man then flipped the soggy hair back over his head, finger-combing it away from his face.
Karl proceeded to drink greedily from the river, the frigid water a shock and blessing all in one. He hadn't realized just how thirsty he was, the man finally sloppily wiping his mouth and beard and then getting to his feet once more. The handle of his hammer remained on the ground beside the river, forgotten, as Heisenberg continued onward along the bank.
He felt like he was actually awake now, like he'd emerged from some kind of dream (or nightmare) into these woods. His footing grew more sure, atrophy fading as his muscles warmed up both from use and from the strengthening sunlight streaming through the trees.
He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry. The day was so young, the sky overhead a vibrant blue and the moss beneath his boots a lush, fluffy green. It was honestly beautiful and Karl had no idea how he had never seen it before. Had he been wandering through life with his eyes shut until now?
No, he thought firmly, he had only begun to open them when he met you. You had done that. You had been worth it, had been worth him taking actual notice of the world around him.
You had to be real. You must be. None of the other phantoms he had encountered in his life had any substance to them, but you…
Heisenberg clenched his fists, urging his body to move faster.
…
Keep your lanterns lit.
And so you did. The Duke had left you with a physical gift despite his claims to the contrary; a sturdy metal lantern with a large cutout shaped like a horse. Every night as the sun was setting, you went out to where it hung on your front gate and lit the candle inside it, which, curiously, never seemed to get any shorter. You, admittedly, didn't have much faith, you just assumed the Duke had been trying to comfort you with some platitude.
It was a little comforting to have a nightly ritual once more, however. Before it had been you and Karl discussing anything that struck him after dinner, and the silence continued to yawn around you at mealtimes. You would take what you could get. You often lingered out by the fence for a while, telling yourself you weren't really listening as you strained your ears to hear anything, anything at all. You knew it was futile and you weren't actually expecting anything to come of it, yet still you persisted in wasting time by the front gate.
With the lengthening days you were occasionally out past dusk, cutting wood or finishing house repairs. On one such day, a floorboard on the porch that had begun creaking in the winter finally annoyed you enough that you decided to attempt to fix it.
You spent most of the day carefully foraging drips of pine pitch from nearby trees, intending to make a batch of pine tar in the evening. Board couldn't creak if it couldn't move, right?
You set up your highly-technical ‘refining station’, which definitely wasn't just an old beans can nestled down into the dirt beneath your fire pit, a slightly-larger tomato can with holes poked into the bottom of it resting on top. Then, after dropping all your resin in the upper can, you carefully built the fire up, placing a rock over the top of the can to act as a lid. The melting process could take a few hours, depending on the fire, so it was after sundown when you began to cautiously sift through the charcoal. You would need a few good, clean pieces to mix in with the now-filtered resin, in order to ensure some pliability remained.
You had interrupted the task at sunset, moving in an automatic way from the firepit to the fence to light the lantern. You could see the glow of it now out of the corner of your eye, even while you pored over the char.
Maybe it does nothing but make me feel a little less alone.
You stared down at your gloved hands full of blackened wood, blinking furiously when tears began to blur your vision. You continued, albeit a bit more clumsily, to separate out the cleanest chunks of charcoal, doing your best to make a neat little pile.
A boot abruptly landed squarely in the middle of the pile and you couldn't help the terrified noise that left your mouth, scrambling to try and get to your feet. Before you could, though, the person dropped to their knees and wrapped their arms around you, trapping you in place. Wiry unkempt facial hair scuffed your cheek while you just sat there, frozen stiff with fear.
“Sugar.”
Karl.
Your breath caught in your throat. You felt his entire body shudder. “I couldn't remember if you were real.” His voice cracked. “I followed the light, but I couldn't–I'm…I'm so sorry, sugar. I'm so, so sorry, I don't know if I can ever make it up to you, I-I just-”
You silently returned his hug, sure that you were leaving charcoal stains on his clothes but not able to find it in you to care all that much. Karl stopped trying to speak after a few moments, the man sagging against you with his forehead resting on your shoulder. “Tell me in the morning, okay?” You whispered, relieved when he nodded. “Let's just get you inside.”
It wasn't much of a struggle to get him indoors, and he bedded down on his old cot without so much as a peep of complaint. He was filthy, but now wasn't the time for your hygiene regiment. He was clearly stripped for energy and worn out. Better to let this particular sleeping dog lie, at least for now.
…
Karl woke suddenly, whatever dream he had been having rapidly fading from his mind. He stared up at the ceiling, momentarily perplexed. Pine truss beams running lengthwise, the pattern of knots and wood grain achingly familiar.
Sugar.
He shoved himself into a sitting position, body still heavy from sleep, and saw you.
You weren't really doing anything all that impressive. The stove door was ajar and you were busily tending the fire. But at that moment, Karl was certain he had never seen a more beautiful sight. “Sugar,” he rasped, voice gruff and drowsy.
You turned to look at him, your eyes softening upon meeting his own. “Hey, Karl.”
Oh, he could fucking cry. Heisenberg huffed out a breath, feeling his heart twist in his chest. You lugged over the basin of water that had been sitting next to the stove (maybe to keep it warm?), toting a washcloth and the bar of soap as well. “Talk with me once you've sponged off.” You said, not unkindly. “You kinda’ smell like BO and dead animal.”
“I doubt it's a kind of level of smell.” Karl admitted wryly, making you snicker and nod. “Sorry about all this. You tend to smell like death if you're dead for a little while, after all.”
“I don't know if I would call two months and some change a ‘little while’. Also, dead?” You raised an eyebrow.
Karl stared at you. Two months. Over two months. Gods almighty.
You, seeming to register that the news was a shock to him, patted his knee. “Y'know what, worry about it later. Focus on the first thing and we can go from there. I'll make us some lunch.”
“Lunch?”
You nodded, turning your wrist so he could see your watch. It was indeed a little after one in the afternoon. “Get washed up,” you reiterated softly.
So Karl attempted to do so, flushing a little once he'd stripped and realized just how dirty he actually was. “Sugar?” He called, using the remains of his clothes to cover his groin just in case you turned around. Sure, sure you had seen him entirely naked before, but…
From the kitchen you replied, “yeah?” He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that you didn't look at him.
“I'm just going to throw myself in the river. I don't think this glorified bucket is going to cut it.” He reasoned.
“Okay, you know where the towels are. Just make sure you go downstream a ways.”
The freezing water in the river was a far cry from the lukewarm comfort that the basin had held, but Karl was a little more certain in his cleanliness once he emerged, teeth chattering and body pink from scrubbing, from the pool that swirled and eddied alongside your far fenceline. Spreading out the worn towel once he had mostly dried himself off, Heisenberg took a moment to lay back on the riverbank and examine the new scars.
The cadou had healed him, of course, but now he was riddled with scars. He'd prided himself previously on his ability to guard quickly, to be able to adjust during a fight and use his powers to shield himself. But that many lycans, vârcolaci, in essentially total darkness…
He knew he was lucky to be alive at all, and that he shouldn't be so unsettled by a few new marks. He still couldn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. He had never worried about his looks, it had never crossed his mind. His confidence in his abilities was so all-encompassing he hadn't considered the possibility, but what if you had only been attracted to his looks? You had vocalized interest in his appearance, after all.
Karl frowned, rubbing a hand over his face and noting even more unfamiliar raised areas. Maybe he would feel better once he got his facial hair under control. Once he looked like himself again, or some sort of approximation of it. First things first though, he would need to beg some clothes off of you.
…
You tore into a thick slice of bread, slathered with a little of the precious squirrel fat you had left and a healthy sprinkle of salt. Karl had vanished into your bedroom with the haircare kit, stating that he “felt more human, but could use a shape-up”.
He looked much too good for someone you had convinced yourself to be mad at. Truthfully your confusion and anger at being…well, abandoned, in your own terms, had ebbed substantially upon his arrival. He had seemed–breakable wasn't quite the right word. Maybe fragile? He had clearly been through hell, if nothing else. At that moment, you had decided to be merciful. You would hear him out. If you didn't like his answer, you could always show him the door.
Another bite was crammed into your mouth, and you focused on chewing furiously before your thoughts could wander any further. Cool it, hotshot, you scolded yourself mentally. Try to be normal about this.
Once Karl emerged from your room he gingerly settled into the seat across from you at the table. Wearing some borrowed, slightly ill-fitting clothes and sporting some uneven edges to his facial hair, the man didn't exactly cut an imposing figure.
God, you had missed him so much.
To your surprise he entirely ignored the food in front of him, instead reaching across the table and clasping your free hand between his own. The look he leveled at you made you want to break eye contact, but stubbornly, you refused. He owed you this much, you reminded yourself with more than a touch of irritation.
“I'm sorry.” His voice was still raspy, but it seemed to be from disuse. “I…sugar I fucked up. I own that. I was scared.”
You gaped at him, thrown entirely off balance. The man who had faced down a horde of lycans, the man who could control metal with a look, a gesture–
Scared?
He wasn't done clearly, his grip on your hand tensing as he leaned in with an earnest expression. “You deserved better than what I did. You were–gods, you were so kind to me. Opened your home to me when I didn't know who I was. Opened yourself to me.”
Were you blushing?! Dammit!
“I know we didn't mean fuckall to one another, I get that it was…I guess a convenience, using each other for mutual benefit. But I-” Heisenberg paused, leaving you reeling. It was true though, wasn't it? Convenience. No emotions involved in it. “-I don't know what the hell happened.” He finally admitted, his voice soft. “I don't know when it changed for me. Whether it even changed at all, or if it was always like that and I was just ignoring it. I'm, uh, not exactly experienced here, and I guess I can blame it on that.”
