#like hes like 30 it will happen eventually

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (12)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to part one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven!

Notes and TW: Last chapter! Side stories will follow. Thank you for sticking with this series for so long! This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

7:30 P.M. DD/MM/YYYY

I thought I knew the truth for a while—that this world existed inside a story. That this was a world which revolved around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around me existed to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world was created for “(Y/N).”

I was Friend A. Friend A was never mentioned again after page two of that story.

It turns out that I was sort of wrong. This world is made for stories, from stories, and (Y/N) happened to be the main character at the time. Now that I’m the author, I made myself the main character.

You wrote “story” and “world” so much that they hardly look like real words anymore. The tip of your pen hovers over the first page of your journal. It’s your first time keeping one, and you aren’t certain how to proceed. What tone do you use? Should it be informal or professional? How long should each entry be? How detailed should you make it?

The trapdoor to the attic flips open. Floyd’s head pokes through it like a garden eel in the sand.

“Whatcha doin’ over there? Still lookin’ for that manuscript?”

You shake your head. The manuscript for (Y/N)’s story disappeared without a trace after your meeting with Hans. No matter how hard you searched, nothing turned up, so you could only assume he retrieved it.

“No use in looking for it. I’m starting on my journal.” The pen twirls in your hand. “I’m not really sure how I want to write it.”

He hoists himself up and saunters over to where you’re curled up at the window. He peers at your handwriting. Flippantly, he flops on the floor next to you and yawns.

“Who caaares. Write whatever ya feel like writin’. It’s not like the one before was any good.”

The previous author’s manuscript was riddled with inconsistencies, plot holes, and grammar mistakes. It wouldn’t be a massive problem. Hans would simply have to work harder to fill in the gaps.

“The previous one failed, though.”

“Then just don’t fail.” He grins up at you. “Easy, right?”

You pinch his nose, laughing when he swats at your hand.

“Easier said than done.” Despite that, his words ease the burden on your shoulders just a bit. You don’t need to overthink this. It’s your story, yours to tell however you’d like. “Thanks for the advice, though.”

“Sure, sure.” Your name rolls off his tongue dismissively. “You worry too much.”

You glance at him. “You’ve been calling me ‘Red Handfish’ recently, why’d you switch back to my name?”

The lamplight glints in Floyd’s eyes briefly, then he closes them. A lazy grin spreads on his lips.

“I was calling ya ‘Red Handfish’ ’cuz I was hopin’ you’d get your hands all red and bloody again.” A huff of air escapes him. “Shoulda been there when you beat up the security.”

“Typically, you’re supposed to not hope I’m beating up your men.”

“It’s fine. Not like Jade and I need much protectin’.” His voice quiets down to a mumble. “You’re enough for security or whatever.”

His voice trails off at the end. Soon, quiet snores fill the attic. Seeing that he isn’t planning on disrupting your writing, your attention returns to your journal. Following his advice might not be a bad idea.

My main priority was to break the curse on Mr. and Mrs. Leech. I thought I’d have to ask (Y/N) to reach out to Vil Schoenheit or write something in this journal, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Hans went ahead and nudged the odds in my favour already. At least, I suspect he had a hand in it. But I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll happily accept that Walrus’s team and our own people have found a way to break the curse.

Azul was slightly disappointed that he didn’t manage to find a method on his own. He really wanted to put the twins in his debt, but I guess he’ll have to sulk. His specialty is potions, after all. Not curses. He’s also a little salty because this implies Vil Schoenheit is still more skilled than him on the subject of curses. His competitive nature never dies down when it comes to other competent people, even after all these years.

Anyway, the curse was undone three days ago. They’ve woken up perfectly stable and healthy, if a little tired. The twins have spent nearly every waking hour in their room. I’m glad they’re all looking much more lively.

Their parents wanted to go right back to work, but Jade and Floyd have been very insistent on making sure they rest. Right now, Jade and his parents have decided to split up the work equally, but Jade plans on eventually relinquishing his position as the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. He doesn’t want it back anytime soon. His parents might want him to keep observing their work, but I think he’ll take a long breather after the Carpenter Mafia dissolves. He says he wants to join a research lab on fungi. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself there.

Speaking of Jade’s interests, Floyd owes him quite a bit for breaking his terrariums. You cast a glance at the twin dozing off on the floor. Jade’s been working him hard. Just as you’re about to pull a knitted blanket off the window seat and drape it over his torso, Jade climbs up to the attic.

“Ah, I thought I might find you two here.” He ignores your shushing motion, speaking nearly louder than his usual conversational volume. “Have you made any progress on that journal?”

“Keep it down, Floyd’s sleeping.”

“Oh? I suppose he is.” He smiles as though he’s entirely innocent. “Even though he should be running an errand on the west side of the city right now. Isn’t that so, my dear brother?”

Floyd stirs, brows furrowing as he grumbles. “Fuck off, man.”

“I’m afraid you’re late. Why don’t you head out? It wouldn’t do for you to procrastinate.” Jade leans over him, his shadow eclipsing Floyd’s face. The latter gripes some more before rolling away and hopping right through the trapdoor. His footsteps echo through the halls, eventually leading to the sound of the front door.

“He’s tired. You should let him rest.” You close your journal and set it beside you.

He kneels by your seat and rests his head on your knee. Gingerly, you reach out and comb your fingers through his hair. His entire body melts against the wall and your knee.

“I am also tired.” His eyelids drop halfway, a pitiable pout on his lips. “Much more so than he is, I’m sure.”

“And what? You want a gold medal for the Fatigue Olympics?” Despite your words, your other hand holds his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Come on, get off the floor. It can’t be comfortable.”

He sighs in contentment. “With the way you’re touching me, I have half a mind to stay where I am.”

You’ve come to realize that Jade acts this way when he’s looking for attention, and he only actively looks for attention from you. With a sigh escaping the smile on your lips, you ease his head off your knee and move your legs so that your feet touch the floor. He has the gall to look like a kicked puppy.

“You’re so dramatic.” You pat the cushioned space next to you. “Sit up here.”

It’s like his fatigue disappears as soon as you extend the invitation. He wastes no time in sitting next to you, his thigh pressing against yours. One of his hands reaches behind you. You feel it causing the cushions to shift under you as he uses it to support his weight. Strangely, it feels more intimate than if he had touched you directly. The knowledge that his arm is there creates a sense of security. Sturdy, safe, like the face of a cliff that has your back. He’ll never be a threat to you. You think back to what you once thought of people who trust Jade, and you wonder if you’re a fool, desperate, or if you have something on him.

