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another-corpo-rat · 1 year

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a language of its own

i planned for this one to be tooth-rotting fluff. spoiler: it is not. because god forbid these two stay on script for me

Adam Smasher/OC Summary: In the wake of Hanako's coup, a lot of things are uncertain. Loyalty, mostly.

“Do I need to remind you what ‘do not disturb’ means?” Victoria’s voice is flat, her eyes not lifting from the document she’s re-read thrice already, certain it’s more interesting than an intern cowering at her threshold like a cold pup. She can hear their gulp, how they shuffle their feet awkwardly in place. Lily, then. A mouse of a girl who’ll get caught in some trap before long.

“I- I’m sorry Ms Crane,” the gentle voice is confirmation. Really, she would be better working for some holo-company. “But he wouldn’t take no for an answer—” She doesn’t need to look up to know who the he in question is either, simply letting out a heavy sigh and rubbing at her forehead to ease a brewing headache.

“Let him in.” She flicks her gaze up merely to confirm and, yes there stands Adam fucking Smasher. In a Gemini frame granted, so the sight is not nearly as impressive even if he still manages to fill the doorway. No, what’s impressive is his collection of ratty t-shirts he insists on wearing because God forbid he wears one of the many button-downs she had gotten.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Clearance says otherwise.” A clearance she’s surprised he has considering he was grounded, for lack of a better term: confined to a Gemini frame and unarmed until further notice. A slap on the wrist really for his apparent siding with Yoriunbo. Though Victoria has to wonder how long Hanako will prolong the punishment now that the medtechs have marked him as mentally sound enough to return to the Dragoon; what was riding a delicate balance is slowly tipping against the heiress. Already whispers were brewing that she was afraid of Arasaka’s war hound. It wasn’t a good look.

“Why are you here?” She tries instead, locking her desktop’s screen as he steps into the room, too purposeful in his stride towards her desk.

Paranoid, her own thoughts hiss at her. It’s soundly ignored: paranoia has served her well in its small doses, it keeps her on her toes, sharp. It tells her there’s something off about his being in the room, even if she can’t quite pinpoint what as her eyes continuously draw over his horrendous jacket.

“I’m fucking bored.” He drawls out as he circles her desk. His eyes drop from her blackened screen to trail their own path across her scattering of notes, barely legible chicken-scratch a far cry from her usual script. Her own follow a few seconds behind. Nothing too incriminating – she doesn’t think she’s left anything about biopods lying around.

“So you decide to bother me?” A grin bares his teeth as he leans into her chair, the weight of him almost pulling it back. Yes, is the needless answer as he curls a loose lock of hair around his fingers and tugs lightly.

“You’re the safest option.” A final, hard yank before he lets go. Far too obvious in intent as he leans to read the specific paper she’s been hunched over. That grin falters, pulling into something harder when she lays her arm across the bulk of it. “What’ve you been working on?”

Something pricks at the back of her neck; sharp and needling as her throat dries. Pressing her tongue against the point of a canine, she reaches for a casual tone rather than a bite.

“That’s on a need-to-know basis, Smasher.” Immediately she knows it’s too practiced, too formal, the narrowing of his eyes confirms it. The bite would have been better. Calling him Adam would have been better. The material of her chair gives a protesting groan as his grip tightens on the headrest. She almost protests herself, but bites her tongue - better the chair than her, and that is riding on a very thin line. One she’s not quite sure how to tip the balance of.

The focus on the risk to her neck keeps her distracted as his other hand snakes around, snatching the page from under her arm. “Adam!” Her outrage is met with a sharp laugh. Smug in his victory, amused in her pitiful attempt to steal it back.

He snaps the paper rigid in his grip, holding it above his head and reading through. Ignoring her undignified little hops, or the nicks her chrome nails leave when they glance against his skin. His eyes narrow, the thoughts twisting obviously in his head as he lowers the paper.

“You studying to become a neurologist now?”

“In a sense.” A hiss as she snaps it out of his hand and returns the paper to the small hoard of loose sheets, putting herself in the space between him and her desk. As if that’d stop him. But she may as well make some effort; there was too much information laying around and she only had herself to blame for the security risk.

It’ll be pinned on her, might even give Hanako a means to remove her from her project. She’ll throw a stink if it comes to that, for the entire breach the heiress facilitated unknowingly or not by allowing Smasher to keep his permissions. Clearance, he said. A clearance he had the moment Yoriunbo made him head of security, and yet here he is exercising it now.

“So, the princess is still letting you work. I gotta wonder why.” She eyes him as he prowls about her office, rolling his shoulders before he plops himself comfortably on the leather sofa against the opposite wall. It’s not the usual way he’d sit, with an arm thrown across the back and his knees spread wide. No, he hunches forward now, tries to pin her under his gaze.

“Because it’s useful. Simple as.” Her innate need to be difficult has her mirror his demeanour; arms crossing as she leans against her desk. Chin lifting to look down on him. It earns her a clenched fist.

“Mhm, funny that.” Something in his eyes harden. A warning that has her own gaze flick to the door. She wouldn’t get there in time. Not with him so close to it. “How you manage to make a big breakthrough just before things went to shit for ol’ Yoriunbo. Great fucking timing there.”

“It’s not like you to dance around an accusation, Adam.”

Not like him to make a move in this particular field either. He’s well-versed in the dance of career corpos; the machinations and manipulations. Yet he normally leaves that domain for her to play in.

“Fuck it in with the games, Crane. You know what I’m accusing you of.” She does: as well as she knows the barely-concealed anger that mars his tone now. And though he’s not in the Dragoon, the want to soothe him is an innate thing, a skill honed more for her benefit than his. She presses it firmly under heel.

“You think I would manoeuvre myself in a way that would likely set me against you. That I’d stand aside, content with my new lot under a new CEO, and leave you to rust.” She pauses, not to consider her next words but the very idea. Yes, actually, that does sound quite like her…

She hums derisively. “If it wasn’t you, then yes. There’d be some truth to that.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I’m yours in plenty of other ways, what makes this so different?” Something crosses his face then, a confusion she thinks, marring the hard set of his lips and easing the clench of his fists. There’s a tension in his shoulders, obvious to her now that she’s looking for it.

Has it been there since he stepped through the door? She wouldn’t know; as much as she prefers this newer frame she can’t read him well in it. Not like she can in the Elvis suit, or even the Dragoon.

“It’s an out.”

“It is.” An out to the contract tying her to him; leverage for her to pry herself from his grip. She could never hope to replace Hellman and his niche little hole, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t dig out her own with OIZYS. There’s a versatility she’s yet to explore, lingering on the edges of her attention: all the failed branches and threads to be twisted into their own projects once the parent is perfected.

She watches him as she agrees and – yes, there’s that tension. It rolls through him like a wave, most notable in how he works his jaw. Like he’s biting down. “One you wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about. But,” It’s dangerous. Stupid. She moves towards him, stopping in the space between his spread knees to cradle a square jaw, tilting his chin upward to meet her eye.

His hands rest on her hips, heavy in their press.

“Have you considered that I like being where I am?” She softens her tone, lets fondness ease her gaze as her thumb trails against the rough line of his jaw.

And again, that confusion. It’s beautiful to see up close; the slight, brief furrow of his brows that narrows already hardened eyes. As ill-practiced as she is reading this suit, he’s as out-of-depth emoting in it. Nothing is subtle, it’s as if every relevant muscle is being yanked by a string until he finds the expression he wants. He finds a neutral expression now. Blank to match his dry tone.

“Careful, you might get me thinking that you care.”

“Oh, now I can’t have that.” She smiles as she brushes her lips against his, pulling away the moment his grip tightens and he tries to wrangle control. There’s a mere whisper of space, warmed by her caramel-scented breath.

She’d let him devour her in a heartbeat. Let him make a mess of her and the office alike if the timing wasn’t piss-poor; if Hanako’s eyes weren’t sharp in their search for anything to pry at. They were already treading a delicate line, too blatant, too public and yet not public enough. The stupidly bold part of her wants them broadcasted. “I’ll need to make you certain of it.”

His jaw slackens, grip loosening enough for her to step away without having to pull from him to retreat to her desk, hiding the bubbling in her stomach behind a smug twitch of the lips as she lets that settle in the air. It’s as close to a confession as she’s willing to give and even then it feels too much, her blood thrumming and a buzz rising in her ears at a very obvious misstep.

Her eyes veer to her scrawl of notes, to the page at the top – the one he had read. She doesn’t sit. Instead leaning over the desk, attention crawling over the annotations of an old case study: Phineas Gage and his wondrous survival. Nothing about biopods in that. Good. She can at least look busy, even if her fingers tap erratically against her desk and she worries her bottom lip between teeth. It’s a pointed effort not to glance up when she hears him move, following the sound of his steps in their wide circle of the office until he stops opposite her.

His hands warm and calloused, engulf hers. Pressing them into the desk to stop her tapping as he leans forward.

“Likewise, Blondie.” He’s gentle as he presses a kiss to her forehead, thumbs ghosting against the back of her hands. If she looked up, his expression would have been an uncharacteristically soft thing; eyes warm yet uncertain in the gentler motions. She didn’t look up.

He pulls away as quickly as she did, and with far less grace in his own retreat as he calls over his shoulder; “I’ll see you at home.”

She can’t answer beyond an affirming hum, biting back a too-wide smile and trying to crush the odd feeling in her chest. There’s no real effort to that crush. She gives up on it as soon as the door slides closed.

#cyberpunk 2077 #Adam Smasher #cyberpunk oc #corpo v #Victoria Crane #Ship: Gilded Chrome #fic tag #my writing #i swear someday i'll get to writing Vic's actual story instead of scenes in a verse thats prob not canon #but until then #these two really be like #we live together. we share a bed. i'll kill for you. id give up a potential route to power for you #but the moment they skirt close to calling it love they're like 🏃🏃🏃

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cherry-velvet-skies · 2 years

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Nothing could have mentally prepared me for this image

#I didn't realize at first that Vic was under his skirt and when I did I didn't know how to act #thomas raggi #victoria de angelis #maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #ethan torchio

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kiss-this · 2 years

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#is this Vic in a skirt??#yummy!#måneskin #victoria de angelis

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till-you-scream-and-cry · 10 months

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Third Lesson of Good Manners: Keep Quiet

Pairing: Ethan x Damiano x Fem!Reader

summary: your third encounter with Ethan, this time someone will join, at least at the beginning, but how will this evening end?

word count: 2,7k

contents: SMUT, dirty talk, daddy kink, hair pulling, choking, spanking, rough sex, unptotected sex, humiliation

author’s note: well i hope i at least won’t disappoint after such a long break

Måsterlist | tåglist

PREVIOUS LESSONS:

✨FIRST LESSON ✨SECOND LESSON

*******

Another boring day has passed. After leaving the office, you stood at the bus stop, daydreaming a little, your vision got blurry, and noises mixed into white noise. The vibrating phone in your pocket brought you back to reality.

“Ciao, stronza” The sweet welcome was followed by Vic’s chuckle.

“Hey, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You narrowed your eyes, trying to see the bus, but sadly it was late again.

“You thought you could just go on for two weeks without telling me what happened at that party? I was busy, but now I need to know everything…”

Truth be told, you didn’t want to share with anyone details of what happened between you and Ethan. Vic was your dear friend, but what you had with Ethan seemed a bit too intimate. Especially since she knew him so well, and you weren’t exactly sure if she was aware of what he was capable of.