“‘Experienced’ how?” You managed to ask, a hysterical giggle escaping you when he stuttered and fell silent. “Seriously?”
“This isn't how I-look, sugar, I figured me dying, me wiping out all those lycan freaks and probably dying in the process–I mean it wasn't great, but I thought I could at least be useful. I'm not…good.” His voice faded to an awkward mumble. “Good, like how you are.”
One thing at a time. You could process that later. “All the lycans?” The woods had been peaceful the last few months. You hadn't really thought…damn.
Karl nodded, his jaw set in a grim line.
“You…You really thought you were gonna’ die?” You felt a little nauseous when he nodded again. “How? You're so tough!”
“I'd never fought the horde on their turf. They holed up in my factory after-” he gestured at himself. “-everything.” The man sighed heavily, rotating his shoulder. “Brought the house down on top of them and me. Not sure how long I fought them before then.”
“You've got to be shitting me.” You planted your palms on the table, shoving your chair out behind you from the force as you stood. “You went back there and nearly got yourself killed-”
“Yes.” Heisenberg cut you off. “I did, sugar, and I'd do it again.”
“Why though?” You exclaimed, incredulous.
“You really don't know?” He asked, sounding just as incredulous. “You try coming to a realization like I did when you're fucking–balls deep in someone!” His eyes widened, the man dropping his head to thud against the table after a moment of stunned silence. “Dammit,” he snarled, his voice muffled.
“W-what realization?” You knew you should probably leave it alone. It was an invasive question and, despite the intimacy the two of you had shared, an apology was already on your lips when it was cut off by a loud groan from Karl.
“That I–that you–” the man floundered, then suddenly jerked his head up to fix you with an appropriately-intense look. “I think I love you.”
What.
What?!
Your shoulders dropped, hands slack on the tabletop. You stared at Karl, but all he did was stare back at you, his gaze one of weary resignation.
I think I love you.
“S-So–” Gods, when had your mouth become so dry?! “So you don't know?” You half-squeaked, half-choked on the words.
“I've never felt this way before,” was his blunt reply. “I can only infer from the evidence.” He didn't seem thrilled about the circumstances, but maybe that could also be chalked up to his lack of experience.
“Is it…are you okay with it?”
Karl's brow furrowed, and then he offered you a slow, firm nod. “...yeah. Had a lot of time to think during my walk back. Even if you…I mean, if you think I'm gross-looking now, that's okay. I'd understand.”
You blinked, entirely baffled. Gross? Sure, he had a few new scars on his face. They only stood out to you because the tissue was still pink, unlike the silvery lines that had littered his visage before. But that wasn't gross, not to you anyway.
Karl was still talking however, and it seemed that he was picking up speed. “Sugar, I showed up, an unknown, a starving wolf at your door and yet you showed me kindness, even if it was just a favor for that fat bastard at first. You fed me from your own damn plate, let me take comfort in you.” His words hitched momentarily when he continued, “I was just so–so twisted and broken, I didn't understand that you could offer with open hands. I didn't understand what you had given me and then I realized as I was throwing myself at the lycan hive that…I was an idiot. It wasn't that I wanted to die, I wanted to live! I'd never wanted to live so much in my damn life, so I could get back to you, so I could apologize, so I could–” Heisenberg's fists clenched, the man soldiering on doggedly, “so I could tell you how I…felt. How I think I feel.”
“So you could tell me that you love me.” You were reeling.
“Yes.” His broad shoulders caved a little, the man shrinking into himself. “And now you know. Now I know. But I don't know what to do. I've never…this hasn't happened before.”
You picked up your glass of water and drained it in one long gulp, attempting to buy time while your brain ran through a million possibilities at once. Your main takeaway, however, was simple. He loves me. A warm sensation flooded your body, tingling down to your fingertips. He loves me. “Want me to offer some input?” You asked, your steps light as you rounded the table.
Heisenberg nodded dully, his eyes fixed on the bowl of stew in front of him. You gently brought your hands up to cup his chin, tilting his face so you could meet his gaze. You found no regret in that stare, only apprehension, which was immensely heartening.
“Next time you have a realization like that, talk to me.” You said in a sweet tone, the ‘loving’ pat you gave him on the cheek not quite a smack. “Don't pull something like that again…and I'll let you stay with me.”
“You…what, seriously?” Karl demanded, his eyes widening. “You'll let me stay here? Even after-”
“Don't push your luck,” you warned, blowing a raspberry at him when he began to laugh incredulously. “This isn't a vacation, after all! You'll need to fix holes in the roof, help me with the supplies every year, check the traps-”
Karl swept you up in a hungry kiss, effectively cutting off your eternal to-do list. “That all sounds wonderful, sugar.” He murmured against your lips. “Let me finish lunch and I'll get right on it.”
Thoroughly flustered, you stammered out in protest, “i-i-it's not going to be easy, Karl! Don't agree to this unless you understand the burden of responsibility you're taking on.”
“I do.” He insisted around his first mouthful of bread. “I pr’mise.”
…
He wasn't certain where your underwear had gone, but he was immensely grateful for its absence. You leaned forward, taking his dick out of your mouth for a second to catch your breath and Karl forced your knees to slide out on either side of him with his forearms so he could draw his tongue along your cunt. His thumbs spread you open, the man rumbling when he felt your breath hitch. Then, Karl delved his tongue into you, making you moan and whimper around his dick while he slowly, slowly ate you out.
Karl could feel his heartbeat in his neck when your thighs suddenly snapped shut around his head, hips rocking back and forth as you ground yourself against his mouth. Finally, someone who could be as greedy as he was.
His own hips bucked upwards, driving his cock into your throat mercilessly while you continued to attempt to crush his skull. Your thighs were trembling, body undulating helplessly. All Karl could do was urge you onward and that's exactly what he did, his voice a low burr against your cunt as he demanded that you come for him. It didn't matter that you'd already come before, it didn't matter that you were still sloppy and fucked-out from his previous, extremely enthusiastic efforts. Karl wanted more and he knew you did too.
Your pelvis lurched abruptly, breath coming in sharp little gasps as you began to climax. The former Lord growled in satisfaction, clasping his hands up over your thighs to pin you where you were as you rode out your orgasm.
“Mmm, told you that you had one more in you,” he hummed, grinning when you whined your annoyance at him. “Shh, no complaining sugar, or I'll wring another one out of you for fun.” As if to prove his point Karl slid a finger into you, using it to massage your still-trembling walls. You whimpered but made no attempt to wriggle away from him, so Heisenberg simply carried on gently stroking his finger in and out of your entrance. “One more, sugar, c'mon, match me.” The man teased, his eyes half-lidding when you took his dick in hand once more.
“You're ridiculous-” You panted. He could hear the laughter in your words despite your evident breathlessness. “I love you.”
“Love you too, sugar.” Karl patted your leg, guiding you to turn around and slide back down to straddle his thighs. He then sat up slightly, meeting you halfway in a hungry kiss. “I love you,” he sighed, finding his eyes still searching your own for reassurance.
But then you smiled at him, knocking your forehead gently against his own. “And I love you, Karl.”
I love you.
“‘Course you do,” Karl breathed, half to himself. You rolled your eyes at him and your wry chuckle was music to his ears, as was your singsong reply.
“Of course I do.”
#karl heisenberg#lord karl heisenberg#eventual romance#fix it fic#au#resident evil#re 8#re 8 village#resident evil village#resident evil karl heisenberg#karl heisenberg x reader#karl heisenberg imagine#re 8 karl heisenberg#slow burn#epilogue
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Garrett Hedlund Character Masterlist WIP
In honor of March Madness, I created this master list of Garrett Hedlund character fanfics and may update it even after March. This may not be mobile/tablet-friendly.
Note: This may not have all of the stories posted on Tumblr and/or elsewhere since I am only one person and could only find as much as I can and unfortunately get distracted by Garrett along the way. Also, these do not belong to me. These stories belong to these lovely fanfic writers credited below and to the people behind the original source material. Do keep in mind that many of these fanfics are targeted for 18 years of age and older, so reader discretion is advised.