It might not be so bad to be a fool once in a while.

You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. A pause, followed by the light pressure of his cheek against your hair. His body is cool to the touch like always, and you find comfort in it.

“I’ll help you make new terrariums to replace the ones Floyd broke.”

“How kind of you.” The hand behind you lifts, only to find its place on your waist, securing you to his side. “In that case, I should consider what I’d like to grow in them. Lichen would decorate some surfaces well, but I doubt it would be possible.”

“Lichen?” You often see it back home near the shore. “Why not?”

“It cannot survive in a closed system like my terrariums.” His voice lowers to a soft, almost sweet tone. “It requires clean, fresh air, outside the confines of a box that I control. The charm of keeping a terrarium is that I control every factor within it, down to what lives or dies. But despite the fact that it eludes my grasp, I adore observing its beauty in the environment where it thrives.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s talking about lichen anymore.

“Lichen grows on trees and rocks, right?” You think about the cliffside. Patches of pale green life covered the rocks where you met Jade. It brought a sort of earthy, rustic quality to the area. “It’s pretty. I think I’ve seen a few of your photos focusing on it.”

“Yes, it needs to be anchored to a sturdy surface.” He adjusts his grip on your waist. “Unassuming, allowing other elements of the scenery to shine, but charming and effective in its own right.”

You don’t want to ask if he’s referring to you. He’ll surely tease you for being self-absorbed. However, you are not so prideful as to not acknowledge what he’s trying to say.

“I sort of understand wanting to be anchored to something.” You place one hand over his. “It’s easier to let my guard down when there’s something that can protect my back.”

“Allow me to assist you with that.” He intertwines your fingers. “If you must be anchored to something, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with support forever, until you ask me to stop.”

“All this talk about ‘forever.’” A grin pulls at your lips. There’s no harm in teasing him once in a while. “It’s like you’re trying to marry me. What’s with that, huh?”

His entire body freezes. You lift your head from his shoulder, trying to look at his face.

“Jade? I was joking—”

He gently presses against your temple, his wrist blocking your eyes as he guides your head back down to his shoulder. What a letdown. This time, you really wanted to see his expression.

“Incidentally,” he says, “would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“You changed the topic way too abruptly.” Laughter bubbles in your throat. “I thought you were better at making conversation than that.”

“I’m inclined to disagree.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We can book a reservation for that restaurant you wanted to try.”

Usually, you wouldn’t turn it down. But . . .

“Sorry, I’ll be out with (Y/N) all day.” You’ve missed her. And after she called you in distress over losing the polaroids you took together, you promised to replace them with new ones. There’s so much you have yet to do with her. “Maybe the day after?”

Jade sighs loudly, as though he’s the most pitiful being in the world. Amidst teasing laughter, you close your journal and focus your attention on him. It’s alright to take your time writing it. Your story is a process that does not need to be rushed. It may only be a page at the moment, but one day, you’re sure this journal will fill with your experiences, plans, and thoughts. You will continue on living as your own person—not a side character or a main character in a grander scheme, but as yourself. To live as a human being with your unique experiences—that is your story.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #jade leech #twst jade #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #twst fanfic #mafia au #floyd leech #multi chap fic #slow burn has burned #thanks for reading so far!

[sesamenom]

@general-illyrin @tar-thelien @who-needs-words I think you all mentioned being interested in the reverse gondolin au - is anyone interested in helping with wrangling the timelines, especially the second age stuff? Here's the current outline:

(Edit: anyone feel free to help out if you're interested!)

YT 14365 - Birth of Lomion

YT 14373/FA 1 - Death of Argon

FA

2 - Aredhel adopts Lomion

300 - Birth of Idril

316 - Turgon & Idril kidnapped by Eol

400 - Turgon & Idril rescued. Death of Eol

465 - Finrod more-peacefully passes throne to orodreth while on Quest. Everyone except beren still dies

472 - Nirnaeth. Turgon named High King of the Noldor.

476 - Turgon abdicates official title. Aredhel named High King of the Noldor.

496 - Tuor comes to Gondolin

502 - Wedding of Idril and Tuor

503 - Births of Earendil and Elwing. Idril begins to have foresight dreams about the Fall.

506 - Second Kinslaying. C^3 dead, celebrimbor stays in gondolin. Aredhel denounces the oath/kinslaying and disowns C^3

Elwing survives & is found by Oropher & Thranduil // Galadriel & Celeborn. oropher, thranduil, oropher's wife, and thranduil's then-gf // galadriel & celeborn take Elwing to Gondolin as refugees. The Silmaril is left hidden in the woods of melian's domain.

507 - Elwing comes to Gondolin.

509 - Idril captured by Morgoth. Idril reveals the location of Gondolin in exchange for an Oath to not harm her family (Turgon, Tuor, and Earendil). Idril rescued.

510 - Gondolin prepares for war with Morgoth.

513-522 - Siege of Gondolin. Deaths of Duilin and Rog. Gothmog slain by Aredhel the Huntress. First use of the Three Rings by Lomion and Celebrimbor in defense of Gondolin. House of the Hammer of Wrath destroyed.

523 - Maedhros believes a Silmaril is with Elwing at Gondolin.

525 - Earendil weds Elwing. Lomion weds ???. Adoption of Gil-Galad

532 - Births of Elrond and Elros.

538 - Third Kinslaying at Gondolin. Death of Amras. Elrond and Elros kidnapped by Maglor. Deaths of Elwing and Turgon. Second use of the Three Rings by Lomion and Celebrimbor. Deaths of Maedhros and Aredhel. Lomion named King of Gondolin and High King of the Noldor. Deaths of Salgant, Penlod, and Tuor. Earendil named Lord of the House of the Wing.

540-549 - War declared between Gondolin and the Feanorians of Himring over the Third Kinslaying and kidnapping of Princes Elrond and Elros.

549 - Elrond and Elros recovered. Feanorians and Gondolin severely weakened. Celebrimbor // Gil-Galad declared heir to the High Kingship.