“Vic, what are you even talking about? I got a bit drunk and had a nice time.” You shamelessly lied.

“Yeah, right. It’s the second time you and Edgar disappear somewhere for a while and get back sweaty and a mess. Who are you trying to fool?”

You sighed.

“Yeah alright, even if, what am I supposed to tell you, hmm?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Preferably all the juicy details,” she said, and you could hear the grin in her voice.”

“Vic, I’m in public, maybe some other time? I love you but I need to run.” You smiled at the sight of the approaching bus.

“Boo-hoo, you won’t get away with this, I’ll steal you for some serious gossiping on Saturday.”

“And…what’s on Saturday?” You frowned.

“Shit, I forgot to text you, sorry. Just pretend that you knew earlier please, Ethan will kill me.”

Your body tensed up at the sound of his name.

“Ethan? So what’s tomorrow, will I ever find out?” You sounded a bit too impatient which you realized when the words escaped your mouth.

“Easy tiger, Ethan is making a little party in his flat, he just moved. And since he doesn't have your number, he asked me to let you know.” You haven’t replied right away. “Hello? Have you died from excitement or…” Vic scoffed

“No?! Shut up Vic I swear, you let your imagination run a little too wild. Thanks for the invite, I got to go. Love you.”

You ended the call before she had a chance to say something else. Your heart was racing, and filling you with shameful thoughts. Or at least ones you shouldn’t necessarily have in public. But you couldn’t help the grin which appeared on your face at the very thought of meeting him again.

You could barely sleep at night, instead, you went through your closet, trying to find a decent outfit. You knew how he liked you in short skirts, so the choice was simple. Short skirt with easy access to your lacy panties, red this time. Tight-fitting top, with flattering cleavage. And a choker. You couldn't help yourself.

The next evening you showed up fashionably late, or maybe just late because you once again got stuck in traffic. Ethan opened the door with a smirk and looked you up and down. He was wearing jeans and a black tank top, which only emphasized his muscles.

“Look who decided to finally show up. I started thinking you got tired of me.” He slowly licked his lips. Your cheeks were burning.

“How could I?” You smiled innocently and handed him a wine bottle. He moved aside and let you in.

His flat was just what you expected. Old building, renovated inside. Vintage furniture, a shelf full of vinyl collection, walls covered in art, and a piano. You weren’t sure how many rooms there were, but it was surely bigger than the flat Vic had.

He quickly abandoned you and disappeared into the kitchen. You kept walking around until you found Vic and kissed her cheek. Thankfully, before she started interrogation, you felt a firm grip on your arm.

“Here you are. Mind if I steal her for a moment?” Ethan said to Vic in a playful tone.

“Oh, she’s all yours.” Vic winked and walked away to Thomas, who started dancing at the coffee table.

“What do you need me for?” You asked, pretending that you wouldn’t accept literally anything he’d offer you.

“Have a little patience, hmm?” He growled into your ear, which was enough to give you goosebumps.

He led you to the dark corridor where Damiano was leaning against the wall, watching you with a smirk.

“Hey.” You said quietly.

“So polite.” Ethan mocked you. “Alright, here's the deal. In case you thought I forgot about that vase you destroyed last time I saw you, I’m here to remind you that I still remember.”

“It belonged to my Nonna,” Damiano said in a low, husky voice, slowly shaking his head.

“Exactly. So I think you should somehow make it up to my dear friend.” Ethan said and looked at you with a cocky smile.

“Ummm…” You looked at him, and then Damiano, then again at Ethan.

“Such a silly slut, it’s almost cute.” Ethan patted your head. “Well since you’re only good at one thing, I figured you could be Damia’s toy for the night. Do you agree?” He asked with softness in his eyes. Besides it being all fun and games, you knew he wouldn’t force you to do anything against your will. You looked at Damiano, scanning his body, a bit too openly.

“I agree.” You said with a smirk. Damiano wasn't the type of man you’d refuse to have fun with. He grinned at your words and gently gripped your chin, lifting your face.

“You won’t regret it,” Damiano said in a husky voice.

“Behave,” Ethan whispered into your ear before leaving you two alone.

“So…” you said quietly, staring into Damiano’s eyes with an innocent face. “How may I serve you?” You bit your lip and smiled.

Damiano grinned and moved closer, making you walk backwards and press your back against the wall. He stroked your side and placed his hand on your hip.

“I could take some edge off, it’s been a long week.” He said and grabbed your chin with the other hand. Damiano moved even closer and started pressing his thigh between your legs. You let out a quiet sigh which made him smirk even more.

“I’ll gladly help.” You looked at him with lust, feeling his growing bulge pressing against your hip.

He grabbed your chin tighter and leaned down to kiss you. He savoured your lips at first, but quickly let the passion win and deepened the kiss. You sighed and cupped his face, nibbling on his lip. Soon later his hands started wandering over your body, squeezing your breast, roaming over your back just to find your ass and give it some attention as well. You were both getting breathless, lost in the kiss, getting more rough and hungry for more every minute. Damiano suddenly moved away and looked deeply into your eyes with his hooded and darkened ones. He smirked and grabbed your hand. you saw a door which he opened and pulled you inside. It was a guest bathroom, he lit a small mirror light and closed the door.

“How cosy…” you mumbled and looked at him with a grin.

“Shut up…” he said in a breathy voice. His hands were all over you once again. Damiano swiftly picked you up and sat at the edge of the washing machine. As soon as he did so, he pulled your top off you and threw it aside. You gasped as the cool air hit your nipples, already hardening from his touch. he cupped them and leaned to kiss you again. He started playing with your nipples, making you gasp into the kiss. He stood close, so close that you felt his cock hardening against your wet pussy. You reached to his trousers and started toying with the belt. He moved away and removed them while staring at you with hungry eyes. The wet stain on your panties got even bigger, which he obviously noticed. His cock was pressing on his boxers, which he removed soon after. It bounced and made you hum quietly at his size. He smirked even more and stepped closer. Damiano grabbed your hair in a firm grip.

“I need you to wrap your beautiful lips around my cock and show me how sorry you are,” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded silently and jumped off the washing machine, going immediately down on your knees. He gave himself a few strokes, watching you below him, with your mouth open.

“Such a good slut…” he grumbled and slapped your tongue with his cock a few times, letting you feel how heavy it is.

Moments later your mouth was wrapped around him, taking him slowly but deeper with every head bob. He tangled his fingers in your hair and started making noises, soft grunts filled the room. You felt that your pussy was dripping from the sounds he was making, which only encouraged you to go faster, deeper and be better for him. Damiano started thrusting his hips and pulling your head down on himself harder. Your eyes watered, and you pinned your claws in his thighs. He finally came hard, pilling himself down your throat, his loud moans made your pussy twitch. Once you sucked him dry, choking on his cum a little, he lifted your chin up and looked at you with hooded eyes and pink cheeks.

“Fuck baby that was good.” He pulled you up from the floor and kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your lips.

“I’m glad I could make you happy,” you said, trying to catch a breath.

He walked closer and sat you on the washing machine again. He knelt in front of you and reached under your skirt. His finger brushed your underwear.

“You’re so soaked…I can’t let you go like this.” He smirked and kissed your inner thigh.

He pulled your panties down and threw them on the pile of clothes. Damiano parted your legs and hooked one of them over his shoulder. He moved his face closer and dragged his rough tongue over your pussy. You moaned and arched your back. He chuckled and moved his hands under your ass to keep you in place. He started with slow, long licks, which later turned into him sucking and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. You couldn’t keep quiet, your moans got louder and out of control. You kept pulling on his hair, wriggling, trying to get more friction. As you were about to cum, the door opened and made you both stop.

“You just can’t keep quiet, can you?” Ethan looked mad, he stood there with his arms folded on his chest.

Damiano stood up and wiped his mouth. You sat straight, trying to cover yourself.

“Oh please, don’t play coy. You’re such a damn slut that you’ll act like an animal, like a fucktoy just for anyone? You were supposed to serve him, not get any pleasure yourself.” He looked at Damiano who acted very guilty.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” You mumbled.

“Stop. You want to scream like a whore so that a whole party could hear you? To let them know what kind of greedy slut you are? You’ll have it.” He said through gritted teeth.

Ethan grabbed your hand and only let you throw on your top before pulling you towards the corridor. He led you, pantyless, all sweaty and worked up, through the living room full of guests, and pushed you into his bedroom. It wasn’t big, but very tasteful. As you’d expect.

“I’m sorry…” you started.

“No. Too late for that.” Ethan walked closer to you and hooked his finger under your choker to pull you closer. “Now I’ll just have to punish you.”

You nodded, enchanted by his deep, brown eyes. His hand gripped your throat, pulling you into a deep and passionate kiss. Ethan snuck his hand under your skirt and moaned softly as he brushed his fingers against your soaked cunt.

“Fuck…” he looked at you and moved away. He swiftly pushed you onto the bed and trapped you beneath himself. Your hands were pinned above your hand, his other hand was teasing your folds. You whined and arched your back, wanting much more than this.

“You’re so damn greedy…want daddy to fuck your stupid brains out? Wanna show my guests who owns you and can only make you scream?” He growled into your ear.

“Yes…yes please.” You mumbled. “Please, Daddy.”

Ethan smirked and got off you. He got rid of his clothes and started playing with his hardening cock. His eyes didn’t leave your body for a second. He walked closer again, making you breathe more heavily, at the very idea of what he might do to you. He grabbed your legs and in one move turned you around on your stomach. A sharp pain as he smacked your ass made you squeak.

“On all fours, be a good girl.” He rubbed your red skin.

You obediently got in the position he wanted to have you in, and realised that a big mirror was in front of you. You caught his eyes, and he smirked.

“Oh yes, I want you to see how pathetic you are.”

He moved on the bed behind you and started teasing your folds with his tip. He took his sweet time, making you whine and try to back out on his cock. He smacked you again and gripped your hair, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. Ethan forced your legs further apart so that your pussy was all ready and open for him.

“Look, so needy, just dripping all over me to get this cock, hmm?” He looked at your reflection and pushed all the way in, in one push.

You moaned loudly, for a moment forgetting about the guests in the other room. He kept his hand on your back, the other tightly gripping your hair. Ethan made sure both he and you can see the faces you were making as he kept slamming deep inside you.

“So whose cock is better, hmm? Who do you belong to, you whore?!” He spat out while speeding up his thrusts.

His dark hair was moving with his every move, tickling your oversensitive skin, his fingers were digging deep into your hips, leaving bruises for the next day. The wet noises filled the room, mixed with your moans and whines and his low grunts.

“Who do you belong to?!” He asked louder.

“I belong to you, Daddy!” You screamed, failing to keep eye contact.

It got messy, fast breathy and full of noises. You kept scratching his thighs, trying to pull him deeper, he kept pulling your hair, leaving bites on your back, scratching you, slamming into you and fucking you into oblivion. Ethan was hitting every spot, stretching you so well. He once again pulled your hair to make you watch as he came with a loud moan, filling you with his hot cum. Just from seeing that and hearing how good you made him feel, you came screaming, trembling and collapsing under him.

You lasted like that for a moment, both of you coming harder than ever. He finally softened and slipped out of you. Ethan rolled you on your back and sat between your legs. You felt his cu slowly dripping out of you. He brushed his hands up your sides and hands, gently pinning them above your head. You expected a round two, but instead, he leaned down and kissed you softly, caressing your cheek. once he broke off the kiss he looked down at you with a blissful smile.