Tagged: @the-blind-assassin-12 (the person behind March Fic Madness 2024)
Key:
❤️🔥 = Smut(ty)/Explicit
🍬 = Fluff
❤️🩹 = Angst
Updated as of March 25, 2024
Special Events
@/triplefrontier-anniversary (A fanfic and art event to celebrate Triple Frontier's 5th anniversary which is run by @romanarose and @for-a-longlongtime that goes from March 1st-March 14th. Take out the slash to go to their page)
Masterlists
Mitch Keller x F!OC Waitress Oneshot Masterlist by @marmie-noir [Content warning: violence, sex, and 18+ content] ❤️🔥
TriFRambles’ Masterlist by @triframbles
Delta Landscaping Mainlist by @rhoorl ❤️🔥
Benny Miller Masterlist by @dameronscopilot [some 🍬, some ❤️🔥]
Garrett Hedlund Masterlist by @dameronscopilot 🍬❤️🔥❤️🩹
Benjamin "Benny" Miller Masterlist by @musings-of-a-rose [Some Fluff, Some Angst, Some Smut, some all of the above]
FishBen Rec List by @thirstworldproblemss [Some fluff, some angst, some smut, some all of the above]
phoenixhalliwell Masterlist by @phoenixhalliwell [includes Triple Frontier guys x Gender Neutral!reader]
more TBA
Individual Stories
Triple Frontier
"Every Kiss Begins With A Mistletoe" by @kittyofalltrades [Santi and Benny x Reader] ❤️🔥
"Not So Silent Night" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader]❤️🔥
"Office Party Love" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader] 🍬
Sleepy Benny by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader] 🍬
"I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while" by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader] ❤️🔥
"An Unexpected Discovery" by @pilothusband [Benny x Reader]❤️🔥
"Benny's Favorite Librarian" by @kittyofalltrades [Benny x Reader]❤️🔥
"Before I Go" by @cowboystokes (deactivated) [Benny x Black!Reader (Co-Parents)]
"Drunk Poetry" by @violentdelightsandviolentends [Benny x female reader - Content warning: cursing and alcohol mention] 🍬
"I see my shot" by @writefightandflightclub [Benny x female reader - Content warnings: alcohol, mildly steamy making-out, swearing, “unrequited” feelings and implied possible public sex acts (fade to black).] ❤️🩹❤️🔥
"I've loved you three summers now, honey, I want them all." by @bullet-prooflove [Benny x Reader]
"Disinhibition" by @busycryin [Benny x Reader - Content warning: Injury, bad words, mentions of sex] 🍬
"Slow Motion" by @miss-beep-beep [Benny x Viet!OFC - Content Warning - some cursing and kisses] 🍬❤️🩹
more TBA
Four Brothers
"Hopper saves a boy’s pieces, Joyce puts him back together" by @imeanwhynotbruv (Jack Mercer Stranger Things AU/crossover - TW: abuse)
"Number" by @jackmercerenthuiast (Jack Mercer x Reader - Content warning: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, suggestive language, and gang violence)
more TBA
Tron: Legacy
"Masks" by @ivorydragoness44 [Sam Flynn x Reader] ❤️🩹
"iii. morning kisses. waking up next to your significant other and pulling them up and capturing their lips to yours." by @solar-siren [Sam Flynn x Tron] 🍬
more TBA
Tulsa King
more TBA
More from other movies/shows/projects soon
#benny miller#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfic#jack mercer#four brothers#garrett hedlund#tron: legacy#sam flynn#tulsa king#mitch keller#four brothers fanfic#Tulsa king fanfic#marchficmadness24
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Hi!
I was swimming around the FishBen tag on tumblr and saw you recced at least one FishBen fic.... do you happen to have any more? I love them
Hello, nonny!
I love FishBen tooooo!! Sadly, there is not nearly enough Frankie x Benny content out there in the world, but I'm happy to share the (smallish) list of fics I've found for them so far. (Anyone aware of Frankie x Benny content that I've missed, please jump in with recs!! Anon and I will both love you for it!! 😘)
Anyway, on to the...
FishBen Rec List
List Notes:
Fics are Sorted by pairing then alphabetically by Title
Uses AO3 Ratings: General audiences - Teen & up - Mature - Explicit
Check your Content Settings if you're 18+ and want to be able to see mature content (Settings -> scroll down to Content You See -> Community Labels -> Mature -> show)
Links sometimes misbehave on desktop–If none of the links are working, try opening in dashboard mode (click the eye-shaped button in the far top right)
Partially cribbed from my prev Frankie x Benny (x reader) ask response
Frankie x Benny (aka. Just the FishBen)
(Why is it that FishBen tends to come almost exclusively either fluffy and/or sexy OR whumpy and full or angst? Who knows, but I love it either way!!)
== Sweet and/or Sexy ==
The Beginning (ao3) by @elvenmother
[FxB, get-together fic E, 2.1k, oneshot]
Inside, Upside, & Out by @midnightartemis
[FxB, get-together smut, E, 3.7k, complete?]
Put Your Name On It (ao3) by @alwaysbethewest
[FxB, sweet & sexy, E, 2.3k, oneshot]
Put Yourself in My Place (ao3) by @alwaysbethewest
[FxB, bodyswap smut, E, 3.1k, oneshot]
Right on Cue (ao3) by @alwaysbethewest
[pre-FxB, bartender!Frankie, T, 0.4k, oneshot]
Tennessee Whiskey by @mssr-mcknickers
[WxS with some FxB, cute Halloween fic, T, 1k, oneshot]
Trou de Cu (ao3) by @alwaysbethewest
[FxB, silly & sweet sex shenanigans, E, 0.4k, oneshot]
You Leave a Mark by @alwaysbethewest
[FxB, secret relationship, M, 0.4k words, oneshot]
.
fishben art by @littledozerdraws
(dancing, post-fight, pre-fight?, being cute & sweet)
[ART: FxB, cute & sweet!]
—
== Angst / Whump ==
*be sure to read the warnings with these; things get pretty dark in some of 'em
Cry a Little by @wyn-n-tonic
[FxB, hurt/comfort angst, M, 0.8k, oneshot]
fuckin' tell me by @waywaychuck
[sort of pre-FxB, hurt/comfort, 0.9k, oneshot]
slippin' off the rails by @waywaychuck
[FxB (implied WxS), whump & hurt/comfort, T, 4k, oneshot]
Though I Be The Last by @kesskirata
[some FxB in amongst the team whump, E, 19k, 13ch as of Oct '22]
.
Frankie x Benny x Reader
(I know you didn't ask for this, 'nonny, but since pure FishBen is few and far between, I figured I'd add these as well, for you or anyone else who is interested)
A Helping Hand (ao3) by @dameronscopilot
[Fx RxB, smutty threesome, E, 2.2k, oneshot]
Baby, how do you sleep when you lie to me? by @everyhowlmarksthedead
[FxR x B, revenge? smut, E, 2,8k, oneshot]
Better Together 'verse by @absurdthirst & @wardenparker
[FxRxB, E, 53k, 5 finished oneshots in an ongoing series]
Fics: Better Together, Taking Care Together, Waking Up Together, Celebrating Together, Together for Christmas
Flashback (ao3) by @green-socks
[FxR xB, pining & fluff, E, 0.9k, oneshot]
Heat Wave (ao3) by @thirstworldproblemss & @astroboots
[FxRxB, pining pwp, E, 2.2k oneshot in a larger series]
(hold tight) everything's fine by @raincityruckus
[FxR("she")xB, pining smut, E, 5.3k, part of a poly!TF series]
Just us by @ezrasbirdie
[FxR xB, plus size!reader, E, 4.5k, oneshot, au in series]
Made with Love (ao3) by @thristworldproblemss
[FxB (w/in FxRxB), silly hurt/comfort fluff, M, 1k, oneshot in a series]
Messy Pile of Affection (ao3) by @flightlessangelwings
[Fx RxB, get-together fic, E, 12k, completed fic in an ongoing series]
Series Masterlist
Moonlight 'verse (ao3) by @absurdthirst & @wardenparker
[FxRxB, werewolf!Frankie, E, 32k, 2 completed fics in a series]
Fics: Moonlight Madness & Full Moon Fury
Not A Competiton (But I'm Winning) (ao3) by @alwaysbethewest
[FxRxB, pegging smut, E, 1.2k, oneshot]
No Thinking Over the Weekend by Jazzelsaur (only on ao3)
[FxR xB, get-together smut, E, 8.0k, long oneshot]
.
That's all I could remember and/or find for now. Sorry it's not bigger list, 'nonny! It's really a shame Frankie x Benny stuff isn't more popular since it's such a fun pairing. Anyway, thanks for the ask, and for giving me a chance to spread the FishBen love!! 💕
🧡 twp
—
Want more to read?
Check out my other Author, Fic, & Fanwork Recs
#answered asks#anon ask#frankie morales#benny miller#triple frontier#frankie x benny#frankie morales x benny miller#fishben#fic recs#fic rec list#thirstworldproblemss#twp rec list
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do you have any recommendations for people that do writings for the moonknight men?
i’m new to the fandom and don’t know who’s stuff to binge read
There are so many great writers so I will try to tag as many as I can but please if you want to recommend anyone or yourself leave a comment.
@melodygatesauthor
@romanarose
@missdictatorme
@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
@juneknight
@astroboots
@jake-g-lockley
@thirstworldproblemss
@saturn-rings-writes
@whatthefishh
@fandxmslxt69
@thedarkcoven
@bit-dodgy-innit
@luc-k-y
@chichimisaki
@sweetly-yours-and-mine
@starryevermore
@thot-of-khonshu
@ivystoryweaver
@marc-spectorr
@360iris
#moon knight fanfiction#moonknightauthors#moon knight mcu#marc spector x f!reader#steven grant fem reader#jake lockely x reader
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Do you have any recommendations for other writers? I love your dark writing but I’d like to hear your other favorites too
I love that you're asking me this but I hate this question because I always end up forgetting SOMEONE and then kicking myself in the ass later. - Also sorry for taking so long to answer this lol.
I'm going to write out this list but I need my friends to know that if I didn't add you, it's not because you're not near and dear to my heart, it's because I'm an idiot and my brain doesn't work right sometimes. But yeah, this is basically a list of my friends lol and other writers haha.
Not all of these writers write dark content, but I still recommend them highly.
These are writers who write for the Oscar Isaac fandom in general, or who USED to write for it.