552-554 - Second Siege & Fall of Gondolin. Third use of the Three Rings by Lomion and Celebrimbor. Deaths of Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Egalmoth, and Turgon. Idril and Celebrimbor lead survivors through the Secret Way.

555 - Gondolithlim refugees arrive at Sirion.

556 - Idril departs for Valinor.

558 - Earendil searches for Valinor.

560 - Havens of Sirion destroyed by Morgoth. Gondolithlim/Doriathrim survivors scattered. Elrond and Elros rescued (as adults) by Maglor.

572 - Morgoth controls Beleriand. Earendil and reembodied Elwing come to Valinor and rally the Host.

575-617 - War of Wrath

618 - Maglor claims the Silmaril from Eonwe's camp and casts himself into the Sea. Death of Maglor.

620 - End of the First Age.

SA

1 - Founding of the Grey Havens and Lindon under High King Lomion

2 - Elros becomes the first King of Numenor

c. 500 - Sauron returns to Middle-Earth in the East.

650 - Eregion is founded

1000 - Galadriel is given Vilya; Lomion wields Nenya

1170 - Annatar comes to Lindon and Lomion turns him away. Lomion warns Celebrimbor of Eregion of his suspicions.

1200 - Annatar comes to Eregion. Celebrimbor takes him in to monitor.

1250 - Celebrimbor creates the Seven; Lomion creates the Nine.

1410 - Annatar is kicked out of Eregion.

1600 - The One Ring is forged. Sauron remains in hiding.

1610 - Sauron begins to gather and prepare armies in the East.

1673 - War of the Elves and Sauron begins.

1675 - Sauron invades Eriador.

1677 - Fall of Ost-in-Edhil. Celebrimbor and Lomion remain at the House of the Mirdain. Death of Celebrimbor in battle // Fourth use of the Three in battle. Sauron does not learn of the Seven. Founding of Imladris.

1678 - Sauron defeated by the Numenoreans and the Elves of Lindon.

1679 - Sauron flees to Mordor. First White Council held.

3147 - Civil war in Numenor.

3225 - Ar-Pharazon seizes the Sceptre.

3228 - Elrond claims the Sceptre. Ar-Pharazon disowned. Tar-Miriel named Ruling Queen.

3232 - Sauron taken to Numenor as a prisoner.

3274 - Elrond kicks Sauron out of Numenor and outlaws the morgoth cult.

3310 - Morgoth cult publicly reappears.

3319 - Downfall of Numenor. Tar-Miriel leads a greater force of the Faithful away.

(green // blue means two main options, red means i need to think about it more)

The main details I'm figuring out right now are

does Celebrimbor still die at Eregion - I don't think he's getting captured/tortured, but he could still die in the battle. On the other hand, he could probably survive by using Narya & Lomion using Nenya, but that would definitely have repercussions further down the line

how does Idril's deal work - I'm currently thinking of Idril exchanging the location of Gondolin for her family's guaranteed safety, because it seems in character for Reverse Idril? But on the other hand, even if I limit it to immediate family at the time of the oath (tuor, turgon, earendil) then idk where turgon dies? Maybe Maglor can kill him but that seems kind of random

where and how does Turgon die

how does Prince Elrond's character even work

how does Numenor still fall when factoring in Prince Elrond - I'm thinking that the morgoth death cult gained enough traction during the time sauron was there that even after Elrond kicks him out, the cult still sticks around and reemerges later? The Fall still happens, but they never go to attack valinor and there's a good deal more Faithful (maybe 40-60%?)

#silm #silmarillion #not art #reverse gondolin au #basically elrond is giving me a Lot of trouble here #i tacked an extra 30 years onto the FA (so the SA dates are mostly shifted up by 30 years to balance it out; hence elros being king in SA 2 #this means e&e were adults during the Fall of Gondolin and the war of wrath and all #so instead of 'kind as summer' elrond of the last homely house in rivendell #we have gondolithrim veteran/dragonslayer Prince Elrond of Imladris Stronghold #and later the Bastion of the Faithful of Numenor #ironically enough he turned out way more feanorian when not raised by feanorians #instead of sirion e&e's defining Childhood Trauma was the gondolin kinslaying #in which mae and aredhel duel to the death while screaming at each other about fingon's fate and the Oath #and argon and elenwes deaths on the helcaraxe #also elwing fully died trying to protect them in this one #and then e&e were like 20something and sons/grandsons of two Lords durign the FoG so obviously they ended up fighting there too #and then again at the war of wrath #and by the mid SA elrond has already lived through so many wars he's running rather low on hope #so Prince Elrond still tries to be kind but is also substantially more willing to threaten people if need be #after eregion he founds imladris as a haven but also an impenetrable fortress #he saw the fall of gondolin and he knows that rivendell couldn't last forever #but he believes he can make it last long enough to defeat sauron first #or at least push him back so that the refugees of eregion can rebuild and survive #meanwhile celebrimbor takes up the last homely house role #but yeah Prince Elrond is pretty interesting #he intervenes more with numenor bc hes watching them self destruct and knows (bc foresight) exactly what would happen #so he tries (eventually in vain) to prevent it by disowning and exiling ar pharazon #and later exiling sauron around the time of the burning of nimloth #but it's too late and the morgoth cult already gained enough traction #on the other hand there's a lot more Faithful led by tar-miriel

[skeletalheartattack]

#for context. a few weeks back i was playing on a fast respawn 2fort server #mostly because i just wanted to just. hang out somewhere without any real serious gameplay happening #that said. for the first few hours i was playing on there. was mostly playing gunslinger engineer and detonator pyro #and we had a good push up into their base but were stuck just at the entrance. with a heavy hold from the enemy team #but after a while. i just kinda got bored and wanted to just fuck about with the taunts and loadouts i had #first thing i did was play pyro and do the cheers taunt before getting on my bike and swerving a bunch as i drove #but i dont think anyone could tell thats what i was doing #so after a bit i just changed to scout. and started just riding my skateboard #(i also did the drinking and riding bit a few times but i eventually just ended up skateboarding around) #(one bit being me on the top of the bridge. doing the cheers taunt. getting on my board. and then skating off the bridge and killbinding) #so at some point. i kept getting stuck in place for some reason. like speficially on bumpy ground or... in the air #and the moment i got stuck in the air (for 30+ seconds mind you) i was just like ''my quantum board technique'' #and from there. i just acted as if i was playing the newest Pro Skater game #saying stuff like ''i have to do manual ollie combo for 150000000 points'' #or like ''i have to find grindrails on this level'' #eventually found my way into the sewers and said something like ''IVE FOUND THE HALF PIPES'' #before saying like ''man they really screwed up the physics since the last game'' #a soldier on the other team was trying to find me the whole time saying ''wheres tony hawk'' #specifically because he had a tony hawk avatar. and i only realized after he said something about it #anyway. after all that i skateboarded into a minisentry and died #and my last message was supposed to be ''my combo has ended'' but i ended up typing 'bombo' #and it made me laugh SO hard i couldnt backspace. and added on with ''my sweet bombo'' #and then i left because i had nothing more to do there. my bombo had ended and i had to move on.