“You’re in trouble, miss,” he said in a raspy voice.

“What did I do now?” You asked with raised eyebrows. He kissed your nose and kept looking at your face in such a way you’d never seen him look before. Ethan sighed and rest his head on your chest, carefully not to squeeze you. He wrapped his arms around you.

“You got me addicted to yourself. Maybe I’m not mad about that. Maybe I could get used to having you here more often.”

You silently started playing with his hair and placed a soft kiss on his head. And you could swear you felt his heart beating faster at that same moment.

........................................

taglist: @thewitchinthemountain @coven-daddy @8iunie @tempobrucera @bethanysnow @writingmaneskin @blackberryblossom @hiraetheral @theimpossiblehologramtree @ilwiwbysmv @weareoddlydrawn @bieberhoodforever @chesirecatty-blog @que--sera--sera @iamtashaquinn @butkutee @ohdamiano @stardustingold @woahzz11 @cuzimitaliano @thegeminisgirl @bisexual-babygirl-mj @maneslut @eliseline @dpaccione @xweirdxsceletton @agentreid2 @roisinlove123 @vicdeangelisbra @ohladymoon @ykaaarus @androgynouscloudenemy @lovelyy-moonlight @anaislfbv @darcymånewinx @esposadomd @chiaraxtargaryen @flowerfeastrry @mandy-bo-bandy @itsbearss @woddiemmi @sournatromanoff @lavendernlemons @woddiemmi @lizzylynch1 @formulapierre @sadroses98 @peculiar-time-traveller

#maneskin #måneskin #maneskin writing #maneskin fiction #ethan torchio #ethan x reader #ethan torchio imagine #ethan torchio smut #damiano david #damiano david imagine #damiano x reader #ethan maneskin #damiano maneskin #smut #my writing #lesson of good manners #ethan torchio x reader #damiano david x reader

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bloodynereid · 7 months

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Reapers & Ravens

<< prev | chapter iv | next >>

pairings: jordan li x oc

tw: swearing, mentions of migraines, mentions of experimental pills, canon typical violence, weed, bad parents, mentions of death, rufus...

description: the story of a girl. a girl cursed by compound v to live a life without touch.

a/n: so... hi sorry this took so long to write and post. it's also a little shorter than the rest cause honestly when i was rewatching this ep it was sort of more focused on certain character dynamics and world building (which i tried to emulate). vic is going through it and... i added some little allusions to her past in this chapter. hopefully u all enjoy and... my ask box is always open so lmk ur thoughts + if you want to be added to the taglist <3

Walking through the stretch of patrons and trustees I finally spotted my dad standing off to the side, talking to a girl who was quite literally my age. Fucking hell, goosebumps appeared on my arms and a disgusted sneer overtook my face. That seems to be my predominant facial expression anytime I’m around my dad - the real version of him.

Bundling up the layers that made up my skirt I ducked and nudged my way towards him, uttering a variety of sorrys to anyone I had bumped into. I was in a hurry after everyone had dispersed to get changed and make excuses to respective parents. We had to find Emma - as quickly as we possibly could.

“Dad! Look I don’t have time to explain but I have to go.” A scowl twisted his face and he reached for my gloved hand as I turned to go.

“The night is young plus you’re being rude to uh-”

“Lily.” The girl said with a flutter of her eyelashes, I felt sick to my fucking stomach.

“No dad, I really need to leave. I have to help my friends.”

“And suddenly you have friends.”

“Fuck off dad like you care. I came and I played the part of the perfect daughter, I don’t need to get your permission to leave.”

“I’m just trying to get you to stay in the top 10-”

“That is literally all you care about! You know what I’m going to go, I don't want to cause anymore of a scene.” I rolled my eyes and turned back to the sea of people with a sigh. I walked, or rather stormed my way to the reception doors but stopped short when I remembered… Gemma. Shit she should know that Emma was missing.

My eyes turned towards the crowd once again and thankfully I found her sitting in between 2 identical girls who were wearing the same outfit. Oh that must be Mia. She was absolutely drop dead gorgeous, her curly brown hair was tied back in a slicked ponytail and she was wearing a blazer and a short skirt - showing off her toned muscles from football.

“Hii I see you found some company.” I said with a smile on my face and looked at the trio. Gemma was blushing like mad and the brunettes had flirty smiles on their faces.

“Oh shit uh hey Vic. This is Mia. Mia meet my roommate Vic.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” Mia’s silky voice came from one of the girls, it filled the atmosphere like honey, obviously I had heard some rumors about her before but holy shit.

“You as well. I love your outfit. If it’s ok can I pull Gemma away for a bit?”

“Oh yeah of course ,I’m going to go try to find some booze. Actually if I don’t see you here’s my number.” I watched as Mia’s duplicate took a pen out from one of the random pockets on her blazer and scribbled down a series of numbers on a napkin before signing it with a kiss.

“Don’t miss me too much darling, we were just getting started. Plus I already have my date for tonight.” Mia added as she slipped into the crowd with a wink. Her duplicate followed closely behind her with an arm thrown around her shoulders. I turn to look at Gemma with raised eyebrows as she tries to giggle quietly.

“So…”

“Nope, we are not talking about this now. Tell me what happened.”

“Emma is missing.”

“What?” She exclaimed loudly and jumped up from her chair, making it wobble dangerously close to falling.

“Look, you remember I told you about my little adventure with Andre. Well, he did something stupid again. He sent Emma down there.”

“Shit. Okay what do we do?”

“First we need to get changed and then we’re meeting the group at Andre’s car. We’re going to try and locate her with the GPS.”

“Fuck okay, okay, let’s do this.” We nod at each other in agreement and then leave the memorial ball, quickly getting up to our dorm and changing into more casual clothes. There is no way that I was going to wear this dress to go to a search party.

“I found the tracker!” Marie says from one of the sandier parts of the field, we had spent over 30 minutes combing each and every corner of this damn field with our phone lights. The night was also growing colder and colder by the minute, maybe wearing a thin cardigan was not the best move.

“Maybe this is good… I mean she got out of the hellhole.”

“Andre? We are literally standing in a meteor sized hole. How do we know she’s even alive?” I asked with a clearly frustrated tone lacing my words.

“Woah let’s not immediately assume she’s dead okay?” Gemma loudly declared as she stood next to Cate right outside the hole.

“Yeah exactly! Maybe Sam can jump like Maeve does? He landed here with Emma and then jumped again?”

“What were you thinking?”

“I had to do something.” Andre stuttered out while Marie looked at him with probably one of the most intensely angry looks I had ever seen.

“You didn’t do anything! You just dragged Emma into this fucking mess.”

“Woah okay how about we just calm down for a second?” I said, trying to mediate the clearly escalating situation but before I could take a step closer to the pair, our phones all went off at the same time. Jordan took out their phone first and scrolled through the message.

“They released the new rankings.” They said, causing me to pull up the same message on my phone. Oh shit.

“Andre is obviously still first, Marie second, I’m still five and Vic, you’re sixth.”

“Eh figures the dean hates me for whatever reason.” I said as I quickly locked my phone and slipped it back into my pocket.

“What?” The entire group looked at me with confused looks on their faces.

“How should I know? She was the one who interviewed me and I don’t know! She had this weird vibe to her the whole time.”

“Okay pending our talk about whatever the hell that is about, we really have bigger fucking problems than rankings.”

“Yeah says you, Mr. Number one. But I agree we do. Turns out the school has a whole fucking underground angel of death clinic! We don’t know who’s in on it. It could be the entire staff. And what are you going to do? Run around solving this like Nancy fucking Drew? You guys are going to end up like the fucking cricket.” Jordan says exasperatedly, walking closer and closer to Andre.

“Emma. Her name is Emma. And she is in so much shit right now because of your fucking friend.” Gemma answers as she too walks down into the crater.

“Woah okay Gemma chill. I don’t think they meant anything by it.”

“Jordan’s right.” Cate exclaims as she follows Gemma down.

“Thank you.”

“Look whoever Emma is, she isn’t fucking here.”

“Hey Cate! Come on.”

“No you come on. This girl could be fucking dead Andre. I told you not to do anything stupid. We are in over our heads.” Cate says as she starts to follow Jordan back to the place we parked the cars.

“Fuck.” Gemma exclaims as I grab her hand with my gloved one, smiling slightly at her. I rub circles on her palm to calm her.

“Look we’re going to figure this out okay? I promise.”

“Yeah okay I really need to sleep.”

“Me too. Let’s head back okay?”

“Yeah.” I put an arm around her shoulders and started walking towards Cate and Jordan but not before taking a look back at Marie and Andre mouthing a quick ‘bye’.

I laid in bed listening to the music blaring through my headphones. The morning sunshine was streaming in through the windows and I hadn’t even gotten a wink of sleep. My brain likes to hate me on days like this. Insomnia only seemed to arrive at the time when either everything was going to hell or I was stressed. Today it was a combination of the two.

Insomnia was also one of the worst possible things for my particular power. It’s usual insistence to absorb life seemed to be dialed up to 3 thousand. It’s typical itchiness under my gloves had now grown into a horrible irritation that was steadily spreading over every single cell of my body.

Eyeing the plants on the window sill I finally made up my mind about the debate I had been having with myself for over ten minutes. Maybe absorbing just one of my spider plants couldn’t hurt right?

Just as I was pulling the fingers of my glove off my hand, I distantly heard Gemma running into my room. I pulled my headphones off and looked at my roommate who had the giddiest expression all over her face.

“Uh yes?”

“Guess who’s on campus right now?”

“With the way you’re acting I would say Santa Claus.”

“What no? I mean close but no.”

“Well then who?” I asked as I pulled my glove fully back on again. The singing under my skin only getting worse and worse.

“Tek Knight.” The moment that the name left Gemma’s mouth I felt my face scrunch up in disgust. You learn a lot about people when you grow up around them and… Uncle Tek was a staple in our household after my dad met him at some random premiere.

“What? Why are you making that face?”

“Nothing. I didn’t know you liked the whole Tek Knight thing.”

“Oh right yeah I love those shows. I mean they’re pretty bad but that kind of makes them good you know?”

“Yup totally get that. I, shit, I need to get to class. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry! But come find me if you do see Tek Knight, I need to ask him stuff about some of the episodes.”

“Okay! See you in a bit.”

I adjust the straps of my canvas bag and start to scratch at my wrist. I had specifically chosen my least scratchiest gloves right before leaving the dorm but they didn’t seem to be doing me any favors. Fuck. I buried my head in my hands and tried to just fucking breath.

That only seemed to make the situation worse. Even with my eyes closed I could still practically hear everyone’s life flowing through their very veins. After everything that I had learnt about Vought and what they were doing in the school I really didn’t want to take another one of the pills.

The sounds of bustling students started to fall away as the itchiness grew and grew. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go cold turkey on an experimental drug with one of the most volatile powers.

I suddenly came down to earth when a hand started shaking my shoulder, my entire body jumped and I grabbed hold of whoever’s hand was shaking me and twisted on instinct.

“Woah Vic. Vic! Calm the fuck down.” My eyes flew open and it felt like the fog had cleared up, looking down at me with a disturbed look over their face was Jordan. Jordan whose hand I currently had in a weird death grip.

“Fuck shit. Sorry.” I said as I let go of her hand and went back to scratching my wrist.

“No umm don’t worry about it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah fine. What’s up?”