@virtie333
@reallyrallyauthor
@astroboots
@faretheeoscar
@oddballwriter
@soft-girl-musings
@theywhowriteandknowthings
@spacecowboyhotch
@angel-of-the-moons
@ominoose
@runa-falls
@saturn-rings-writes
@inklore
@ivystoryweaver
@boredzillenial
@eyelessfaces
@spider-starry
@sweetly-yours-and-mine
@fandxmslxt69
@pimosworld
@xbellaxcarolinax
@artemiseamoon
@missdictatorme
@romana-after-dark
@theluciansystem
@psychedelic-ink
@minigirl87
@bit-dodgy-innit
@luc-k-y
@poedameronthighs
@moonknightly
@360iris
@lunalockley
@thirstworldproblemss
@foli-vora
@ninebluehearts
@charnelhouse
@juneknight
@thot-of-khonshu
@kittyofalltrades
@jake-g-lockley
@writefightandflightclub
@foxilayde
@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
@romanarose
@soonknight
@flightlessangelwings
@whatthefishh
@campingwiththecharmings
@dameronscopilot
#moon knight#triple frontier#sucker punch#across the spiderverse#scenes from a marriage#star wars#dune 2021#dune#lightningface#robin hood 2010#robin hood#the promise#annihilation#ex machina#card counter#life itself#in secret#a most violent year#inside llewyn davis#revenge for jolly#the two faces of january#drive#operation finale#mojave#the letter room#agora#for greater glory#big gold brick#marc spector#jake lockley
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Kiss Me Again
CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Summary: You discover that Marc has a thing for lipstick
Content: Marc blushing -- Oh mai, domestic shenanigans, lotsa yearning, creampie, explicit sex babeh.
Credit: Inspired form Leslie's gorgeous Love Mark series and in particular this beautiful image. Part of the @moonknight-events Bingo scorecard Challenge: Morning After.
Word count: 3.5k
ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS’ MASTERLIST |MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST
There is something about waking up in the morning to the sight of Marc standing in the kitchen.
The sight of that wide back turned to you. His firm shoulders fill out that t-shirt oh-so-perfectly, and you can make out the rounded curve of his bum practically bursting out of his jeans. The familiar rigid stiffness that is stitched into every nook and cranny of his frame while he's standing in front of the stove cooking you breakfast.
It's Sunday today, which means the familiar warm and breadlike smell of pancakes permeates the attic flat. It also means that Marc has let you sleep in.
God, what time is it?
Judging from the brightness of the sun, blinding your eyes, he must've let you sleep in late.
You glance at your wristwatch on the bedside table, squinting your eyes to make out the time.
Fuck! Eleven Twenty-Seven?!?!
You grumble, dragging yourself out of bed, grabbing the neatly folded clothes next to you and pulling them on haphazardly. "Why didn't you wake me? It's nearly noon."
Marc is unmoved by your accusatory tone. He flips the pan with a flashy move, flinging the pancake into the air before catching it with ease, right back into the pan.
"You were tired from last night."
He doesn't turn around, but you don’t need to catch the expression on his face when you can hear the playful smirk in his voice.
And he's not wrong. Marc did wear you out last night. The soreness between your thighs as you're making your way to him would prove as much. As does the state of the bed and its rumpled sheets.
You're practically hobbling your way to the kitchen when you finally manage to join him and perch yourself on a stool near the counter.
From the corner of your eye, Marc turns ever so slightly until you finally catch the amused wry quirk of his lips in person.
"What?"
He doesn't answer you. Just slides the pancake onto a plate, pouring in more batter into the pan, before he brings your plate over to you. Then he looks at you with that same amused expression.
"What is it?" you ask again. Have you suddenly grown horns on your head? Why is he looking at you like that.
Your confusion only adds to his amusement. A huff (that is borderline a laugh) escapes him as he looks at you with a fond expression.
"You're a mess."
Wow. Rude.
You shake your head, your boyfriend never was known for his manners... This boyfriend at least. Steven has the manners of an angelic saint.
Scanning the space, you spot your handbag that's conveniently sitting on the counter and reach for the small pocket mirror, flicking it open.
A deranged Alice Cooper impersonator looks back at you. Mascara running halfway down your face.
Shit.
Okay, Marc might have a point. Your hair looks like a runaway freight train blazed through it, mascara has run halfway down your face, and your lipstick is smeared all over, vivid red splotches and smears dotting your chin and cheeks. How did you even manage that?
You grab a wad of face wipes to take care of the worst of it. Then you glance back up at Marc. He is in considerably much better shape than you are. Hair combed back, already dressed in his regular t-shirt, with his grey jacket and fitted jeans like it's his designated uniform.
That's Marc for you. Unfazed. Un-rumpled. Untouchable.
Your Mr. Tidy, who needs everything to be in its proper place, no matter the time and place. It leaves you craving to achieve the unachievable, to make a mess of him.
Always put together. Always in control. Always has the upper hand on you.
Well… Your eyes drift to his honed cheeks and you can't help but grin at the sight. Almost always.
Today, there's a chink in his tidy armour. A red smear on his throat, matching the ones you just removed from your own face. Unsurprising perhaps, given the way you mauled this throat last night.
"You're a mess too," you counter.
He tilts his head questioningly, and you flip the mirror back at him to let him see the damage.
You expect him to frown. Expect him to grumble and reach for a wipe or scrub off the offending mess with the back of his hand.
Marc does none of that. Instead he freezes, eyes growing wide as he just stares into your pocket mirror.
You don't know how long he just stays like that, frozen in place, and you can practically see the little spinning wheel icon indicating that he brain has stalled out over this new input. It’s fascinating. You have half a mind to just leave him be, curious to see how long it takes his mind to reboot, but then you smell something off in the kitchen. Burnt, like smoke.
"Uhm, Marc? I think... the pancakes are burning."
That snaps him right out of it.
"Shit!"
He leaps into action. In a split of a second, Marc is back at the stove, yanking the offending pan off the heat. He seems a bit off kilter, grumbling to himself as he carries the whole thing to the bin and starts scraping the burnt remains of charcoal pancake off.
The whole scene takes you aback. You don't think you've ever seen Marc just freeze like that. What could have happened?
Was it the mirror? Mirrors serve as a neat conduit for communication between the boys. Perhaps Steven or Jake said something that distracted him?
You watch as he moves back to the sink without so much as a glance in your direction. Hoping for some insight you hop off the stool and walk up next to Marc, but he stiffens unexpectedly at your presence, ducking his face towards the sink, and avoiding your gaze.
Something is off with him. Something is definitely wrong... and--
You don’t see it at first. His head is tilted down, casting a shadow over his cheeks, but you think you see…
Wait wait wait. Is Marc... blushing?
You lean in closer, peering over his shoulder to stare at his face.
"This is distracting. I'm trying to clean," he mutters, tilting his face away from you.
Oh wow!
He is!
Marc is blushing!
Your veins buzz at the revelation. You're so excited by this new development, you don't even connect the dots at first.
He's blushing! Why is he blushing? God knows!
But it’s adorable! You need to know how to make this happen again.
Mirror. You need to get the mirror– Or wait, no. That doesn't make any sense does it? It's not the mirror that made him blush, why would it?
You retrace your step. Not the mirror, must've been something he saw in the mirror. It could have been something Steven or Jake said, but…
You think back to the night before. The way Marc’s dark eyes had gone darker, deep and bottomless, as he watched you get ready to go out. The way his eyes never left your face as you talked, always circling back to… your lips.
Excited to test your new theory, you leave Marc at the sink and head for the corner of the counter where you left your bag, fishing around until you can locate the tube of lipstick.
Yanking off the cap, you nearly end up mashing the red tip with how hard you press it on your lips. That done, you recap the tube and drop it back into the depths of your handbag, and rejoin Marc at the stove where he’s already poured another round of batter into the newly cleaned pan.
He's not looking up at you, eyes glued to the bubbling forming on the half-cooked pancake with strained concentration. But you bet you can change that now that you know what you know.
You tip-toe forward, reaching up to press your lips square centre on his cheek. You keep the contact soft and brief. Just enough pressure that you can make sure you've marked him in red with the shape of your lips.
Marc freezes again bound in shock. His eyes are so startlingly wide, for a moment you could almost mistake him for Steven.
Bingo.
You're grinning so widely it almost physically hurts. "Sorry, I think I got some lipstick on you."
He doesn't respond. If you didn't know better you'd think you'd turn him into stone with that small kiss. But you can see the way his fingers are wrapped so tight around the handle of the pan, the cast iron could crumble from the pressure.
Oh my, this is fun.
Leaning up you do it again. Pressing your lips to his cheek again, inches from where you had before, just as soft. Just as brief, and watch the red mark join the other one.
Marc tenses up all over again. Slowly but surely, you see that gorgeous crimson spread across his cheeks. It's a fascinating sight. And god, it makes you want to paint every inch of his skin in lipstick red, like a blank colouring book.
It takes him entirely too long before he gathers himself again. Eyes blinking rapidly like trying to wake himself from a drunken stupor, before shock is replaced by that familiar grumpy scowl.
"I'm–" he pauses to clear his throat, "I’m trying to make breakfast here."
"So do it," you respond cheekily, leaning in to kiss him again, "Don't let me stop you"
You keep pressing little kisses to his skin, leaving red lip prints all over and delighting in the fact that his face gets hotter with each one. More than a little bit smug to see the pink flush deepen and spread over his cheeks and down his throat.
For once, Marc-nothing-can-faze-me-Spector is struggling to keep his cool, and you are taking entirely too much joy in being the cause of that.