[dustteller]

I think modern au Zhu SHOULD be the lesbian best friend trope to Ouyang except that its because this man is her pet project and gODDDAMIT she's gonna FIX him she's gonna MAKE him be BETTER she's going to SOLVE EVERYTHING and he will RESPECT HER (she is actively making him worse). She has a whole complex about it and everything. She has based a part of her identity on dragging this man up from his toxic funk and is fully convinced that if she tries hard enough he will eventually come to his senses and be an equal participant in this relationship. They have a terrible wonderful toxic loving codependent relationship that's neither a romance nor a friendship nor a rivalry but a secret fourth thing.

Predictably, this does not go well. The character arcs would be Zhu learning she can't fix a sinking ship and letting Ouyang fail by himself, and Ouyang learning to not be a shit person, actually, and coming out of his bubble of self-centeredness and working on himself instead of unloading his emotional labor onto the people around him. And they should both get to develop a healthier relationship with each other than what they had in canon bc queer solidarity is great and its even better when it's in the shape of some weird bullshit some gay people built out of the corpse parts of heteronormative romance (affectionate and completely unironic)

#brought to you by me thinking about the last half of HWDtW and how Zhu interacts with Ouyang post-betrayal #well. interacts with the concept of Ouyang. he kinda (spoilers). #she was unhealthily attached to Ouyang and honestly I think she deserves an universe where her whole deal is reciprocated. #but only AFTER i put them in a fully self sustaining terrarium jar and sic the emotional isopods on them. #that part comes first bc my personal entertainment is CLEARLY the most important thing here guys #the radiant emperor #my thoughts #zhu yuanzhang #OHHH AND ALSO i think Zhu and Ouyang should get to have their weird little gay relationship #while their partners stare in accepting horror. #ma would be supportive bc she knows how important this impressively awful man is to her girlfriend #but rest assured she DOES NOT like him. she will (very politely) bitch about him to Baoxiang and then feel bad about it #she shouldn't feel bad tho bc Ouyang deserves it and Baoxiang repeatedly reminds her of this fact #eventually ouyang grows on her. #kinda like the bowl of mold in the back of the fridge you've developed an emotional attachment to. #he shouldn't be there but now she feels bad about evicting him into the trash! #(she feels significantly less bad about evicting him into Esen's appartment) #Esen has even less of a clue what's happening with Zhu and Ouyang. #he just knows that Zhu is important to Ouyang and also is 90% sure that they fucked at some point. #30% sure that they are still fucking but he grew up around Baoxiang and Ouyang #he has learned Not to Ask! he does Not Want to Know! #and anyways it's none of his bussiness who his bestie/person that he wants to adopt a horse and grow old with/hot roomate is fucking! #its not his problem! he is not invested! he is not going to think about it! there is no reason to think about whos in Ouyang's pants! #he is not thinking about anything involving Ouyang's pants at all! much less about the inside of Ouyang's pants! #and since hes not thinking about it bc theres no reason to think about it then he cant have a problem with it :) #so he wont ask!

[nychthemeron-rants]

I am so close to making a Hazbin AU where Angel is Niffty's dad because making this post and THIS vvvv

Fucking image made the idea go from "huh, funny coincidence" to full on brainrot.

#Angel is Niffty's dad now #im sorry for already going off the deep end #but its happened #I know it has zero canonical backing besides the speculated birth/death dates of these two #but it would be cute #and kinda sad #but cute! #Angel Husk Niffty and fat nuggets forming a little family unit #eventually getting redeemed and getting to meet aunt Molly #for angst you could have Alastor using this to manipulate Angel similarly to how he fucked with Lucifer #except Alastor actually has been more present for Niffty than Angel #and the fucked up extra edge of him owning Niffty's soul #not to mention that Angel 100% has no fucking clue he ever had a kid #like he's gay #and died in the 1940's #sure he's slept with women a few times for various reasons #but that was rare since again he's got no interest in women #so the chance of him having an illegitimate child was never even a thought #besides sex education in the '30's and '40's wasn’t exactly stellar #finding out he's a dad would be a complete shock and probably cause him a whole breakdown #meanwhile Niffty would either not care or just be excited to finally meet her dad #hazbin angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin niffty #niffty hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel niffty

[mourningmaybells]

"john is an acolyte of god" "john is the vessel for the antichrist" "john is a wretch pretending to be human"

i think john is just the type of guy you'd get for a stock photo

#he is a cringe 30 to 40 year old divorcee in a halloween costume let him be. let him be #but. well. i really like the last 2 possibilities of him. not the first though #faith the unholy trinity #he's only cool in that he's capable of exorcising now. would hardly call him chosen in some way #but god did choose him to be a sad little meow meow lol #...who knows though. chapter 4 is coming out eventually. lot of things can happen

[asexual-levia-tan]

i love the bias + the fan pairings so much because on the surface its very "oh, well, the bias just has to fall for the fan and then its happily ever after" but no! its way more fun than that!

the fan isnt in love with the bias. in fact, the fan doesnt view this world as reality, nor do they even view their bias as a human. the fun part of this pairing is the fan having to recognize the world they live in as their new reality and the people around them as people! the bias falling for the fan is just part one, the fan falling for the bias as an Actual Human Being is just as important an element