“Fine? Dude you literally nearly pulled my arm off.”

“Yeah I’m sorry about that. I’m a little stressed, I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Me neither. It seems like this whole fucked up sit- Wait is that Rufus?”

“What?”

“Why the fuck is Marie talking to Rufus?” I turned my head and leaned to the side so the tree wasn’t blocking my view and right there was Marie talking to some bleach blonde dude.

“Rufus? As in the one you warned me about?”

“Yeah the very same.”

“Huh. Wait oh shit where are they going?” I asked as Rufus started to lead Marie with a hand on her forearm.

“No idea but we should probably follow them. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah I should be fine in a bit.”

“Ok maybe take a nap soon?”

“Only if you join me.” I said in a sing-song voice as we started to follow Marie and Rufus. I felt another headache starting to form behind my eyes but shook it off. Time to sort out priorities… like flirting with Jordan.

“Flirt.”

“Tease.” I wink at them and she just throws her head back and laughs before shifting and nudging my shoulder with theirs.

As we followed the pair I got more and more nervous, especially when they got to the dorm rooms. I exchanged worried glances with Jordan and continued to shadow them. I only broke out into a full on sprint when Rufus shut the door to a dorm behind him, pulling Marie inside.

“Shit! Rufus open the goddamn door!” I yelled as I started banging with my gloved fists.

“Rufus you creep you better open the fucking door.” Jordan screamed beside me, I moved out of the way as they hit the door harder and harder, until it finally gave way with a blast of her power. What I very much didn’t expect to see was Marie suddenly covered in a spray of blood and Rufus falling to the side, clutching his dick?

“Marie fuck. Are you okay?”

“Nice work. Now come on.” Jordan said in a calm tone as we hauled Marie up from the floor and they passed her a towel. I spared a glance back at Rufus and sent him the bird before we left the dorm room.

“Are you okay?” I asked Marie, sending her a small smile. The added adrenaline was not helping the forming headache.

“That was fucking dope. How did you do that?” Jordan added.

“Uh I have no idea, I’ve never been able to do that before… should we call somebody?”

“Nah, that guy deserved it.” I said as I rubbed my fingertips on my temples.

“Are you okay?” Marie asked as she nervously clutched the towel in her hands.

“Oh yeah, fine. No need to worry about little old me.” They both looked at me with raised eyebrows and Jordan had a whole calculating look on their face that was frankly slightly freaking me out.

“Hmm sure.”

“Also Marie what the fuck were thinking going to him for help?”

“I can’t just do nothing.”

“Ok before this turns into another fight, no idea why the fuck you guys hate each other so much but I’m going to go. My head is literally killing me right now.” Jordan’s face relaxed from one of slowly building rage to something much softer.

“Vic? Do you want to go down to the health center or something?”

“Nah I’m going to go lie down for a bit.”

“I’ve got to go as well. Get this blood off of me.”

“You know, maybe a thank you would have been nice!” Jordan yelled out towards Marie’s already retreating back.

“For what exactly?”

“Wow next time we won’t go around rescuing again.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Fucking did.”

“I exploded his dick.”

“God you guys are so fucking childish.” I said with a slight laugh in my voice and started to walk down the hall.

“Because we distracted him! Tagteam cocksplosion am I right Vic?” I chuckled and just let Jordan put her arm around my shoulders after they jogged up to my side.

“Whatever you say darling.”

I had been able to sleep for a few hours before I was rudely awakened by a really loud phone call. The headache continued to persist and the itchiness was at an all time worst.

“Hello?” I spoke into the phone’s speaker, my voice was groggy and scratchy. I should take some Vought pills… no, nope not again. Not unless they are a necessity.

“Darling! How are you Victoria?” Spoke the overly cheery voice of my honorary uncle, his baritone seemed to rattle through my brain.

“Uncle Tek?”

“Yes darling. How would you like to have a feature on the show? Andre walked out and a little birdie told me that you had known Luke.”

“Only for a few hours…”

“Perfect that should be enough. Can you meet me at Auditorium 5 in 20?”

“Uh… sure?”

“Wonderful. See you soon kiddo!” The phone line clicked off and I let out a loud groan into the empty room. Fuck me.

For ten torturous minutes I stood in front of my mirror trying to get myself into a slightly presentable state. My eyeliner kept getting messed up because of my shaky hands and everything else just seemed to be impossible to do. Finally I was able to just slick my hair back and throw on some lipstick before walking gingerly out of the door and towards the Performing Arts school.

“Kiddo! Wow you look so old now.”

“That’s what happens when time passes, Uncle Tek. How have you been?” I asked as the taller man engulfed me in a quick hug. I suppressed the flinch that the action had caused. The pain was getting worse.

“Good, good. I really did miss you Victoria. I’m sorry I’ve gotten so busy.”

“Oh that’s okay I’ve been insanely busy as well. What exactly did you need me to do?”

“Just answer some questions, we just need some extra background on Luke.”

“Uh okay.”

“Wonderful, have a seat and we can get started. Three free thugs set three thugs free. Three free thus set three thugs free.”

I flinched slightly as I sat down on the cushioned chair and started to run my gloved hands over the seams. You can do this.

“So here we are joined by Victoria Oaks, daughter to the actor Adrian Oaks - better known as Frostbite. How well did you know Golden Boy, Victoria?”

“Oh not well, I mean I’ve known Andre for a while but I only really met Luke a few days before the official first day of school.”

“And what did you think of him? Did he seem deranged to you?” My body immediately tensed up and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Luke was a perfectly normal and stable guy. He was also genuinely nice.”

“Have you heard of how many serial killers were also known as ‘nice’?”

“Yes of course but Luke wasn’t like-”

“You did say that you only really knew him for a few hours. How would you know his true nature? Also sorry for my poor choice of words, instead of serial killer I feel like the word murderer or monster might be more apt.” My jaw dropped in a shocked gasp, my brain wasn’t ready for this kind of barrage of information. I thought this would be a normal interview, especially because well I knew Tek.

“Uncle Tek… what are you trying to get at here?”

“Just the truth Victoria. The whole truth.” Fuck this, no wonder Andre walked out on this interview. I had always been glad that I never got to be on the other end of Tek’s interrogation tactics, now I know why.

“Look, Uncle Tek. My head is killing me right now, would it be okay if we just postponed this?” I said, trying to be as nice as possible. Tek’s face fell, almost as if a switch had been flipped.

“Shit cut the cameras. Kid are you okay? Are you taking the pills?” I narrowed my eyes at him and shifted to the right.

“How do you know about the pills?”

“I do still talk to your dad, you know.”

“Right yeah. Uh, would it be okay if I just…”

“Of course, I’ll walk you back myself.”

“You really don’t have to do that, plus I need to make sure you take those pills. Your dad might actually kill me if I don’t take care of his daughter.” You mean his asset I thought.

I laid in bed after Tek had dropped me off with a promise that he would call me in a bit. He also insisted I take the pills. Looking down at the silver packaging I felt my spine shudder. Those little green pills could do wonders right now but what were they actually doing to my powers?

Looking back on it I can’t even remember how I started taking these, there was never a reason as to why. They just appeared one day and dad made me promise that I would take them. I must have been 7 or 8 maybe. It was just after another one of the incidents… or was it?

I scrunched up my eyebrows in contemplation as I continued to stare at the green tablets. I had to be at a Superhero Branding class soon and it would be better to actually be vaguely coherent when I attended it. So…

“Fuck it.” I poked one of the little capsules out and popped it into my mouth before washing it down with a sip from my water bottle. I’ll go cold turkey tomorrow.

I twirled my pen between my fingers as I watched on to the clusterfuck that was Tek Knight interrogating someone. If I looked anything like Marie did in this moment I was probably a mess on camera. Ugh. At least the headache was gone and my power had quieted down into a soft hum under my skin. All it had taken was one tiny little fucking pill that I didn’t even want to take in the first place.

“Jordan’s the hero. Not me.” I shook out my stupor as I focused on Marie again. Holy shit she actually did it. I looked over to Jordan and they had a similar look of shock on her face. They must have realized I was looking over at them because she turned to lock eyes with me. I mouthed ‘holy shit’ and they responded by mouthing ‘I know’ back.

The whole class watched with bated breaths as Marie grabbed her bag and basically stormed out of the classroom. I looked over to Tek and rolled my eyes before grabbing my own bag and shoving my tablet and books into the small space.

“Hey! Jordan, wait up.” I exclaimed as I jogged up to the door where they were already pulling the handle.

“Yeah?”

“Want to hang out or something? I found some extra weed in my bag this morning and well… it kind of looks like you need it.”

“Are you just trying to stop me from following Marie?”

“What! That is a baseless accusation. Why would I ever…” I exclaimed in an overly dramatic voice but when I saw that Jordan wasn’t all that amused I changed my tactic, “Yeah I am. Marie just went through a Tek Knight interrogation™ so maybe just give her some space. I promise I will come with you when you want to talk to her.”

“Yeah I- I get that. Let’s get some of that weed you were talking about.”

“Where the fuck did you get this shit?”

“Hmm?” I asked as I shifted over on the bed so I was now facing Jordan, their face was totally blissed out. They looked ethereal.

“This is really good weed.”

“Oh yeah… I grow it.”

“What?” Jordan turned to look at me this time and actually seemed sort of surprised that I had been staring at her so intensely.

“Yeah… I mean I love plants and I got bored one day. It’s all legal in LA, plus my dad is keeping it up for me.”

“You’re so fucking cool.”

“What are you talking about? You’re literally the definition of cool in my book. You’re funny, awesome and really fucking incredible.” I said, poking Jordan slightly in the shoulder with a playful smile on my face.

“Sureee. God I wish I could fucking kiss you right now.” My jaw dropped in the same instant that Jordan’s face went from calm to ‘OH SHIT’.

“Oh fuck wait forget I said that I’m high, yup I’m high-”

“Woah Jordan, chill. I also would love to kiss you right now.” I interrupted Jordan’s frankly very cute rambling by pressing my gloved fingers to their lips and smoothing over the skin on their cheek. A second later they shifted and he looked at me with the most beautiful smile.

“Really?”

“Yes really. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while actually.” I giggled slightly and continued to stroke my fingertips lightly over his features. Their hand came up and dragged my gloved hand to his mouth where they placed a delicate kiss over my fingertips, then my knuckles, then-

The door flew open with a bang and we jumped apart as if we had scalding water thrown over us. Standing in the doorway were Emma, Marie and Gemma - all with varying expressions of concern, awe and surprise on their faces.

“Uh we’re sorry to interrupt whatever this is but we need to go.” Gemma said with a desperate tone in her voice.

“Right yup okay. What’s going on exactly?” I asked as I jumped up from the bed and started to straighten out my gloves. “Wait- Emma?”

“No time to explain. Sam is planning to kill Dr. Cardosa. We need to go.”

“Shit, Dr. Cardosa. He used to work with Brink. I know where he lives.” Jordan said as they smirked slightly in my direction. I smiled back and stood there for a few seconds, as if entranced by their eyes.

“Great, let’s go then.”

“Right yup.”

I jogged in behind Jordan and started to take off my gloves. This Dr. Cardosa’s house was actually pretty nice, the paintings were also tasteful huh? Who thought an evil doctor had good taste in art?

I heard the refrigerator hitting something hard before I saw it. Andre was standing with his arms outstretched towards who I assumed was Sam, who instantly threw it off and turned towards Andre with rage painted all over his features. But he stopped short when he caught my eyes. He narrowed them and tilted his head.