You reach up again, hands cupping his cheeks to tilt him to your mouth and press a kiss against his lips until they are stained bright lipstick red.
Marc remains still, but you can feel the frustration vibrating off the surface tension of his skin.
This time he lets go of the pan, and it clatters loudly back onto the stove.
You step back to the sight of that familiar irritated glare in his eyes even as he's blushing an unfamiliar bright barbie pink on his cheeks. His thumb hovering over his lipstick smeared bottom lip.
At first you think he's going to wipe it away. He doesn't. Instead his thumb just lingers over the mark, hand trembling slightly.
"Stop teasing," he grumbles.
It’s meant to be a warning, you’re sure, but all you feel is excitement of what's to come.
There's a saying isn't there? About not poking a bear with a stick. Except in that scenario it’s because you don't want to anger it and have it maul you, and in the present, that's exactly what you want from Marc.
You step in close again, tilting your face up to deliver another kiss.
All you can hear is a low growl, and then Marc is moving. His hand comes to the back of your neck and reels you into him, so close you can feel the embarrassed heat radiating from his cheek as if it were your own.
Then his lips are on yours, and joy and love surge through you, blending in a dizzying concoction that makes your surroundings spin.
You expect his kiss to be harsh and hungry, but Marc continues where you left off, pressing gentle, nearly chaste kisses to your lips over and over again.
It could almost be innocent if it weren't for the way he's panting against your lips. The way his strong arm wraps around your waist. The way his fingers dig into your hip as he drags your hips against his, crushing you against him until you can feel him—all of him, the length of him hot and hard against your stomach—even through his jeans.
His hand slides down over your hip to your thigh, one firm palm gripping and lifting to hook your leg over one side of his wide hips so he can grind against you. It's desperate and frenzied, the bulge of his cock slotting perfectly between your legs. Pressing forward until you’re so close that you can feel it jerking against you with each shuddering roll of his hips.
And through it all, he kisses and kisses and kisses you, gentle presses that grow just a little bit harder with each one. It sparks through your veins like an ember, heady and sweet until you think you could melt from it.
His lips drag against your own until finally, he parts them. The slight edge of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, like he wants to devour you whole.
And you'd let him. You’d let him bite in and swallow every morsel of you without resistance, but for some unfathomable reason, he… doesn't.
Instead he stills. Pulls back. Both of you gasping and shaking as you just look at each other.
He doesn't say anything. His gaze drops to your lips, his own parted and trembling.
You're just about to ask him what's wrong, when you realise that nothing is.
You've been together long enough now that you are finally starting to get the hang of hearing the things Marc leaves unspoken. Can read that hesitant look in his eyes and know what he’s thinking.
You know that in this moment all Marc wants is more. That’s what he doesn't know how to say.
Because Marc is still learning to ask for what he wants. And you know that the more he wants something, the less able he is to ask for it. (And the more you want to give it to him.)
And right now, the thing he wants more of is…
"Hang on a tic," you tell him, holding up a single finger. Your voice sounds throaty, but somehow miraculously calm despite the way your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. You reach behind you, scooping up your discarded handbag and plucking your lipstick from it as easy as you please. The small round tube nearly falls into your hand like it's guided by divine inspiration.
Marc's hands tremble on your hips, fingers gripping tight, tighter, tightest until it's almost painful. Somehow that only makes it better.
How many people on this earth can say that they've managed to make Marc Spector tremble?
Somehow your hands are still rock steady. Uncapping the lipstick, you feel his cock jerk hard against your thigh once, and then again as you twist the tube and begin to slick the bright stoplight red onto your lips.
You don't have a mirror. Don't need one. Don’t even have to look to know this is the cleanest application you'll ever manage, for all that your lips were already smeared to hell when you started. Your lipstick is perfect. You can tell by the way Marc is looking at your mouth. Staring at your mouth. Staring at you, like you're a goddess come to life. Every desperate desire he's ever had made flesh, made divine.
Marc Spector makes you feel divine.
Twisting the lipstick back down, you recap it, barely managing to tuck it away in your bag with hands that are just beginning to shake. Then you reach for him.
Framing his face with trembling hands, you lean forward to press a single, perfect kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"There we go," you manage, before the need for him rises up to swallow you whole and your voice goes ragged, unspooling at the edges.
"Now, Marc. Please, now."
You don't need to say more than that. You watch the muscle in his jaw jump as he grits his teeth.
The ground beneath your feet vanishes in an instant, all you feel is Marc's arms wrapped around your waist as he hoists you up against the nearest kitchen counter. Firm, thick thighs framed against your sides as he presses you down against the hard surface. All you hear is the fumbling and swearing as he struggles to get his tight jeans undone and pushed down because his usually-rock-steady hands are trembling.
You’ve never seen him like this. All of him is shaking, every muscle in his body straining, so worked up he's practically vibrating with need. And you feel it too, his desperation seeping into you like a contagion, until you can barely breathe. Until you feel sick with want for him.
You reach down to help him with his fly, the material of his jeans sticky against your fingers, his cock jerking under the fabric at your touch.
"Fuck. Baby," his voice is a raw and ragged thing, dragging in his throat like the air from his lungs has been wrenched from him.
Everything inside you tingles with excitement at his tone. It doesn't matter that you're still sore from last night. That your legs are still wobbly from the pure physical exertion of it. All you want is more. More of this. More of Marc.
Clumsily, you get his zipper down and reach inside. He's hot and hard, the skin velvety smooth and slick, his cock jerking under your touch as you free him.
He shoves a hand between your legs in return, drags the soaked crotch of your knickers to the side, and unceremoniously slides two fingers into you, filling you so perfectly that you gasp at the sensation.
Heat spears through you, your hips bucking forward so hard you nearly fall off the counter, but he's there to hold you down with his weight.
His hips pressing forward. His hand pulls back, knocking yours out of the way so he can grab himself. Line himself up. The slick, fat head of his cock pressing against you.
It's hurried and frantic. Your head spins from the blood rushing through your head so fast your vision blurs.
Then Marc presses inside.
His cock is hot. Slipping into you like a fiery brand. Like the missing heart of you coming home. Burning you from the inside out. You both moan, gasping into each other's mouths.
When did you start kissing again?
You don't know. Why did you even stop? You never want to stop.
You can't move. Can’t think. Can't fucking breathe, but it's okay. You don't need to. Don't need anything except this. His cock pressing into you. Lodging itself inside you until it's as deep as it's possible to go.
You gasp again, and your head falls back, breaking the kiss as pleasure spears though you, sharp and blindingly sweet. It’s too much. It’s perfect.
Marc says something as his hips retreat, but you don’t register what it is, barely realise that he’s spoken.
You don’t register he's talking to you, asking you for something, until he stops moving. You whine, clawing at his shoulders because whatever he wants, the answer is, 'yes.'
"Again," he repeats, and yes, that’s what you want. You want him to fuck you again, but he’s not doing it. Why did he stop?
"Baby," he says, the word scraping its way out of his throat like it's made of broken glass, "Kiss me again."
Oh.
It doesn’t register with you then—not really—the significance of his ask. How unusual it is that Marc is asking you for something that he desperately wants. You’ll remember later. Notice later. But for right now, it doesn't matter, because you want to give him what he wants regardless. You always want to give this man anything and everything he wants.
You lunge forward, his stubble scraping against your lips as you glance off his chin leaving a red smear.
Hot pleasure blooms as he thrusts forward into you.
"Again," he says.
You whine as he pulls back, but you're quicker on the uptake this time. Kissing his throat and get to watch his Adam's apple bob under the red lip print you leave behind, before your vision goes fuzzy with the next overwhelming thrust.
"Again."
You kiss his jaw, and he barely pauses before fucking back into you.
"Again."
His throat, again. and you're rewarded with the hot perfect press of him inside.
"Again."
Everything starts to blur. His words slurring together; your lips barely leaving his skin. The heavy weight of him pushing its way inside you.
You're panting open mouthed against his shoulder, lips sliding and sticking against his skin.
"Again," he demands, even though there's no longer any lull in your movements,
"Again." No break in contact of your lips on his skin.
"Again." No pause in his rhythm.
"Again." No respite from the way the feeling swells. Coils tight, right where his cock is pounding, relentless, into the very centre of you.
"Again."
You can't–
"Again."
Oh god, you’re about to–
"Again. Again. Aga–ngh"
The litany breaks off, words dying, replaced by a strangled groan, when you come hard, your body clamping down, clenching around him.
Through the waves of overwhelming pleasure, you feel the sting of his blunt fingernails digging in too hard at your hips. Hear the tiny, ragged "Oh. Baby. Fuck." that leaves his lips like it's been punched out of him.
You swear you can feel the heavy weight of him swell inside your still-clenching cunt, and then the reflexive, aborted jerk of his hips, as his cock begins to pulse.
He holds you there, tight against him, or maybe you hold him or both of you hold each other, as you shudder there together for long, endless moments.
When it's finally over, he presses one last, gentle kiss to your lips and pulls back.
You watch, heart so full of love for him that your chest aches, as one side of his red-smeared mouth pulls up in a rare, happy smile. You trace the corner of it with one mostly-steady finger, and can't help smiling back.
“Well now," you say, once you're certain your voice won't betray you too badly, "I've made quite the mess of you, haven't I?"
Marc's eyes roam over your face. One warm hand comes up to cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch, letting him drag his thumb over your lips. You can feel it sticking slightly on whatever's left of your lipstick, but what does it matter? It's not like he can make it any worse now, is it?