#wwaffles bein' an idiot #wwaffles reads stuff #keeps it gender neutral even though i've only seen f!fan/m!bias #miss not-so-sidekick did this pretty well although she did a 'oh this is reality' speedrun #if this one goes well i'd put it up on the same shelf its pretty good so far #we're like 30+ chapters in and she's still referring to him as her favorite character. fantastic #there was another one i was reading that i can't recall the name of (long title i think) that i havent read the end of yet #but it had a similar premise just not done as well #or that is to say. it seemed to skip the 'this is reality now' realization #but the problem with that is HES searching for someone who loves him. and SHE loves him as a fictional character #so hopefully they do address that at some point because that could only go well #anyway back to the actual topic #its actually very similar because cael wants someone who loves him for him #and she just wants him to be happy and to shove all her affection on him because shes his fan #she doesnt even factor herself into the equation of his happiness because he's not real and she is #she's still lowkey thinking she's gonna go home eventually (maybe?? unclear) #anyway i just love this particular subgenre its so good #also what happened to her depression. i mean having a bias is just like that but she wasnt doing so hot either #i wonder if there'll be a antagonists pet reveal where she's actually miserable #and a big part of 'i'll devote my life to my bias!' is that she literally has nothing else to live for

[wetpapert0wel]

waaaah i wanna play more voices of the void but its scary scary scary

#its so so good and so fun but im scared 2 go back bc Events are Happening and It Scary Me. #the event that made me quit was i heard something incorrectly punch in the pin to get into the main office LOL #i didnt even check if i left the garage open (which im 85% sure i Closed it). i just saved & quit LMAO #in my defense. this happened One or Two In-Game Days after the shadows chasing you nightmare. smth like one or two real-time hours pbb. #also the mannequin is walking around. #i kept putting him in lockers but he kept getting out & standing in the middle of the hall in different poses. #i eventually threw him outside & he has yet to return lol #i think im on day. 20 ?? last time i checked it was day 17 but it's definitely been a few in-game days since then lol #things start happening two weeks in. things get Bad around 30 days in. im so scares. #it Doesnt help that i know 90% of what to expect out of these events. u'd think it would. but no. #TL;DR The Reason Im Scares Is Because Scary Things Are Happening And They Are Making Me Scary #orignaletti

[fdragon-art]

Day 90 - When the Earth Stood Still

(Story underneath)

Damian had come as soon as he had heard. The glaring white walls seemed to almost taunt him as he rushed to the front desk of the hospital.

"where is he??"

The front-desk administrator was confused at first before Damian clarified who it was he was looking for in a rush. Despite being told he could not see him yet, Damian refused to listen.

"no you don't understand. i need to see him. i NEED to be there for him!"

After being told again that he had to wait for the doctor in charge to let him, he sighed heavily and turned towards the waiting room chairs, but not before facing the administrator again.

"sorry. it's just...he's my everything and...yeah. sorry about that..."

It only took a few minutes of waiting to be given the go-ahead, something Damian could only be grateful for. The doctor in charge of Miles - he'd called himself Dr Marawan - lead him to the room Miles was in, but gave him a warning:

"Be warned. He had suffered a head injury, so he may still be out of it some."

Damian thanked the doctor and rushed to him as safely as he could. From the gentle light filtering through the thin curtains, Damian saw him, sitting upright and looking outside before turning his head.

"Damian...I...--"

"thank fuck you're okay, miles! i nearly died from heartbreak when i heard what happened"

Miles looked at Damian, his amber eyes seeming a little unfocused as he took time to respond. Finally, "I'm sorry, Damian. I think my ears are playing up on me from the accident. I'm just glad my hips aren't in pain right now. They were ridiculously painful before..."

Damian just looks at Miles and laughs a soft laugh. "it's okay, miles," he says slowly, making sure Miles heard every word, "i was just saying i'm so fucking glad you're still here. i don't...i...don't know what..."

Damian's voice cracked with tears, and Miles opened up his arms for an embrace, which Damian leaned straight into. "Don't worry, Damian.

"Together forever...remember?"

#originalcharacters #miles&damian #damian #year 4 #art #writing #I'd wondered what had Miles in a wheelchair when he was older ans why I thought he'd be wearing bigger hearing aids #And earlier today I had the idea of perhaps something had happened.. like a car accident or an illness #(I chose car accident but I don't have details yet heheh) #The main physical effects it had on him was his hips and joints there started to become immensely painful #Which only became worse with wear and age. Eventually he'd need a wheelchair to avoid as much pain as he could #And head trauma that.. while his mind would pretty much be unaffected (aside from a concussion) #his hearing would be affected (I haven't decided on the details of that either) #I may consider other effects of it like recurring migraines.. brain fog.. blood flow issues or something entirely else #But these two big things would come from it. Not until their mid-30s but yeah

[doing-downtime-hero-shit]

i realized that uh. i changed in some ways that maybe arent from good causes

like it might just be growing up and getting older, but like. the way it changed is reminding me a lot of like... trying to avoid certain things

#basically i am getting quieter in a way that i dont like #i was playing fun jumpscare games with a friend! and a great friend who i am very comfy with! and i love being loud with n good times with #but i was. vvvvery quiet. he said he was surprised when jumpscares happened i just went totally rigid and silent for a few seconds #then talked very quietly after #i dont.... i dont do that? #im LOUD. im silly. i make jokes and say silly mashed up sentences when i get jumpscared #but i went still and silent instead and like. #i did eventually ENJOY playing it after a while and was reacting like i normally would after like an hour #but. i couldnt? at first? for a while? #and like. im thinking about it and just. am getting back into being quiet and small in my spaces when i dont need to be and dont want to be #and apologizing more again #just to avoid careless and rude comments. and to avoid risking ???? idk what #anyway. uh. realizing i may need to address some things and not wanting to lol #also friend noted when I got more comfy and started acting like myself again. and the weird too quiet version of me #and mentioned when i was out of the house more and planning events i was running when i was alone planning them/out of the house- #-how much happier i seemed. and how much more 'me' i was acting #like granted being in my 30s now im going to be a little different but like. im still lighthearted and jokey and loud and silly #bbbbbut its hiding again. and im stressed as to why