“I know you. How did you get out? ARE YOU WITH THEM NOW?”

“I-uh I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you before in my life.” I stuttered out, this whole situation was just getting weirder and weirder. And how the fuck would he know me?

“I recognise your voice. I’m Sam, we used to-”

“Woah okay maybe we should just take a second to breathe.” Sam took his eyes away from mine and looked at Andre.

“You- you fucking caught me. You’re one of them!”

“We didn’t know who you were then.” Marie exclaimed as she started to make calming gestures with her hands.

“Sam let us help you!”

“No Cate! You are never touching me again! Get the fuck out of here. You’re all fucking puppets.” That made me stop short, puppets? That seemed to rattle something in my brain that I couldn’t quite understand.

“Sam, you said I was your hero okay? Let me help you.”

“No, no. They’re not.”

“What the fuck is his problem?” I turned to look at Andre, that fucking idiot.

“Andre…”

“What did you just say to me?” Sam grabbed Andre and proceeded to smash him into the hard floor, actually cracking it before throwing him into the fireplace. Holy shit. Marie then did her whole cool blood manipulation stuff which was quite honestly insane to see in action while I just stood there sort of frozen.

The pill’s effects had started to wear off and the migraine was coming back full force. The itchiness was building up quite steadily and without the gloves on my hands all I wanted to do was grab someone and take and take and take.

I was thrown out of my stupor when I realized that everyone had somehow gotten outside while I was busy staring down at my naked hands. The short nails covered in remains of black nail polish seemed to glare at me. Begging to just scratch something.

“Victoria, Victoria look at me.” I looked up to see that Dr. Cardosa was steadily moving towards me with his hands steadily up in the air. “You need to take the pill.”

“What?”

“You need to take-”

I groggily opened my eyes to bright sunshine streaming onto my face. Fuck that was weird. I brought up my hand to wipe the sleep from my eyes when something hard seemed to hit my face instead.

I brought my hand up in front of me and realized it was covered in some sort of diamond shell… and my gloves were gone. Looking down I also realized I was very naked, lying in bed next to Jordan.

What the fucking fuck?

hope you enjoyeddd - i literally did research on vic's powers for like an hour to figure out that last scene. lmk what you think !!

taglist: @neapolitantoebeans @scorchedfangirl @losers-club6 @vvyuqi @bubblebuttwade @fix5idiots @ponypickle @nellyboosworld

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icarodamiano · 2 years

Text

via josephineadt

**nsfw/porn blogs please do not interact with this post**

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foliosriot · 7 months

Note

Could I mayhaps get some Folio angst? Mayhaps a heated kiss and getting handsy?

Stay

pairing: nick folio x reader

warnings: 18+ only MDNI, suggestive content, idk let me know if i missed anything

a/n: anon you truly inspired me with this one. please enjoy this, and please ignore how it clearly got away from me <3

masterlist

The bedroom door clicking shut rouses you from your half asleep state. Nick’s side of the bed is vacant, and you can hear his voice from out in the living room area of your shared apartment.

You assume he’s on the phone and will come back after the call is over. But getting back into your nap is proving to be a little too difficult as you continue lying in bed.

You end up just pulling yourself to your feet. You grab whatever sweater is closest to you — it’s one of Nick’s, the Vic Firth logo across the chest — and pull it over your head and fit your arms through the sleeves before exiting the bedroom.

Nick’s voice echoes from the kitchen, and you immediately follow the familiar, comforting sound. You prop yourself against the wall between the kitchen and living room when you walk up. Nick is facing the opposite wall so you can see the left side of his body as he enthusiastically speaks into the phone speaker.

“Dude, I’ve been waiting to get back on the road for months,” Nick replied. He had a broad smile on his face. “This is gonna be fucking sick.”

Right.

Tour.

Your heart aches painfully inside your chest as Nick goes quiet, listening to whoever was on the other line. His smile was nearly blinding. It made your chest tighten.

“Oh, for sure. I’ll get packed tomorrow then come stay with you for the night before we head out, if that’s alright.”

Wait. What?

You didn’t know the tour was so soon. Well, maybe you did and just hadn’t realized. You can vaguely recall Nick mentioning it sometime last week. Or was that a month ago? Maybe all of the above, honestly. At this point, the periods between Bad Omens’ tours and various other shows have all begun to blur. You hardly even realize if and when Nick is home.

And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? Nick is the only reason you’re able to fall asleep at night anymore; he’s constantly making sure you’re okay and if you’ve eaten or not, checking in on you every other minute of every day. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

So what the fuck are you gonna do now? This always fucking happens: you need Nick with you, he says he’ll stay, ends up leaving for tour in the near future. This is getting ridiculous.

You’re not sure if you can do this again.

You bite your tongue as you listen to Nick wrap up his phone call. He taps at the hang up button on the screen of his phone, that same smile stretching across his face. Fuck, he looks so excited…

“Who was that?” you find yourself asking timidly. Your shoulder is beginning to hurt from leaning against the wall.

Nick twirls towards you, his smile growing and brightening when he sees you standing there.

“Matt! Tour starts in a few days, so I’m gonna get packed early and stay a night with him before our first show,” Nick explains excitedly. He trots up to you. “But I’m gonna run and get some food before I do any packing. Do you want anything?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m okay,” you tell him. “Thank you, though.”

Nick leans in to kiss your cheek then skirts around you out of the kitchen. From behind you, you can hear him grabbing his keys and his feet against the floor as he walks around the living room and suddenly you can’t choke back your words any longer.

“Nick?”

You hesitantly turn around to see Nick sitting on the couch as he pulls on his shoes. He looks up at you quizzically whilst tying the laces.

“What’s up, babe?”

Deep breath. It’s now or never, you realize as you stride a few feet away from the wall.

“Please don’t go,” you whisper, hoping Nick could hear.

Nick’s brow creases in confusion. “To McDonald’s?” he questions. He rises to his feet once his shoes are tied. “‘Cause I can go to Wendy’s or somewhere else if you decide you want something.”

That almost makes you chuckle.

“N-No, not that,” you correct. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip for a fraction of a second. “Tour. Please don’t leave.”

Understanding crosses Nick’s face. He hums in acknowledgement, the keyring now spinning around his right index finger. He looks at you.

“I wish I could stay, you know that,” he says quietly as he crosses the small gap between the two of you to reach you. “But I can’t just stay home from a tour like this. You understand, right?”

You’re not holding back this time. You are telling him what you need to say, and if he decides to leave and ignore you regardless, then it was still worth it.

Right?

“No, Nick, I don’t understand,” you say. “You’re always leaving, and I can barely tell when you’re home anymore. It feels like you’re always gone.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I feel like I rarely see you, like you’re on one tour or another.”

Nick gives you a funny look riddled with confusion.

He doesn’t reply.

“Just stay home longer than a couple weeks. Please?”

“Babe, I can’t. The guys need me,” he counters. His shoulders are tensing up and he is not doing a very good job at keeping the agitation out of his voice; he’s getting defensive.

“I need you.”

That gets him to pause completely. There’s a certain hardness in his eyes that has your skin prickling and crawling, but you force yourself not to back down. You have been needing to talk to him about this for a couple years now, and just never have. Now is not the time to swallow your pride and watch him leave for the millionth time.

“Is your band more important to you than I am?” The question surprises Nick, but it surprises you too. You don’t allow yourself to show it, though, unlike Nick. “Is touring the world more important than our relationship?”

“Y/N, stop. That comparison isn’t fair—“

“Is your band more important than me?” you ask again, your voice growing in volume. “I have been your number one supporter since the beginning. That is why I haven’t said shit about you going on tour after tour. I’ve put up with being away from you for so long even though I fucking hate it! And yet you still go, even when you know how much I hate us being apart.”

“Your support means the fucking world to me,” Nick says in a raised voice. “And I love knowing you’re cheering me on from the sidelines all the time, no matter where I am. But this is my job! I can’t just call in sick or decide not to go.”

“Then talk to Matt about spacing out tours or something!” Now you’re on the verge of begging. “I need you, Nick! Why is that so hard to understand?”

Nick takes a step backwards. “I’m not doing this right now,” he mutters. “I’m gonna go. I’ll be back later.”

Your pulse is burning. Anger is pulsing through your veins and your head is spinning like a top.

How can he be so selfish? Does he truly care so little for your relationship? You knew Bad Omens was important to him, but deliberately ignoring your pleas after having explained your reasoning? His arrogance is suffocating.

“Yeah, go ahead!” you scream at Nick as he heads for the front door. “Fucking leave! Leave for tour when you know I need you – again!”

He pauses. Turning to look at your way you see his face has reddened and his eyebrows are tightly knit together. You can’t quite tell if it’s from anger or guilt. Frankly, you don’t give a shit.

“You know what?” You draw in a shaky deep breath as Nick continues staring at you. “Don’t come back. After tour, stay with your stupid fucking band you always leave me for, or Dakota or Bryan. ‘Cause I’m not letting you back in if you come knocking. This is the last goddamn time I’m letting you leave me, so you—“

You don’t get to finish your sentence, because Nick is suddenly surging toward you, his hand curling around the side of your head beside your ear. He digs his fingers into your scalp as he pulls you into him. You have just enough reaction time to thread your fingers into his hair.

The force he’s kissing you with is nearly bruising. He’s painting your lips with his own, and they’ll be a dark, mottled purple by the end of this. But you don’t mind all that much; from the moment your mouths met you were forcing every ounce of anger and desperation and frustration onto Nick’s tongue, and he is doing the same.

Nick has his hands all over you. The one was gripping and tugging at your hair, while the other was shoved up under your sweater and roughly searching the curves of your torso. Years of playing drums have left his hands rough and calloused, and you fail at suppressing the shiver that passes through your body when he’s roughly dragging his fingers across your skin.

Each movement leaves your nerves on fire and your flesh singing and yearning for more. Each of you senses are begging for Nick to never stop, to just keep touching you everywhere for all eternity. He has you wrapped around his finger.

The only sounds exchanged are frantic breaths and the occasional whimper or moan. Then comes the yelp that escapes your mouth when Nick has your legs around his waist and your back up against the wall. He presses his body into your own, every hard line and every divot meeting with a bolt of electricity.

You feel the hand beneath your sweater fiddling with the fabric of your bra while the other moves to your jaw. Nick gets a couple fingers under the bra’s flimsy wires, the pads of his fingers pushing into the soft tissue of your breast. His other hand is clasping tightly at your jaw and throat.

Nick nips at your lips roughly. He then trails openmouthed kisses from your chin down to your neck, his mouth searing hot against your skin. His teeth keep grazing the column of your throat, and you have begun to forget why you were angry in the first place.

Nick slows down the pace of his kisses. He presses one more to the center of your neck before he pulls back. His breathing is heavy and his pupils are dilated when he looks directly at you. One of your hands is still in his hair, so what was once perfectly styled is now a tangled mess. Your other hand is clawing at Nick’s ribs from under his t-shirt, which had ridden up significantly from your heated encounter.

“Baby…”

The hand that had been clutching and destroying the skin along Nick’s abdomen escapes the safety of his shirt and you roughly press your fingers onto his lips. He immediately stops from continuing his thought, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the sight of the bright red blush crawling up his semi-exposed shoulders, neck and face. Lust is burning inside his eyes as he stares at you.