"Yeah," he says. His thumb lingers. His gaze too. Eyes gone soft and warm the longer he looks at your mouth. "Your mess."
Something constricts in your chest at the words. A deep-rooted, possessive protectiveness that takes hold, then unfurls, spreading everywhere, warm and sweet.
"Yes," you agree, tightening your arms around his back to pull him closer to you. "All mine."
A/N a sequel to the angsty Love Bites where Marc gets his yearning fulfilled. @thirstworldproblemss and I wrote this ages ago before Christmas but then we felt that there needed to be more ✨ yeaaaaarning✨ Hope you had fun reading.
Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!
#oscar isaac#moon knight#marvel#mcu#marvel mcu#marc spector x you#marc spector x reader#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight fic#moon knight fanfic#marc spector#moon knight x reader#moon knight x you
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Ten extra minutes...
Another fanart for @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss' fic, Red Flags 👉👈
I've suffered enough with those chapters, I'm giving myself a treat with this
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"This world is saved. His world has ended."
Sketch for Every You Every Me #11.5 by @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss
Took me a while to decide to post this. Basically because despite she has half her face hidden and you cant really see her hair, I pretty much drew myself 👉👈 so self indulgent (?
Anyway, here it is...
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#fanart#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#atsv#spiderverse#sketch
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‘ 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓽 . ’
𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.
[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽]
[ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ]
AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST
summary ☾
⤏ the instant marc laid eyes upon you, he knew without a doubt that you were steven’s soulmate.
⤏ he never stopped to consider that you might be his, too.
pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader
word count ☾ 14.0k
a/n ☽
⤏ this isn’t an actual soulmate au, despite the summary, but after reading @astroboots’/@thirstworldproblemss’ and @softlyspector’s flawless renditions of marc, I’ve been absolutely normal about him. (lying. he’s starting to consume me, even though I am still very much a steven simp and adore jake as well. I love one mk system—they’ve become such integral comfort characters to me, it’s not even funny.)
⤏ [but seriously y’all go read Moonstruck, Tales Untold, and Red Flags, rn this instant if you haven’t, as well as all their other works! they’re such inspiring, stunning writers that I envy dearly, and you’ll be enriched by their breathtaking prose for it. Oh, and their smut is phenomenal, too! ;)]
⤏ hope you guys enjoy! :)
☽ MASTERPOST ☾
☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽
The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.
The first time Marc met you, officially, it was an accident.
Don’t forget the interview tomorrow, buddy.
Steven scoffed a laugh, lips curling at the edges at the mere thought. “Me? Forget about that? Who exactly do you think I am?”
Marc huffed softly, half-dozing in the headspace as he idly observed Steven’s measured movements: a chipped mug fished from the overflowing dish drain, a cursory glance at its interior in the dim lighting to make sure no residue remained after its last wash, set on the counter while the wailing kettle was tipped over to pour in steaming water. Kettle down on another burner, tin of loose leaf valerian and chamomile popped open, infuser filled and submerged; sugar and oat milk to taste after a moment of cooling blows—too damned sweet on Marc’s tongue, but Steven hummed in satisfaction and set the mug to the side while he dutifully put away the supplies in the cubicle Marc had set up in the corner of the countertop specifically to contain Steven’s frequent messes.
Just reminding you. You haven’t stopped talking about it since last week. Steven would be crushed if he missed out on his interview to get back on with the museum—HR had already cautioned him of a lengthy probation period after the circumstances of his suspension, despite having long since paid off the property damages incurred that spring, but Steven had been too thrilled to go back to take any negativity to heart. He’d seen a position open up for a tour guide online and hadn’t allowed it to leave his mind since—or his mouth, for that matter.
“Well, as long as you don’t take off for Cairo or the other side of Europe while we’re sleepin’, I don’t think I’ll have much to worry about, yeah?” Steven retorted, taking his mug with him to his desk. The empty Thai takeout container was pushed to the side in favor of his piping drink, and Steven was soon cozied up in his chair and plucking his readers from where he’d tucked them into his sweater to perch them on the end of his nose. Marc had stopped paying attention to the text hours before, convinced he’d go cross-eyed from staring blankly at too many more of the incomprehensible glyphs (because in whose right mind would an ax represent anything other than an ax?). Steven’d always had the attention span of a bloodhound—zipping back and forth across pages and books until fixating on something and following the trail to its very end. It was exhausting to Marc, but he had to admit that it had been integral to saving the world (and their own life), at least. “There is a reason I’ve been brushin’ up, you know.”
You’ll do fine. I don’t know why you’re afraid you won’t get hired—they’d be stupid not to, as much as you’ve got crammed in your head. (…Their head? Marc was still uncertain.)
“...It’s not all this I’m worried about, necessarily,” Steven responded after a beat, eyes rising to the window reflecting their shared face. Marc raised a brow at him. “Donna’s got her fingers all up in management, you know—the only reason they’re humorin’ me is ‘cause of a dare hopin’ I’ll make a fool of myself, I’m sure of it—and after everythin’…” His expression pinched, a look far too like Marc’s own for his liking. “...they thought I was bonkers.”
To be fair… Marc began wryly.
“I know, I know. Don’t change the fact that I was mentally unstable in their eyes. Worse, maybe—a maniac.” Steven’s eyes dropped back down to the dusty old tome, his tone growing despondent. “This is probably all just a courtesy to formally dismiss me, and I’ll make a proper fool of myself, then.” He paused, then sighed, dejected. “But what else can I do?”
Go somewhere that’ll actually appreciate your talents, Marc answered firmly. Donna’s a bitch. And if she keeps you from getting this job, I’ll make her regret it.
“You’ll do no such thing.”
Watch me. We wouldn’t have anything else to lose at that point. Marc paused, took in Steven’s melancholic expression, and he blamed his blunt candor on his exhaustion. They don’t deserve you, you know.
“I do know, but I don’t know where else to go. We won’t be able to live off your merc money forever, so at least one of us needs to have a real job since you’re not…bounty huntin’, or whatever it was you actually did, anymore.” Steven scratched his hairline and dug his fingers into his curls to tug them while in thought. “I suppose if they don’t take me back, I’ll have to look into somethin’ else. But for now…” Steven’s jaw unhinged as a yawn pried at Marc’s weariness. The readers were set down upon the page, and Steven rubbed at his heavy eyelids. “Guess stayin’ up wonderin’ on ‘what if’s won’t help much, will it? No, don’t think so.”
Not really. Marc settled further back into his receding lucidity, basking in the serene warmth it provided—just like the soft fibers of finely knit cashmere against his skin. Good luck.
“Thanks, mate.” Steven stood, downed his tea in a long draft, and turned to head for the bathroom to freshen up—but Marc was already fading fast. “Talk to you tomorrow, Marc.”
‘Night, Steven.
Read the rest of the chapter here! :)
#fisara's codices#fanfiction#mine#moon knight#reader insert#steven grant#marc spector#steven grant/reader#steven grant/you#steven grant x reader#steven grant x you#marc spector/reader#marc spector/you#marc spector x reader#marc spector x you#steven grant fanfiction#steven grant fluff#marc spector fanfiction#marc spector fluff#moon knight x reader#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight system
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Wolves At The Door; Part Eight
Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]
Pairing: Eventual Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader
Rating: Holy shit M.
Summary: You both skied in silence for a long while, Karl absently watching your hips move back and forth beneath your snowsuit. Due to the stark uniformity of the surrounding area there wasn't much else to look at anyways, so he didn't feel particularly bad for doing so.
A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our eighth installment! There will be no update on the 15th, so our next installment will come on the 22nd. Thank you for reading 💚Enjoy!
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x. Prelude
1. Indebted
2. Blood On Your Hands
3. Brush With Death
4. Come To Bed
5. Smells Like Snow
6. Hot Iron
7. Turnover
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, sexual acts between two consenting adults and graphic depictions of mental and physical duress. Stay safe!]
Tucking into his sleeping bag that night, this time on a wooden lean-to thatched with old pine boughs, his stomach full of a delicious meal, Karl knew he ought to be content.
Hell, he ought to be worn out from a day of socializing.
But all he could focus on was your back. You had spread out your sleeping roll next to his once you returned from the bathhouse, wished him goodnight sleepily and then immediately nodded off. You were on the outside instead of him, which Karl wasn't enormously fond of, but he understood that you were just too exhausted to climb over him.
Your back was tantalizingly close. It was the only part of you not wholly engulfed by your sleeping bag. He already knew what the weave of your thermal shirt felt like, after last night-
Karl forced himself to roll onto his back, tearing his eyes away from you. Thinking about it too much felt…wrong, somehow, like he was about to get his wrist slapped. Or broken. The merciful Mother Miranda hadn't exactly spared the rod when it came to him.
The man forced a quiet breath out through his nose, his fingers absently mapping the length of the scar on his lower lip.
It was still immensely foreign for him to want something and not instantly indulge himself in it. Really, it was going against the nature of the beast! Karl felt a little fake over the whole thing, like he was expected to just…devour you. Swallow you whole and leave nothing but the bones. This slow approach…
Was there anything in life actually worth waiting for? Gods, it had always been such a mad dash ever since he had decided he wanted to kill Miranda. Karl hadn't thought about waiting for anything else in years upon years, his single-minded ambition serving him well in that pursuit.
Karl glanced over at you again before he could stop himself.
Yes. Was it being greedy if you wanted it too?
He barely refrained from groaning, the man jamming his knuckles against his eyes in frustration. Sleep didn't come easily for him that night.