[yandereshingeki]

work was. interesting today

#i just got home… and i have a free day tomorrow which means finally in the right headspace to write #i wrote some last night but i wanna finish the mini fic i got the ask for tonight and keep working on other stuff tmrrw…. #big tag ramble sorry lol -> #anyways…. at work? tw for emetaphobia but first like…. 30 minutes into my shift #i had to run to the bathroom to puke because I got nauseous from moving around so much which doesnt usually happen but??? im not used to #morning shifts so thats probably why #and my stomach just hurt after that.. so bad #and then I vibed until a few hours later…… when an old guy fell over in the parking lot and we had to call 911 because he was incoherent and #could barely get up #but he was embarrassed about it so he was trying to drive away when he was clearly unwell and after i got my manager he tried to pull out of #the parking spot and almost ran him over #parameds got there and it was basically a big fight with him trying to leave and them just trying to make sure he was ok #and eventually he was checked and stuff and let go but 3 of my managers almost got run over in the process lol #and it was also so SO BUSY from like 7 am onward #i couldn’t round carts up to put back inside because there were almost NO CARTS IN THE PARKING LOT which means nearly all of them were being #used by customers INSIDE… so hard to keep up when that happens #anyways….. im going to relax now in the shower

[eternalxvenus]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 1 ࿐ྂ

summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain. (angst version to my first birthday girl blurb) (title changed for series — previous title “birthday girl angst version”)

cw (for whole series): 18+, rafe x f!reader, mentions of drug use, angst, eventual smut, violence

wc: 0.6k

notes: honestly i’m thinking about making this particular blurb a series but i’m not sure though

You woke up on your birthday excited to get your day started. Your boyfriend Rafe told you the day before he would pick you up for brunch, and then you would spend the day doing whatever you wanted.

By the time you showered and were ready to go, your stomach was growling, prepared to have some delicious food. You checked your phone and saw the time read 10:45. Rafe said that he'd be here by 11:00.

30 minutes later, you hadn't heard anything from Rafe, so you decided to call him. Each of your calls went straight to voicemail. You were starting to get worried, so you decided to check social media and see if he may have posted anything. You clicked on Kelce's close friend's story and saw a party happening at his house. A few videos later, you saw one of Rafe doing coke off the table in front of him.

Your eyes start to water. He had promised you that he would stop doing drugs when you guys started dating. You knew it made him irritable and hard to be around. It also made him forgetful, which means he was probably high out of his mind somewhere and probably doesn't remember he promised to take you to brunch. Or the fact that it's your birthday.

You wipe the few stray tears off your cheek, careful not to ruin your makeup, before calling Sarah, inviting her and the pogues to have breakfast with you at your place. When you asked her about Rafe, she said she hadn't spoken to him and didn't know where he was.

-

The time was currently 10:22 pm, and you had just gotten home from your birthday dinner with your family. Rafe was supposed to be there too, but you had to lie and say he hadn't been feeling well. You could barely enjoy yourself. You still hadn't gotten so much as a text from him.

You slipped off your heels, but before you could make it up the stairs there was a ring at your doorbell. You opened the door to see Rafe standing there with flowers in hand.

"What do you want, Rafe?" You really didn't want to sit around and listen to his excuses.

"Baby, I'm sorry, really. Just please let me explain."

You scoffed but leaned against your doorframe, prompting him to keep going.

"Okay, so Kelce was throwing this party, and I wasn't going to go, but everyone kept messaging me saying I should at least swing by and everything since they hadn't seen me in a while. I went and it was supposed to be no more than 15 minutes, but things got out of hand..."

"Yeah Rafe, things got out of hand as in you stayed at the party and started doing fucking coke? Out of hand as in you got so high you didn't text me all day, on my birthday, while I'm worried sick about you?"

Rafe's eyes widened, obviously not expecting you to know about that. He outstretched his hand that was holding the flowers to you. "Baby I... I'm sorry. I can take you shopping to make up for-"

You smacked the flowers out of his hand and he flinched. Your voice was shaky as tears pooled in your eyes. "No Rafe! Money isn't going to fix this. Obviously, I'm not important enough for you to keep your promise. Getting high means more to you than being there for your girlfriend."

Before he could speak again, you slammed the door in his face and made your way upstairs even as he started to talk to you through the door before moving on to blowing up your phone. You blocked his number and went to bed, unsure of what was next for your relationship.

part 2

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

© All Rights Reserved. Do not repost, modify, or claim as yours.

#rafe cameron fic #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron #obx #obx fic #obx x reader #angst #rafe angst #black!reader #black reader #divider by: plutism #black writers #outer banks #blurb #rafe blurb #rafe cameron smut #obx smut

[joelscurls]

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Frankie.

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

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

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

It was you who kissed him first.

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

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

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

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

You wish you could forget it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah — that’s alright.” 

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

“You here all by yourself?”

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

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

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

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

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

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

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

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

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” you scoff. 

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

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

“What are you, my keeper?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You always up this early?”

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

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

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

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then-

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

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

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

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

You enter the house with baited breath.

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

“Hi,” you try.

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

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

“Fine. I’m fine.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

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

“Hey,” you announce. 

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

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

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

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It starts during the second round of Charades. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” Frankie sneers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously, why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s the one-“

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you both say at once.

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

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

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

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And did it?”

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

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

“Why not?” you squeak.

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

“Because she wasn’t you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

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

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

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

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

 “So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

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

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

“Jesus, Frankie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

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

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

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

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

“That can be arranged.” 

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

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

[entitled-fangirl]

Anything for you, beautiful girl.

Felix Catton x virgin!reader

SMUT later in the story

Summary: The reader has a panic attack after being called names. Felix makes sure she knows how well she's loved by him as he talks her through it.

Warnings: cursing, p in v, fingering, name-calling by someone else.

Author's note: this is a mix of like nine different asks, so I hope it did them well enough together! ALSO, SWEET LOVEMAKING WITH FELIX IS THE BEST OML. Like he def talks you through it.

Masterlist

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

Felix and Y/N had been dating for only a little while.

7 months, 22 days and counting.

Well, Felix was.

He still couldn't believe he managed to get the prettiest girl in school. And that, she was.

She was utterly gorgeous. But she had the habit of not giving many people the time of day, opting rather to be by herself. Felix had always thought that if she really applied herself, she could be the most popular in college.

…

She was supposed to meet Felix at his dorm after their morning classes, which was to be 12:20. She had gotten out of her's early, so she sat on his bed, watching her phone glow from a call from her mother.

Her parents were horrible people, and Felix often encouraged her to ignore their callings, like today.

But this was the fifth call in ten minutes. And even for them, that was a bit excessive.

So, she picked it up.

…

The time was now 12:30 and Felix was walking down the corridor of his dorm, nearing his door. He reached for the handle, pausing when he heard the muffled sound of crying through it. He pushed his ear against the door, trying to truly tell if it was coming from his room.