“Please don’t go,” you say. Your voice is broken and quiet when you finally address your boyfriend. You shift your fingers downwards, but the pads of your index and middle catch on Nick’s bottom lip for a moment before meeting his stubble-ridden chin.

Nick doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he leans back in to capture your lips in another passionate kiss. The way he moves against you is fucking addicting, and he knows every spot all along your body that makes you lose your mind. And he’s doing just that as he moves his hands to your hips, using his strength to force you to grind against him. He greedily swallows your weakened moans.

“Come with me,” he pants in between kisses.

“Nick—“

“Come with me,” he repeats, this time more aggressively. “Please. That way… we don’t have to be apart again.” You feel him smirk against your lips. “But maybe we could make this tradition if we are apart.”

You end up agreeing to join him on tour with Bad Omens. That is, only after he apologizes in every way he possibly can with you spread out in front of him.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

#nick folio #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fic #bad omens fic #bad omens #anon request #alex’s writing! ❪ 𖤐 ❫#alex! ❪ 𖤐 ❫

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8iunie · 1 year

Text

Europe 2 Exclusive Showcase | Casino de Paris | Paris, France | 10.02.2023

📸 & 🎥 europe2

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littlelioncub43 · 1 year

Note

Ralph gets sniffly after Victoria snaps at him harder than usual, so it's up to you to make him feel loved.

Awwww wee lamb.

Holiday Blues and Gold

He had gotten the suit custom made for the Christmas party. If there was something Ralph loved, it was the annual Penbury Christmas party. He loved it more than his birthday, which is saying a lot.

So when he and Victoria set the date 6 months ago, he immediately sent in his order to his tailor with very specific demands. He wanted to look perfect, especially since he saw your name on the guest list. All Ralph wanted was to catch your eye.

The white suit coat that was tailored perfectly to his shape was more than he had hoped. Elegant embroidery in gold and green and blue threads decorated the jacket in biblical motifs and symbols. Then paired the sleek black pants he knew you loved were his favorite shoes; freshly polished leather Oxfords that complimented his cherry red bowtie.

He felt like a prize.

Victoria, on the other hand, didn't think so.

"What on Earth were you thinking? You look like an idiot. Someone might mistake you for a nutcracker. My God, you're an embarrassment— would you please go change before anyone else has to see that hideous jacket?"

Her words replayed in his head as he stands alone in the hallway, wistfully watching the sharply dressed men and women on the dance floor. He steps further back into the cove of the corridor, hoping the shadows would help hide the glaringly white and gold of his suit. The moment Ralph spotted you weaving through the crowd, he wanted to die. Maybe if he ran he could make it to his room to change before you saw him.

"There you are, Ralph!" Too late.

"O-Oh," he stutters as you approach, grinning at him as always. You were dressed in a soft white gown, the flowy fabric draped around you made you look ethereal. He watches as your eyes scan over him. God, he must look like a clown compared to you. Ralph felt tears sting his eyes as Victoria's words replay themselves once more.

"Oh, darling, what's the matter?" You coo softly when you immediately catch sight of his gleaming eyes. Leading him deeper into the hallway with a gentle hand on his shoulder, you both duck into an alcove. Once he takes a seat, you scoot in next to him, holding his hands in yours. "Why are you crying, Ralphie? Won't you tell me?"

The softness of your voice and the tender grasp you have on his hands is what breaks him. He lets himself cry, his head hung low as you guide it to your shoulder, your arms wrapping around him. You coo soft things in his ear and let him get it out, rubbing slow circles on his back as he sobs. When his tears finally slow down, he pulls back, his face red with embarrassment.

"Oh, dearest," you sigh with a frown, seeing him cry was breaking your heart. You have no idea what's got him so upset but hearing his quiet sobs makes you dead set on figuring it out. Gently, you wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Vic-Victoria, she..." he starts, sniffling and shifting his eyes away from yours. Ralph was equal parts embarrassed and comforted. He didn't plan on crying like this in front of you for a few years if ever, but the way you hold him so close soothes the little voice in his head and the ache in his chest.

"She, what, Ralphie? Did she say something to you?" You press politely while straightening the lapel on his suit with on hand.

"She... she made fun of my suit," he whispers, feeling silly for crying over it now. "It's stupid, really, not even that important."

"She made fun of your suit?" You question, astonished. The sad sniffle you got in response broke your heart even further. You knew Ralph was going all out for this party, he told you all about the design he wanted, the colors, the fabrics— all of it. He was so excited to show it off.

"She said it was hideous and that I look like a nutcracker," he repeats his twin's words in a hushed voice, still not meeting your gaze as he fiddles with the soft fabric of your skirt.

"Oh, Ralphie, that's horrible. I'm so sorry she said that. I know how much you were looking forward to wearing it tonight," you rub your hand over the embroidered sleeve.

"She's right, I shouldn't hav—"

"Nonsense. Victoria hasn't got a fashionable bone in her body. Do you remember that hat she wore to my mother's birthday party?" You joke slightly, trying to get him to smile. It works. He chuckles when he remembers the outrageous hat that his sister bought for the party as a bid to impress your mother. The thing was absolutely terrible; with 4 different feathers and the size of a large serving plate, it did nothing good for her.

'It's mature, Ralph, you wouldn't understand.' Mmhm. Sure.

"You look so handsome tonight, Ralph," you whisper with your own smile. He looks up at you then, looking for any hints of a lie but finding none.

"I-I do?" He asks dumbly, but he wants to hear you say it again. You hum and nod.

"Very handsome. In fact, I might have to ask you to dance with me all night to keep you to myself," you tease and straighten his bowtie.

"You can," he nods eagerly, "I'll be yours, all night." And for the rest of our lives.

You giggle at his cute smile and how he perked up, that classic Ralph excitement coming back quickly. Just as you're about to stand up, he gently holds you in your seat, a shaky hand caressing the flesh of your arm.

"Wait! I... I want to keep you to myself a little longer," he sheepishly smiles. He wasn't ready to let you go just yet, he wanted the closeness and quiet of just the two of you to last as long as possible. You feel your face heat at his words but nod with your own smile. The feeling of his warm hand gliding over the skin of your forearm in gentle touches sends your heart all a-flutter.

Slowly, you both find yourselves leaning closer and closer until his nose brushes against your face. His big doe eyes look at your gorgeous face with a type of warmth you only find in Ralph. The look on his face took your breath away, gone was the nervous, bumbling boy you knew and loved. In his place, sat a man who was looking at you like you hung the moon and stars.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" He asks in an uncharacteristically low voice. You shake your head softly. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," his arms snake around your waist, pulling you even closer. "Half the time, I... I can hardly believe you're real, and the other half, I'm so hopelessly, painfully in love with you."

Your hand rests on his clean shaved jaw as you take in his words. You can feel the slight tremor in his touch as he brings one hand to rest on the back of yours. Still your nervous Ralphie even as he articulately confesses his feelings for you. The grin you wear sends butterflies into Ralph's tummy.

"Oh, Ralph," you sigh.

"Darling," he sighs back to you.

The kiss you share is soft and loving. Painfully, so. Your lips move together like you were made for each other, it was perfect. Ralph couldn't contain the pleased whimper that falls from his mouth and into yours. Clinging to each other, you let the kiss deepen and flow naturally. Air becomes a necessity much to your dismay and you break the kiss. Both of you gasp for breath as your foreheads rest on each other, not wanting to go far.

"I love you too, Ralph," you whisper to him. Ralph swears that his brain shuts off for a moment. Any coherent thought of an appropriate response leaves him the moment he hears you. He gawks at you for a moment, trying to process it. After a moment, he finally speaks.

"Happy Christmas," he whispers, making you giggle. He wants to cringe at himself but he can't when you're smiking and laughing with your lipstick smudged from his kiss.

"Happy Christmas, Ralph."

I no longer have a taglist! If you wish to stay up-to-date on when I post, follow @littlelioncub-library 💖

#ralph penbury x reader #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph penbury #ralph timewasters #tech tuesday #sweet nonnie who loves ralph too #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn #little lion literature

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oro-e-diamanti · 7 months

Text

CYOA - Part One

Masterlist | Taglist

Word count: 980

Warnings: none

A/N: Hope you enjoy the start of this! Get voting and decide how the story will continue!

“This is the worst fucking idea,” you mumble to yourself as your best friend drags you into the main arena, clutching your wrist in unparalleled excitement.

“I did not just hear you say that because this is, in fact, the best fucking idea in the world and when I tell you that you’ll share my opinion in about…” Bella trails off to check the clock on her phone. “... twenty minutes when they’re done playing their first song, I mean it.”

The world around you seems to explode with sound as you realise just how many people are gathered in this place. The arena is filled with excited chatter, some sort of playlist put up to provide somewhat unnecessary background music to get everyone even more hyped, and your head is spinning with the amount of awe-inspiring outfits around you.

Bella did her best to help you out, knowing fully way this isn’t exactly your scene and you barely even heard of the band you’re seeing, but you almost feel like an invisible wallflower next to the mass of short skirts and seethrough tops and harnesses adorning various body parts. Even if the dress and the fishnet tights and the bold lipstick are already a novelty to you.

“Yes! Barrier spot!” Bella chimes, once again pulling you with more strength than necessary.

“Barrier… on the sound desk?”

She holds back on rolling her eyes, just barely. “If you looked closely, you’d see that we’re not here to be excited about the sound desk but about the little stage behind it. We’re way too late to get anywhere towards the front in this crowd, but we’ll be first row for the acoustic set in the middle of the show.”

You nod along, only halfway following what she’s talking about but trusting her anyway. She’s been to a number of Måneskin concerts - and has told you the ins and outs in incredible detail, whether you asked for it or not - and you know she’ll make sure both of you will have a good time.

And you do.

You only recognise about three songs in the whole set, but you soon find it doesn’t matter in the slightest - in fact, a few minutes in you’re sure no one would even think of you as a complete newbie anymore. You dance, you shout along to lyrics you don’t know, you let Bella twirl you around during a slow song.

What at first looks like an annoying spot to stand turns out to be a blessing in disguise. While crew members keep politely asking to be let through as you’re right next to where the barrier opens toward the sound desk, it is also the very way that the singer and guitarist (“Damiano and Thomas!” Bella screams into your ear.) pass as they enter the little secondary stage for their acoustic set. And you’d be damned if you don’t see Damiano send you a wink as he passes you by. Your attempt to catch Thomas’ eye too - just as gorgeous as the singer, simply in a different way - goes undetected as his attention seems to be solely trained on his guitar.

And while you find that a bit of a shame, you can’t deny you enjoy watching him and Damiano up close, if just for those few songs. Maybe you wish you could have seen the other two (“Vic on bass! The one behind the drums is Ethan, it’s so annoying he’s so far back because he’s so fucking pretty!”) quite as intimately.

The evening goes over much too quickly. You don’t even have to admit it, liking it after all, the band, the crowd, the atmosphere, because Bella can see it all over your face.

“Told you!” she squeals. “Told you that you’d love it!”

You simply let her hug you, accepting her overwhelm of emotions, happy to share a moment that is so important to her, even if you’d never quite gotten into… fandom like that. She spins the both of you around a little, just enough for you to spot something on the floor, in front of the barrier, where people are moving away and making their way outside the arena. Bella barely notices you breaking the hug and walking around her to pick it up, already engrossed in her phone.

“Ooh! Brand new information!”

You don’t pay her much attention as you flip over the item in your hand, but she continues.