So he was a little disgruntled when he was awoken again, well before dawn if the sky was anything to go by. However, his malcontent rapidly vanished as he heard you drowsily ask, "can I put your dick in my mouth?"
Heisenberg didn't even think about his reply, much to his dismay. The word rushed out of his mouth before he could register it. "Absolutely." He grunted, your hand immediately moving to rest on the plane of his hip. "Aren't you tired though?"
"A little," you admitted, yawning, "but I want to do this."
"Listen, I…last night was kind of a fluke for me." Karl warned you gruffly, his words slow to come. It hadn't even been a fluke, it had been an outright baffling turn of events for him to only come once. In the past, it had always taken him a short eternity, at least three orgasms before he was satisfied. Something about last night, something about you had to have been different. Maybe it was the fact that it had been so long for him. "If you start this, it's probably not going to be over for…well, a while. So you don't have t-"
"Shh." You mumbled, unzipping his pants. "I don't care. I'm not doing this to get it out of the way, Karl."
His misgivings quickly faded when you ran your tongue over the side of his dick, Karl hissing out a breath and groaning. You looked incredible with his dick in your mouth. Your eyes were heated and drowsy, your hair still a mess from sleep, slightly-chilled fingers wrapped around the base of his cock so you could engulf him in your mouth…incredible, he could at least admit to himself. Even if he didn't deserve it.
And he certainly didn't.
"Get up here." He managed to say, patting his chest.
You pulled your mouth away, squinting up at him. "Where?" You asked, your spit-slick palm still working his cock.
Karl gritted his teeth; he had forgotten you couldn't really see in the dark. "Uh. On my face." He finally clarified awkwardly. "I want you to sit on my face, sugar."
"Oh." You breathed. Something in your tone made Karl's dick twitch, which was very new. He'd never had anything like that happen.
Fuck, what the hell was the matter with him? One person showed a little interest and all of a sudden his body was screaming for them? It felt pitiful, but maybe it made sense. No one had ever wanted him before, they had always wanted what he could offer them. Karl hadn't exactly had his pick of bedfellows either, the man not overeager to lose his dick to one thing or another.
Maybe this was normal.
However, he didn't really feel like dedicating any more thought to that particular issue, choosing instead to focus on you gingerly straddling his head.
…
Morning found you wrapped around a slumbering Karl, the insides of your thighs still pleasantly sensitive from the rub of his facial hair. You groaned, stretching and then settling back into his arms for another minute or two.
Your mind drifted back to you waking up in the middle of the night, the sudden impulse to offer a sexual favor, acting on said impulse and how gratifying Karl's response had been. Hell, he hadn't so much as taken a beat before he answered. Your jaw was a little stiff this morning, but to be fair, he had warned you and apologized for how long the act might take. He had also gotten you off as well, which was unexpected but appreciated.
In the cold daylight you grimaced at yourself, thinking everything over. It might not be…so bad, having someone around that, even while being emotionally unavailable, was physically attracted to you. The attention was nice. The way he looked at you was nice. You could live with an arrangement like this. The two of you cohabitating, occasionally sleeping together, but without the mess of a relationship.
It felt smart. Logical. A mutually-beneficial endeavor.
You nodded, your mind made up, and with that settled you moved to retrieve your discarded leggings from the base of your sleeping bag. The town campground had the rare luxury of bathrooms with running water and you intended to take full advantage of them once more. Any time you could bathe without having to lug or heat the water yourself was prized.
Upon your return from getting washed up for the day, Karl was just struggling out of the tangled mess of his sleeping bag. You took in the way he looked for a moment, catching yourself smiling at his disheveled appearance before he looked up with a scowl.
Seems like you may have tamed me.
"Thought you got eaten." He said unconvincingly, yawning midway through his sentence.
"Well, you certainly made a valiant attempt at doing so last night." You shot back, snickering at his momentary confusion. Whatever his hangup had been, it seemed that the casual nature of your most recent offer had been enough to dispel it. Heisenberg actually laughed once he realized what you were getting at, the sound refreshing in its honesty.
"You know how I am, always ravenous." He teased with a wink, beginning to messily roll up his bedding. "At least you let me sleep for a few hours-"
"'Let' you, oh my God you're so dramatic."
Continuing to banter back and forth, the two of you broke down camp for the morning and got everything packed back up. As usual, you were returning to Emil's to pick up the supplies that you had secured the previous day, and from there it was back on the trail.
Karl seemed to be in high spirits this morning, the man carrying on a lively, one-sided conversation with a glowering Emil while he effortlessly loaded the sled with bags of flour and sugar. Emil had always helped you in the past, so it was a bit humorous to see how put-out the elderly man was over Karl's assistance.
"Take care of yourself, little one." Emil said before you departed, his brows furrowed in a serious expression. "We don't know what happened regarding the military presence at the reservoir and…" he paused, aiming a glare at the oblivious Karl. "Well, we don't know what we don't know, I suppose." He finished grudgingly.
"Thanks for looking out for me." You grinned, making Emil reluctantly smile back. "I can handle myself, but I appreciate the concern."
Emil caught your arm as you turned to leave. "I…I am unsure of the validity of Marku's reports. Promise me you will be safe." He murmured. You nodded. His shoulders sagged, the elderly man clearly relieved. "Thank you for humoring me, little one."
…
"What's he to you, some kind of uncle?" Heisenberg finally asked after the two of you had crossed the town line (indicated by a metal sign so worn it was essentially illegible). "Seemed a little more concerned than the average butcher or baker."
You sighed, glancing over at him. "Emil worked with my relatives for a long time, like I said. He's basically watched me grow up, coming here every fall for years and years with my family."
Karl 'hmm'ed, still annoyed with how Emil had sullenly watched him, but at least now he understood why. "Guess I'll have to let it slide, then." He joked lightly. "The disrespect."
He didn't expect you to laugh. "Don't feel special, he's like that with everyone new. Just stick around and he'll warm up to you."
Stick around. Karl wasn't sure what to make of that. He busied himself adjusting the load on the sled, double-checking the straps wrapped around the bags of flour and brown sugar.
Did you…want him to stick around? Did you want him to stay in your cabin even longer?
Indebted.
Karl tossed his head, jamming his hat back down as the wind whipped through the trees. "I assume you know the way?" He called over the wind, smirking when you gestured downward with a deadpan expression at the rutted, snow-covered track. The runner marks from the sled were still visible as well, indicating where the two of you had passed by yesterday.
You both skied in silence for a long while, Karl absently watching your hips move back and forth beneath your snowsuit. Due to the stark uniformity of the surrounding area there wasn't much else to look at anyways, so he didn't feel particularly bad for doing so.
Casual, maybe that's what you were interested in? A casual relationship, some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement. You didn't seem to feel strongly one way or another, always keeping your cards close to your chest. It was probably simpler to keep things casual anyway.
You had mentioned Emil and Marku saying something about 'a military presence at the reservoir'. He could only assume it was Moreau's reservoir, especially after that hunched old shepherd had asked if he had any relation to the Heisenberg factory.
You look familiar.
Had the older generation in that town met his relatives? His father, maybe? A shudder ran down his spine at the thought. Unless his former family had been better at hiding their urges than he was, he doubted they had left a good impression. He had gotten his legendary temper somewhere, after all.
That particular train of thought steamed onward, souring Karl's mood into a black chasm of bitter half-memories. Family was such a loaded topic, but it really always had been. After his father had passed on (too bad, so sad), family was confusing at best and downright terrible at worst. He didn't have anyone. He never had, and if he'd had his way it would have stayed as such. The bastardization of siblings, of mother, would always make him writhe. Even at a young age, he knew better than to trust what that cult leader wanted to fill his mind with.
They were a means to an end, they always had been. Miranda prettying it up with family was just another tactic to keep them loyal, devoted, good little sheep in her flock.
"You okay?" Karl started at the sound of your voice beside him, the man quickly turning. You had paused for a drink, your water bottle in hand while you raised an eyebrow at him.
Damn, he was parched. "Lost in thought." Heisenberg muttered.
"Want to talk about-"
"No." He snapped, then cringed at the way your face briefly showed your hurt before you could hide it. "I uh, no. Sorry. This stuff is better off in my head."
"Don't think too hard, okay? I can see the steam coming out of your ears." You retorted snidely.
Karl gave you a hollow grin, taking a healthy sip from his own bottle. "What can I say? I'm a machine of industry."
…
You may as well have been alone for all that your companion offered to the trek in terms of conversation. He trundled along behind you silently, the sled rails crunching through the icy top of the snow under their heavy burden. Nearly two hundred pounds of flour and sugar, never mind the other, less bulky items you had picked up. Your own backpack was carefully loaded to the brim, full of small essentials that would make your winter bearable. It was always important to find ways to stave off the boredom during the cold months, where it seemed like the entire world was hibernating except for you.
The two of you walked well into the afternoon to reach the lean-to, choosing to eat lunch on the road as opposed to stopping. You found that often if you had a fully-loaded pack, stopping and starting back up again was more difficult than just continuing to plod forward. Karl didn't seem to mind one way or another, the man having no issue with keeping the even pace.
Upon reaching the lean-to, you took in the copious tracks through the snow around the area. Wolf prints criss-crossed over yours and Karl's, and at the outskirts of the clearing was the meandering trail of a solitary bear. You whistled at the sight of that, a little concerned. The lean-to was only about three feet off the ground; a normal-sized brown bear would be able to crawl into it on top of you and Karl and you doubted it would be overly thrilled with your company.