The second he recognized it to be her, he threw the door open.

And the sight startled him.

She laid on the floor next to his bed, her legs pulled up to her chest, her hands covering her face in muffled sobs and weeps. 

She hadn't even heard him come in.

He immediately dropped his bag, kneeling down in front of her. He reached out with one hand, placing it on the side of her head.

She jumped, a small whimper coming from her throat as she finally looked up at him.

Her face was tear stained and her eyes were wide in fear. Her bottom lip quivered as she stared at him, her breathing beyond erratic. 

But her eyes seemed to relax sightly as she recognized who he was.

Felix took a moment to access the situation, deciding what to do. 

His voice was soft, a reminder of his gentleness for her, "…Angel? What's happened…?"

She simply continued to stare, her breathing too spastic to speak.

Once he recognized that, he sat himself on the floor completely, his worried eyes taking in her shaking frame. "Oh, Angel…" he cooed.

He gently pulled at her arms until he got her to sit in his lap. She then threw her arms around him and sobbed violently into his shoulder. "I…I couldn't… I didn't…" Felix tried to listen, but she couldn't even mutter a sentence through the tears.

He held her close to him, feeling her erratic heartbeats and worrying. "Hey…" 

When she didn't respond, he reached up to cup her face, his voice stronger, "Hey."

She finally looked up at him.

"Angel… you gotta calm yourself. Breathe with me. Yeah, pretty girl?"

She let out a soft nod.

He pulled her hand onto his chest to let her feel his calming breaths.

Eventually, she got the pattern down, and her own breathing was becoming somewhat calm.

He lets out a soft sigh at the sight of her tears finally slowing. "Beautiful, tell me what happened. What started all this?"

She sniffled, shaking her head. She pushed her face back into his shoulder.

One of his hands came up to play with her hair. His voice was soft, "Angel, how can we fix this if I don't even know how it happened?"

Then he looked up, seeing her phone resting on the edge of the bed. His eyebrows furrowed. He reached up, taking the small phone in his large hands.

He saw the screen light up with missed call notifications from a 15 minutes ago, but then only 3 minutes ago was multiple texts, all from her mother:

"I meant what I said."

"Wait until your father hears about you."

An audible gasp came from Felix's mouth as he read the words. Some fucking family they were. "Angel…?"

She let out a soft hum against his shoulder.

He nudged her softly, "Angel, I need you to pay attention."

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. She saw the phone in his hand and her eyes widened, "Lex… I… I'm sorry."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, "No, Angel. You're not sorry. Because you don't have anything to be sorry about. Right? You didn't do anything, did you?"

She shrugged, "Mum sai-"

"-I don't give a fuck what your mum says," he said sharply. He let it sit before his voice softened, "I'm sorry, baby girl. I shouldn't yell at you. Your mum says awful things. Just… tell me what happened."

She sniffles, "Well, she called me over 5 times and-"

"Well, why did you pick it up, pretty girl?" He asked, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I think I was worried something serious had happened. I… I should've known better, Lex. That's why I'm sorry…"

His heart was breaking for her. His perfect little angel truly thought she deserved the horrific things her family always told her. That she was worthless. Stupid. Ugly. 

And above all that, she still felt the need to apologize to him for it.

"Oh, honey. Don't be sorry for that. We can't help it sometimes. Now," he pulled her close, his lips close to her ear, "tell me what she said to you today."

"…Promise you won't be mad…?"

He almost scoffed. Mad? At her? Never. Her mother? Always.

"No, angel. I won't be mad at you. I'll never be mad at you. Tell me."

She sighed, "She said I was… that I…"

Felix leaned in, waiting to hear her finish.

"…she said I was a whore."

Felix froze. His voice was deep, harsh and unkind, his face mimicking, "You're. Not. A. Whore."

Her eyes peered up to Felix's, a visible look of worry etched on her face. "I... It's just.. I… It…"

"I know, baby. It hurts when someone you trust says something so vile." He leaned his face to be inches from hers. "You don't believe it, do you?"

She looks down, her eyes saying enough.

Felix looked to the side, his jaw clenched. A long breath came out from his nose as he thought.

She noted the anger on his face and was quick to try to counteract it, "Felix. I… I'm fine. Please…"

"NO."

She leaned back from him, surprised by his raised voice.

He sighed again, trying to reign back his mind, "You're not a whore, angel."

She smiled, her hands coming up to caress his cheeks, "thank you, Felix."

"I mean it. You're no whore. We haven't even…. Ugh… why does she think that?"

"We've been dating a few months and… I guess she just expects it."

He nods, "Sure, for most. But you and I aren't most, are we, honey?"

She nods, "I'm sorry for that, too."

He does scoff this time, "I would wait a millennium, if that's what it took. I don't care."

"And to think…" she said under her breath.

He tilts his head, "…'and to think'….what?"

She looks at him like a deer in the headlights, realizing he had heard it, "I��� nothing."

He smiles, "Tell me, angel. What's on your mind?"

"I just love you, is all."

His smile grew. He leaned close, a hand caressing her face gently as he slowly connected their lips. The kiss was soft and slow, expressing every emotion the other was feeling.

--------------------------SMUT STARTS HERE------------------------

He broke it, "You're so beautiful, angel." He kissed softly at her neck, "I would worship your body for eternity if you will let me." The humming of his voice tickled her throat softly, "Mmm… You own me, princess. Let me show you what you are to me, yeah?"

She nodded.

He gently picked her up, laying her on the bed. "How far can I go today, angel?"

She placed a hand on his chest, "I want you to go all the way."

His eyebrows furrowed, "W….what?"

Her voice was a whisper, "Please, Felix. I want to. I want… I want you, please."

He sat on the bed next to her, "And this… has nothing to do with earlier?"

She shakes her head, "I… I decided that today I wanted… I.. I wore… um… other things for today that I've never worn before. Because I want this, Catton. Please."

He smiled, "Alright, baby. I'll do just that." He leaned down, giving her a gentle kiss. "I wanna make you feel good. Can I do that? Make you feel pretty like you already are?"

She nodded, "Please, Lex."

He didn't need to be told twice. 

He gently pulled the clothes from her body, taking his time to watch her reaction closely. He half expected her to back out. 

But she wasn't backing out.