“According to, uh, my sources, there’s a good chance they might turn up at a certain club later. And with “them” I mean the band. Obviously. And with “a certain club” I mean the club we’re definitely going to be heading to asap. What do you say?”

It’s a pass. An AAA pass - access all areas. A female name on it, no photo. Someone seems to have lost it.

And now you’re in for a decision.

Option A: The pass really isn’t your problem. Someone’s lost it and someone will come find it again. You drop it on the floor and decide to go with Bella’s plan. You’ve had a good night so far, you might as well keep up the energy and go out, right?

Option B: Someone might get in trouble for loosing their pass and it kind of makes you feel bad to have it in your hands and not help out. No one at the sound desk reacts to your attempt to get their attention, so you decide to go up to the front of the room and wave down a security guard to hand it over. He has to take it, doesn’t he?

Option C: As soon as Bella sees the pass in your hand, you can see in her eyes that she wants you to do one thing and one thing only: Make the most of this unlikely opportunity and sneak backstage. What’s the worst that could happen?

Taglist: @wonderlandishell @writingmaneskin @myleftsock @dianachudova @cheese-toastie-11 @Ursulalurks (won't let me tag you, I'm sorry)

#maneskin fictino #maneskin imagine #maneskin x reader #maneskin x you #choose your own adventure #cyoa maneskin #cyoa update #writing #my writing

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year

Text

Turf War

Characters: Mike Duarte and F!Reader

WC: 4610

Other Pieces: This is currently a stand alone.

CW: Slight violence (punches); mistaken identities; angst; smut (impaired sex, drunk; a sad, failed attempt; oral, m!receiving; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

A series of coincidence, miscommunication, misunderstanding.

Manhattan SVU is investigating a serial rapist. Scant details on the perp: dark hair, facial hair. Race undetermined. Middling height. Middling build.

The way in is on the victims, all of a type: same coloring, same build, same hair. A lucky thing for Olivia Benson then, that she has a detective who fits all of those things. You’re the rapist’s dream girl, so setting up a sting operation on the fly is easy. Rollins cracks the pattern, figures out his rotation through the boroughs, finds a likely place he’ll strike next. Benson sends you off to get into your costume for the night: amateur sex worker, scantily clad, nervous-looking.

In an entirely different borough (and bureau), Captain Mike Duarte is planning his own shoestring string operation: as the head of the Bronx gang unit, he’s investigating a new gang, an up-and-coming bunch that don’t hold ties to nationality or creed or color. This gang is purely built on violence for violence’s sake, and their MO is to use honeys posing as sex workers to pull in vics from other boroughs, then drag them to the Bronx to rob and beat the shit out of.

One of his detectives figures out where the gang is planting their women. Mike sets himself up as bait.

The coincidence then: that Manhattan SVU’s sting and the Bronx Gang Unit sting happen on the same night in the same place.

-----

The miscommunication:

You standing on the corner near a seedy bar. You’re in a miniscule skirt, a tiny halter top. Your face is buried under thick makeup, heavy mascara, a deep red stain on your lips. You look terrified, like it’s your first night working the corner.

Mike sitting in his car near the same seedy bar. He sees you, thinks, “holy shit, that’s one of the girls.”

You turn your head, see him staring at you, think, “dark hair, facial hair…that’s our guy.”

You walk over to him, tentative. If you act too bold, he’ll take off: your guy only likes the innocent-seeming ones, not the pros.

Mike watches you, just as tentative. If he acts too bold, you won’t suggest a different, quieter spot where your guys are waiting to jump him.

“Are you looking for company?” you ask him.

“I wasn’t,” he replies. “But if you’re offering…”

“I guess I am,” you answer, shy.

“Then I guess I am too,” he says.

You climb in his car, and you direct him to an alley nearby. You know that Rollins, Fin, Benson are watching all of this.

Mike obliges. He knows his detectives have his back.

In the car, once he parks: he turns towards you, sees how nervous you look, and he wonders if he’s made a mistake.

In the car, once he parks: you watch him turn towards you, and you see a flash of unease cross his features. Is this the wrong guy?

When you lean forward to reach into your purse, he cranes his neck and sees it: the butt end of a gun, so he reaches across you, quick as a viper, grabs for it, and you react, finally. You jerk your purse away, fumble for the gun too but it falls to the floor of the car and in your scrambling, it gets kicked under your seat.

The miscommunication then: that neither Special Victims nor the Gang Unit shared their plans. That he thinks you’re bait for a gang initiation while you think he’s a rapist. That he sees your service piece and thinks you’re about to hold him at gunpoint until your gang buddies can come. That when he lunges at you out of nowhere, you think he’s the serial rapist you’ve been looking for.

-----

The misunderstanding:

The two of you fighting. You each think you’re fighting for your lives—you have no way of knowing the other is a cop—so it’s brutal.

Mike would never hit a woman, usually, but he thinks you’re about to pull a piece on him, take him to the Bronx to be beaten to death. And you’re strong in your own right, fierce as a wildcat, twisting out of his hold as he tries to subdue you enough to cuff you, then get you out of the car.

He pops you right in the face, a quick jab that stuns you for a half-second before you respond in kind: you punch him in the face, a fucking hook he never thought a woman your size would be capable of delivering, and when he’s stunned for his half-second, you follow up with another hit—this time a jab to his solar plexus, enough to push the air out of him.

“You’re done,” you snarl, and he feels the cuffs on his wrists, the quick, efficient way you snap them on, the chain wound through the steering wheel, holding him in place.

But it’s not any vicious gangbangers who come for him: it’s a riot of cops. Manhattan SVU, Bronx Gang. And a very, very unhappy Brooklyn captain, who is beyond pissed that two separate bureaus came onto his home turf and fucked everything up.

The misunderstanding then, the entire fucked-up situation revealed: Captain Mike Duarte, nursing a sore gut and a bloody nose in one corner. In the other corner, Detective Right-Hook, you, holding an ice pack to your face and glaring across the alley at him.

*****

Mike recognizes the bruise before he recognizes you. He sees the woman at the corner table in his neighborhood bar. She’s nursing a drink, and the bloom of purple and blue, the slightly-swollen eye…it pulls his gaze, and when he looks closer, he sees that it’s you.

Detective Right-Hook, from Manhattan SVU. The honey with the red lips and the halter top who punched him so hard that it hurt to breathe.

What are you doing here?

He orders his drink and makes his way over to you, and he sees the moment you recognize him: if you had hackles, he’d see them go up. He sees the wariness in your eyes, the way they narrow as he grins, says hello, sits down across from you.

“Captain,” you say.

“Detective,” he replies.

“Run any disastrous stings lately?” you ask, and your lips (lovely, even devoid of red stain) curve into a mean little smile.

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Ah, but it’s different for me, Captain.” You annunciate his rank clearly, each syllable crisp and distinct. “I’m a lowly peon detective. I don’t make the decisions. Benson tells me to throw on a miniskirt and look cute, I do it.”

“You did look cute, right up until you punched me in the face.”

You take a sip of your drink. “You punched me first.” You raise your hand, flourish it under your black eye. “Been getting a lot of looks on the subway with this baby.”

Mike settles into his seat and sips his own drink. “I’m surprised to find you in my bar. You live here?”

A nod. “Just a few streets over. My old bar got bought by some investor group, turned it into a mixology bar.”

“So now you’re here.”

You smile, and this time there’s no meanness to it. “I don’t want to start a turf war with you, Captain. I think the bar’s big enough for the both of us.”

He smiles back at you, waves down a passing waitress to order you each another round. “Fair enough,” he says. “But here, I’m just Mike. None of that Captain bullshit.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, and he judges by your playful tone, the curve of your lips around the rim of your glass, that you’re a teasing little shit, an instigator, and he finds that he likes it.

-----

He sees you probably once a week. Some weeks, he doesn’t see you at all, and he finds himself grumpier those days. But then other times, he sees you a few nights in a row, say, and it makes him inordinately happy. Unexpectedly so.

You are a teasing little shit, he finds. You banter with him, you make off-color jokes. Sometimes you pay for his drinks, so he wonders if your flirting has some intention behind it.

He deals it right back to you, flirts back. Why not? You’re cute as hell and tough as shit. His face, his chest remembers the force behind your fists. He likes a feisty woman.

He remembers the way you looked in your UC gear, all that skin exposed. Even now, when he sees you at the bar and shares a few drinks with you—you’re much more covered up, in the same dark jeans, the same button down shirt and blazer, but you’re cute like this too.

One night, his joking gets a little rougher than usual and you scoff at him. Roll your eyes.

“Knock it off, Mike,” you tell him. “Or else I’ll have to cuff you again.”

A feisty, teasing little shit, cuffing him? Putting him at your mercy? The implications are intriguing.

“Keep talking like that and we’re gonna need a safe word,” he retorts with a smirk.

You shake your head, smile back at him. “You, maybe. I don’t need one.”

-----

Then there’s a night when he comes in and you’re already there…and already well on your way to being completely blitzed.

In the entire time Mike has known you, you never drink like this. You have one, maybe two drinks. Not even enough to make you tipsy, just enough to relax and warm you.

Tonight? Tonight you’re lining up the shots and throwing them back with an artful flick of your wrist, and when he greets you, your face is grim. Haunted. He recognizes its source: you’ve had a rough day. Caught a bad case, one that hits close to some part of you. The kind of case that disturbs, that drives sleepless nights.

He’s had plenty of those.

“Tough day?” he asks, and he sits down beside you. Watches as you order a whiskey, and instead of your usual careful sipping, you swallow it down in two, three mouthfuls. Which is answer enough, he guesses.

Tonight, he cuts the joking with you, and he drinks with you, and when he reaches the point where he’s almost too far gone, he cuts himself off and cuts you off too.

“She’s done,” Mike tells the bartender, and he settles both tabs, helps you with your coat, leads you outside.

He knows you live over a few blocks away, but he also only lives a few blocks away, and you’re silent as you walk beside him. Steady enough on your feet, but wavering a little here and there.

“Want me to walk you home?” he offers, and his breath comes out in plumes of vapor in the crisp air.

“You gonna come up and join me for a nightcap?”

It’s what he’s wanted, and his own blood runs hot with the shots he paced with you. Still, there’s a quiet voice in the back of his head…

“You’re pretty drunk. Seems risky, going home with a Special Victims detective when she’s wasted.”

You scoff. “Not wasted at all. You cut me off before I got black-out, which was my goal after the last few fucking days I had.”

“So you’re going home to finish the job?”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod, then turn to face him, and even with that haunted, serious look on your face, Mike thinks you’re gorgeous. You reach out, trace your finger down the seam of his shirt where the buttons lie. “Unless you have a better way of getting me out of my head, Captain.”

It’s the Captain that seals it. The glimpse of the teasing little shit you are, underneath whatever hurt you’re working through at the moment.

-----

It’s everything he’s dreamt of with you, almost. Almost.

There’s a desperation in the way you kiss him that’s more than eagerness and more than your usual feisty boldness. He can taste the liquor on you, but he drank a lot too, and it’s easy to lose himself in the way you kiss him. The feel of your mouth on his, the softness of your lips, the impatient way you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth, and when he opens up to you, the impatient way you claim his mouth and taste him.

There’s a desperation in how fast you strip, shedding clothing as you lead him through your apartment and into your bedroom. Desperate how you strip him as well, your booze-clumsy fingers fumbling at his belt, at the button and zipper on his pants, and that’s when he nearly stops you. He nearly tells you to slow down, to take it easy, but then your hand is on him. You slip your hand under the waistband of his boxers and find the half-hard length of him, and it takes all of a moment of you grasping him while you kiss him to coax him to his full length.