"What the hell? That big bitch ought to be in hibernation." Karl grumbled as he came up alongside you, the man placing a boot firmly in the middle of a pawprint.
"Late bloomer, I guess." You shrugged, sighing. "I usually don't get much sleep on the return trip anyway. Too much food and the smells attract the wildlife."
"Sugar, I'm here." Karl thumped himself on the chest, making you snort. "If that bear wants to pick a fight, I'll go mano a mano with it. I do not give a shit."
"I mean you're a bit better suited to the challenge than the average person, what with your ability to make metal listen to you." You pointed out. "The rest of us normies would have a real rough time, especially without a gun." Heisenberg's scoff of derision at that was almost deafening, startling another snicker out of you. "Forgive me, Lord Heisenberg." You teased.
"Don't call me that." His tone dropped to a low growl, entirely lacking in humor. You gave him a confused look and he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Look, I…I just don't want to think about that shit right now," he continued quietly.
"Okay." Christ, you felt awkward. "Sorry."
"It's fine." Karl glanced around, then set off in a random direction. You watched him go, worried until he bent to scoop up a few twigs from beneath a tree. The relief that washed over you was…odd, so you staunchly ignored it by beginning to mound up the ashes in the fire pit.
Scraping the char off to the sides, you worked to separate out the half-burned sticks from the rest of the ash so that you could build the fire properly. A few moments of digging around later and you had a decent pile of kindling, using your knife to splinter the burnt branches into a more useful size. The act was meditative, helping you to turn off the part of you that so desperately wanted to think about Karl, about his past, about…
You shook your head, frustrated at yourself. Now wasn't the time for this! You needed to get the fire going before you lost daylight. That was the priority.
Karl dumped an armful of branches onto the ground beside the half barrel, his eyes distant and reply vague when you thanked him. Clearly he too was thinking hard. He began methodically snapping branches in half, breaking them down into a more manageable size while you continued to carefully stack the kindling. When you finally slipped a match in between the twigs and splinters, you were relieved by how quickly the flames caught. Sometimes it was a little touch and go!
"What's on the menu, sugar?" Heisenberg asked, opening the flap of his pack and then looking at you expectantly.
"Well, we've got the leftovers from last night's dinner." You had packed the two cardboard takeaway containers (with plastic cutlery, what luxuries!) into the outside of your pack to keep them cold, so you directed him to where they were. "We also have the last of the preserves, at least until we get home, and the bread."
"Save that for the morning, we can make toast." Karl reasoned and you nodded in agreement.
The two takeout containers were soon splayed open, Heisenberg offering you a bite of his cheese pie in exchange for one of the cabbage rolls you had saved. The two of you took turns warming your ramshackle dinner over the fire, Karl having fashioned a sort of long fork out of a section of metal from the top of the barrel in order to facilitate the process.
"Granted, I could just stick my hand into the fire, but I don't feel like healing third degree burns tonight." Karl waved his fingers well above the flames in a joking manner.
"Does anything actually hurt you?" You asked curiously, kicking yourself when his expression darkened immediately.
"Shit hurts me like it hurts everyone else." Heisenberg responded stiffly. "I've still got nerve endings. They're a little fried, but there."
"Sorry, I'm really putting my foot in my mouth tonight." You tried to apologize but he waved it off.
"You're allowed to be curious, sugar. If I didn't want to answer, I wouldn't."
"Yeah but I'm not owed information. I'm just nosy, I guess. Don't feel like you have to answer things just because I ask them." At that, you were pleased to see the tension in his shoulders ease somewhat. You wondered if he had felt like he had to answer you, even if it made him uncomfortable.
"Thanks," was his eventual reply, and the two of you lapsed into a companionable silence while you finished dinner.
…
Heisenberg woke to a fresh dusting of snow on the ground, your face buried in his chest and frost coating his eyebrows. He grumbled, rubbing the heel of his palm back and forth to dislodge the icy remains on his forehead. Drowsy eyes traveled to the two packs that he had hoisted high up into a nearby tree, the man relieved to see them still hanging unscathed. There were also no fresh tracks in the snow that he could see from his reclined position, another good sign.
It had been a quiet night, then. That was a relief. Karl had been concerned about a possible scuffle in the night, either with local wildlife or old friends, but it seemed his fears had been unfounded.
"Time to wake up, sugar." Karl murmured, rubbing your back. "Home tonight, if all goes well."
"Mhm," you hummed, pressing an absent kiss to the underside of his jaw before you rolled upright and stretched. A wide yawn quickly turned into violent shivering and you rushed to wrap yourself up in your sleeping bag. "Shit it's cold, damn." You grumbled, grabbing the ski suit you had tucked into the foot last night and wriggling the legs of it up over your base layer.
Karl, still a little confused from your kiss, just slid out of the lean-to after donning his boots. He almost welcomed the cold, it was bracing in a way. Grounding. Don't think about it.
"Bread should be in your pack, close to the top." You called when he moved to lower the two hanging bags from their lofty perch.
"Got it." Karl replied, slinging both packs over his shoulder so they didn't end up in the fresh powder on the ground. After setting the backpacks down in the lean-to, he quickly located the wrapped loaf of bread and handed it off to you, chuckling as you ripped the heel off the loaf and shoved it into your mouth. "Hungry this morning?"
You nodded, struggling to swallow momentarily. "It's tough, I feel like I'm always hungrier after other people's cooking." You admitted.
"Alright, well, let's get breakfast going before you eat the whole damn loaf." Don't think about it.
But gods, it was difficult. He coaxed the fire back to life and you toasted half the loaf in one go, your eyes so intent on the task it was nearly comical. Then came the last of the preserves you had brought, a little crystalline from being at the bottom of the jar but no less delicious. Karl got a little of the sticky substance in his mustache and you noticed it before he did, the man not realizing until you were wiping it clean with a soft laugh. "You always eat so fast! Nobody's going to take it from you, I promise."
Don't think about it, Karl reminded himself sternly on the trail later that day, finding his eyes wandering to your hips once more. Don't think about it, damn it all.
Things could be simple. He didn't need to ruin it by thinking about it, like he had done with everything else in his life. He could be happy like this, actually happy. So why the hell did he feel the need to think and subsequently shred his chances of existing peacefully?
You ruin everything you touch.
Heisenberg set his jaw tight enough to feel the ticking of his muscles. It felt too inevitable, too sinisterly obvious. He was going to do something to ruin this for himself. Maybe he already had set it in motion. He had put his hands on you, had touched you freely, and–
Don't think about it.
What more could he do, though? Without his title, without the want for his title, all he had now was worry, concern, and doubt. His closest friends throughout his life, crowding in once again to drown him with the ceaseless loop of regret. Not remorse, mind, Karl didn't believe remorse was a thing he could feel, but he could understand that he had done monstrous things and justified them in the name of taking down Miranda. Where his 'siblings' had treated their endeavors as the greater good, Heisenberg knew damn well that his goals were nothing so glamorous.
You ruin everything you touch.
His vision blurred and Heisenberg chose to stare at the ground for a very, very long time, focusing on his skis retreading the tracks from your own. Behind him the sled full of supplies continued to be pulled along, the runners carving deeper into the snow than either you or Karl's skis. While he was intent on this particular task the man made his most valiant effort yet to entirely turn his brain off and, to his relief, it seemed to work for a little while. No thinking about what he had done, no fear about what he might do. Just one foot in front of the other, over and over again until the two of you reached more familiar woodlands.
Home.
That jolted him out of his thoughtless respite, much to his dismay. It wasn't his home, his home was some mold-ridden hellpit and he knew that. No matter how far he strayed, no matter how much he tried to ignore or forget, that factory was his home. The village was his home, with its sullen gray skies and the taste of rust perpetually in his mouth.
You skied back to him, a smile on your face. Clearly you had noticed his flagging pace. "Almost home, Karl! Only a little further. You need a break? Snack?"
Home.
Karl gritted his teeth until they creaked under the pressure, uncertain if the taste of iron was from phantom rust or if he had just cracked a tooth. He forced himself to ease his posture, willed his jaw to loosen, and opened his mouth. "I'd like a snack, yeah. I'm starving." He confessed unexpectedly, the actual response he had intended to give being 'no let's just get this done'.
"You got it!" Slinging your pack around, you dug through until you seized another cardboard takeaway container. "From Rache, Marku's wife. She gave us some donuts. Or, wait no, they're called papanasi I think."
Papanasi. Karl's mind latched onto the familiar word just as hungrily as his hands latched onto the fried good. It returned something to him, in a strange way. A memory, or maybe a dream of a memory: someone handing a small, hungry child a warm treat.
Was he crying? Heisenberg cringed, trying to turn away so that you wouldn't see him wipe his eyes. He still flinched when you caught his arm but instead of berating him (or whatever the hell else he had been expecting), you simply used the end of your scarf to scrub at his cheek.
"There! You had a little smudge." You smiled at him and Karl managed to muster up a watery twitch of his lips in return, the man rushing to cram the rest of the treat into his mouth to save him from engaging in some form of conversation.
Home.
Part Nine
#karl heisenberg#lord karl heisenberg#eventual romance#fix it fic#au#resident evil#re 8#re 8 village#resident evil village#resident evil karl heisenberg#karl heisenberg x reader#karl heisenberg imagine#re 8 karl heisenberg#slow burn#MAX HELP ME I'M FEELING
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