And it’s desperate, the way you push his pants and boxers down, how you push him backwards until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, and then you sink to your knees in front of him—far more graceful than he would have thought, with all that you drank—

And then…then that feisty fucking mouth is on him, hot and wet, your tongue laving the sensitive underside before you take more of him, and he can only choke out a single fuck before you swallow against him—

And a moment later, you pull away from him, and he thinks you’re just catching your breath but then he hears it—uneven breathing, a quiet snuffling, and the ice-cold reality hits him, sobers him up more than any blow job could: you’re crying.

“Hey. Shit, hey.” He sits up, leans forward. Tries to look at you in the mostly-dark room, but he can’t make out much. Just the general shape of you, naked except for your panties. Kneeling in front of him. Head bent, shoulders shaking as you try to hide your tears.

“Sorry,” you mutter. He sees you shake your head, and you start to reach for him again, but he catches you hand, gently lowers it.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry.” You repeat it over and over, a broken record until you’re openly crying, and then the words come out garbled between sobs, and Mike realizes this isn’t just a moment of sloppy sex following a sloppy night of drinking. This is a breakdown.

“Jesus Christ.” He slides off of the edge of your bed, tugs his boxers back up, then sits on your floor in front of you. “C’mere. Jesus. It’s okay.”

“No, I’m sorry. Sorry, I couldn’t—just need a minute, then I’ll—”

“No, come on. It’s fine.” He manages to manhandle you, pulls you against him. He sits, legs splayed wide, and tugs you until you’re between his legs, and he holds you, tucks you in tight against him. It’s only then that he realizes—underneath the shuddering cries, you’re trembling. Honest to god shaking.

“What happened out there today?” he asks, and you shake your head against him. He tightens his arms, sighs. “You can talk to me. It’s okay.”

You don’t, and he doesn’t push it. He might be abrupt, brash, grating on other captains across the city, but he didn’t make it to a captaincy for nothing. He’s seen plenty of cops, detectives…hell, even captains…he’s seen all sorts of breakdown like this. Doesn’t matter the type. From the most hard-boiled detective to the one with the softest heart…everyone catches a case that pushes them into a dark spiral.

It takes a long while for you to calm down and stop crying. It takes so long his ass goes numb on your hardwood floor, but he doesn’t complain. Something has clearly broken in you, and he knows that broken cops can quickly develop serious problems.

When the trembling stops and your tears stop, he pushes your face away from him until he can see you. In the weak light from the street, he can only just make out your features: your tear-streaked face, your swollen eyes.

Your swollen eyes that refuse to meet his gaze.

“Look at me,” he orders softly. He repeats it, and then you do, and he sees pure shame. Shame, probably, for ruining a hookup that the two of you have been steadily building towards across the span of months.

Shame, probably, for losing your shit. For crying.

“You don’t need to talk to me,” he continues. “But you gotta talk to someone. Understand? You can’t bottle that shit up, and you can’t bury it in alcohol.”

You gaze back at him. You don’t reply.

“Say, ‘yes, Captain,’” he tells you with a smile. “Say, ‘I’ll absolutely find someone to talk to, Captain.’”

You blink in surprise. “I’m sorry—”

“No. No, no, no.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “It’s ‘yes, Captain.’ Say it.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And?”

“And…I’ll talk to someone.”

“Good girl.” He leans forward, kisses you lightly. “How about I get you a water?”

-----

Mike isn’t comfortable leaving you. For one thing, you still seem shaky, emotional. For another, you keep fucking apologizing to him, and he hates that you even think you have to.

He sits you on the edge of your bed and makes his way to your kitchen, gets you that glass of water. He brings it to you, and as you drink, he gathers up his discarded clothes. He puts his undershirt on, but when he goes to lay his button-down over a nearby chair, you snag it from him and—shyly, not at all the feisty woman he’s known—pull it on.

It's unfortunate. Seeing women in his clothing is his oldest, tamest kink, and the sight of you in his button-down and a pair of panties makes his lust roar back to life in a single beat.

He pushes it down. He plays the part of a gentleman.

“I can take the couch,” he offers, but you shake your head, so he joins you in your bed, holds you a second time as you cry again—more softly this time—and then cry yourself to sleep.

-----

Mike wakes up too early. He wakes up slowly, comfortably, which is strange. He almost never sleeps well in a strange bed.

Beside him, in his shirt and little else, snoring softly: Detective Right-Hook.

It’s too early. There’s not a hint of dawn out of your window, so he moves closer to you, pulls your warm, soft body to his. You mumble something in your sleep but don’t wake, and Mike smiles as you turn towards him, tuck yourself under his chin. Your bed is warm and it’s still dark outside, likely cold as well, so it’s easy to fall back asleep.

-----

When he wakes for real, he wakes from vague dreams about someone. A woman—you, he guesses. He wakes up hard and aching. He wakes up already in motion, pressing against you in his sleep, pressing the bulge of his erection into the lush curve of your ass, and the motion must wake you because you wake with the goddamn cutest little moan that makes none of this easier.

As you wake, you press back against him, and all of the ease and flow he always imagined is suddenly here: he rasps his face against the back of your neck, which pulls another moan from you, and you whisper his name. Sleep-rough, it comes out low, Mike, and it curls around his gut like a line of smoke, fills him up, makes him feel drugged.

His arm is over your waist, his hand resting on the bed. You reach down and take his hand in yours, draw it under the hem of his own shirt and then up. You guide him to your breasts, and he cups one then another. Huffs out a heavy breath at the feeling of you in his palm, molded to the shape of him, your nipples hard and peaked as he ghosts his fingertips over them, then pinches at them.

All the while, you press your ass back against him. Even through your panties, his boxers, he swears he can feel the heat of your arousal.

“I’d kiss you,” he murmurs against the side of you neck. “Make it more romantic and shit. But I didn’t brush my teeth and would hate to ruin a good thing.”

You laugh, breathless. “Such a gentleman.”

“I can be gentle. Too early to use cuffs.”

You turn your head enough to meet his gaze, and there—there you are. Finally. The feisty little shit who enjoys tormenting him at the bar.

“You gonna keep talking about it or are you gonna do it?” A beat, then you add, sweetly, “Captain.”

He nips at the side of your neck, lightly. “How do you want me, Detective? Like this?”

“Please. Sir.”

He removes his hand from under your (his) shirt, and he reaches down, pushes his boxers down enough. His cock springs free, and he feels the hitching breath you take to feel it against you.

“I’m clean,” he mutters, his voice rough with need. “But I have a condom in my wallet. I just gotta—”

“’m clean too,” you whisper back. “Have an implant. Just…don’t stop, Mike, please.”

He reaches down, doesn’t even bother to try and get your panties off of you. He runs his fingers against the fabric between your legs, bites back a groan at how soaked they are. He hooks a finger under the lace edging, hooks your panties to the side, and then he pushes forward until the tip of him presses against your folds—slick, swollen. Ready for him.

“You sure?” he asks, and he hopes to fuck you say you are because he’s so fucking hard, aching to be inside you, and you breathe out that you are sure, please, Mike—

He parts your folds, notches the head of his cock against your entrance. He wants to romance it, just a little, but you use your bit of leverage to push back against him and he slips inside, the widest part of him just inside you, and he pauses, takes a breath before he pushes more of himself into you.

You’re so goddamned good. Wet and hot, tight as a fucking vise, and he goes slow, works you up to it. Warms you up to him. Thrusts into you inch by inch, feels the way your pussy gives way to him, takes on the shape of him. When he bottoms out, he stills and takes a steadying breath. Brushes a soft kiss to the back of your neck, then winds his arm back around you and under your shirt, cups your breast as he starts to rock against you.

“This okay?” he asks, and you whisper yes, it’s perfect, not to stop. You reach an arm up and back, and he feels your hand on his head. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tug against him lightly.

Its slow and leisurely—perfect just as the sun starts to rise and washes your room in a weak, rosy light. He hardly pulls out; he just rocks against you, grinds into you. Bites back his own groans when he feels how he nudges against the end of you, so deep that you hiss out curses each time he does.

Something about the angle, the pace…the feel of his stubble rasping against your neck, or the feel of his hand cupping your breast and his thumb brushing against your nipple….he feels you as you get close to coming. Hears the way your breathing gets ragged, feels how you press back against his gentle thrusting.

“Close,” you whisper. “Mike, please….fuck, right there…so close—”

“Right there?” He buries himself in you, pushes just a fraction more against your perfect ass, gains an extra bit of depth, and you groan out his name again…then he feels it. The way your bear down on him, the smooth muscles of your cunt rippling against him, pulling him deeper, gripping him so hard that he can barely move. Feels the hot wash of your arousal as it coats him and grants him that extra ease inside you.

He doesn’t come. Not yet. He’s able to close his eyes. He breathes through his nose, ignores the sweet little whimpers you make just after you come, and he keep rocking against you. He savors the aftershocks of your orgasm, and he coaxes you towards another.

“Come for me again.”

“I don’t think—”

“It’s an order. Gonna come for me again.”

You move your hand from his head, curl it against your waist. “I can’t,” you whine.

“You can. Touch yourself. Touch that gorgeous little clit for me and come on my cock, baby.”

You whine again, but you listen to orders so well. You reach down and touch yourself, and he can feel it: your fingers as you rub your clit, your fingers as you reach down and touch where he’s split you open. He feels your fingertips, touching his cock, slick with your cum, feels where he disappears inside you.

“I…I’m close. Mike, I’m—”

“I got you.” He kisses the back of your neck. “I got you, baby.”

And he does: he wrings another orgasm out of you, feels the way you grip him, and this time, he doesn’t bother to hold back. He deals you a few final, deep thrusts, and then he gives in to the pleasure crackling and sparking deep in his belly. He buries himself as deep as he can, and then he comes with a pained groan, filling you with his cum, painting your insides with his spend.

-----

You each clean up, and you change into different clothes. When you try to return his shirt, he shakes his head. Grins.

“Looks better on you anyway.”

You smile back at him. “You gonna do the walk of shame in just an undershirt and a jacket?”

“No shame here. And I don’t live that far from here. We’re literally only a few blocks away from each other.”

Your smile falters, and you look down at the folded shirt in your hands. “I’m really sorry about last night, Mike. I know you came over here with different ideas than what happened.”

He steps up to you, looks down at you. “Told you last night to cut out that sorry bullshit. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I know. I just—”

“What’d you promise me last night? Do you remember?” He cuts you off gently, but firmly.

You hesitate, then answer. “That I’d talk to someone.”

“Damned straight. You can always talk to me, but it can be anyone.”

You try to wave it off. Minimize it. Like he’s seen a hundred times before, a hundred cops who played off the darkness of their lives.

“Honestly, it’s fine. I just drank too much—”

“You promised,” he cuts in. “You promised me. You the type of person to break a promise?”

“…no.”

“Didn’t think so.” He puts his hands on your shoulders, smooths them over your upper arms. “So take care of it. Promise?”

“…yes.”

“Good girl.” He catches the sight of your pleased smile—you might have an unexplored praise kink, and he files that fact away for later interrogation—and he kisses the top of your head.

“See you at the bar?” he asks.

“You know where to find me, Captain.”

#mike duarte #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte imagine #law and order svu #tropes-and-tales

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