He let out a low whistle under his breath at the sight of her lingerie. She wasn't joking. 

She was beautiful.

"Oh, pretty girl… you make me so proud to be yours."

He leaned down on her small body, kissing her again. 

One of his hands began to wander south. One finger broke the band of her underwear, and he pulled away from the kiss. "This alright?"

She pulled him back down into the kiss.

His hand wandered down her panties to her slit. He knew not only by the feeling, but the sharp intake of breath from his pretty girl. 

He smiled, "Can I touch you, angel?"

Her voice was a whimper, "Please… p…please…"

He gently pushed a finger into her core.

He had never done this with her. And, judging from her reaction, she had never done this at all.

A low moan came from her throat as his second knuckle passed her pussy lips.

"Oh, honey. So pretty f'me. Yeah… prettiest girl I know…"

Once his finger bottomed out, he began to pull it back out, only to repeat the process.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing shaky. 

She was a vision.

Felix couldn't stop the smile on his face. 

He loved her so much.

And she was trusting him with everything she had. 

"Alright. I'm gonna add another one. Think you can take that?"

She nodded through the feeling, letting herself be stuffed with his fingers.

He kissed her forehead, "Just getting you ready for me, yeah?"

Her hand reached down her grip his wrist, "Felix.. I.. I don't…"

"Pretty girl can't hold on anymore? That's okay. Let it out, baby. Let me hear it."

Her back arched as she came on his fingers. A small whimper came from her mouth as her toes curled involuntarily.

She slumped back against the bed, feeling him kiss her neck gently.

"Good. So good. You wanna stop?"

She shakes her head, "No, please. I.. I wanna do this…"

He nods, "Okay. We'll do it."

He stood, rushing to his backpack. He pulled a water bottle from it, bringing it back to the bed. "Here, angel. Drink."

She did as he commanded.

Once she caught her breath, their lips connecting once more.

…

"Think you can do this, angel?"

She nods.

"This is what you want?"

She nods again.

"I have to hear you say it, princess. Please."

"Felix, please. I want you."

His hips slowly met with hers as he sunk into her.

He couldn't help the satisfied breath that left his lungs.

She let out a small grunt.

He bottomed out, looking back at her. "Tell me, baby."

Her eyebrows were furrowed together and her breathing become shallow. "I.. it hurts, Lex."

He nods, "I know." He kisses her forehead. "I'll stay as long as it takes for you to be ready."

After a moment, she nods, her hand coming up to his chest, "Please…"

He smiles, "Alright, angel. This may still hurt a bit, but it'll feel good, too. I promise."

And with that, he began to thrust. 

He couldn't stop the soft curses that came from his mouth under his breath. He couldn't help it. Seeing her so pretty under him like this alone could make him come undone.

She was no different. The pain turned into pleasure quick and she was arching her back to meet with his thrusts.

One hand of his reached down to push her hips back down, "Calm down, angel. I'll relieve you. I always will."

She nodded, small grunts and whimpers coming from her throat.

This moment was beautiful, and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

He rested on one elbow, the hand on that arm coming up to her face, lightly tapping her cheek, "You gotta breathe. C'mon, baby. Breathe for me."

He was right. In all the pleasure, she wasn't breathing well.

Soon, he leaned down to her ear, "You close, honey?"

"S…s…so…so close…"

"Me too. God, I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Do it, baby."

And she did.

He was not far behind, grunting as he came.

And the two simply stared at each other in awe.

"Thank you, angel."

"For what?"

"For trusting me this much."

He got up, throwing on his boxers. He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her alone in the bedroom.

She sat up on her elbows, her eyebrows furrowing. 

She didn't understand why he'd leave like that.

He returned quickly though. "C'mere, princess. Let me clean you up."

He held a soft towel in his hand.

He gently cleaned her, kissing her temple while doing so. "How about a bath, beautiful?"

She smiled, "I'd love one."

He nodded, "Anything for you, beautiful girl."

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

#fanfiction #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #jacob elordi x reader #jacob elordi imagine #felix catton x you #saltburn 2023 #saltburn angst #saltburn movie #saltburn smut #saltburn #felix catton smut #smut

[blughxreader]

Soft yandere Miguel O’Hara

cw: noncon, breeding, kidnapping, m masturbation, biting, SPOILERS. Headcanons and drabble. 1.4k words.

Mean dom Miguel is so hot, but I find that soft yan Miguel has so much overlap with canon.

This man still does all the sick and deplorable things a villain does, but in a way that's strangely tender.

I mean, you simultaneously have to be a sweet man and a stone-cold motherfucker to step in the shoes of your dead counterpart and con his family into thinking everything is fine. Like, he (eventually) fucked a dead man's wife, adopted his child, and seamlessly integrated into his shoes.

While certainly calloused, it also reveals a profound desperation for love and a willingness to do anything for it.

Enter you: a Spider from a random dimension that got caught up in an anomaly's destruction. Maybe your world was destroyed or it's emotionally difficult for you to return, so you end up spending a lot of time at HQ.

Miguel doesn't notice you for a while. There's hundreds of Spiders milling about the base, so it's only until you befriend Peter B and his baby that you get acquainted.

You draw him in without trying, no matter the walls that Miguel puts up. He needs to focus—everyone's very existence is at stake, dammit,—but by month five, you're the only thing he can think about.

His advances start off slow, bogged down by his own exasperation at himself. You're ordered to give in-person de-briefs in Miguel's office and get invited to lunch with him and Peter B, giving you the impression of an upcoming promotion. Miguel is as poised as ever, not letting a single stray emotion color his expression, and talks to you in an aloof, polite manner.

However uninterested he might seem, his insides tighten and flutter at your growing friendship. Every time you smile or secretly share a bemused look, he sinks deeper and deeper in his desire to have you.

Proximity-wise, Miguel vacillates between sitting next to you, close enough for your elbows to brush, and standing 30 feet away on his podium for the next week.

His involuntary, physical reactions startle him, and it becomes another contention he internally wars about. The second he thinks it's harmless to brush against you, it divulges into grabbing—cupping—pinning—fucking—ruining.

God, he fucking loathes the powerless feeling you inflict on him, but he doesn't have the strength to put an end to your friendship. He furiously jerks off after every meeting, biting into his hand to punish himself as he comes to the thought of you swollen with his child.

He thinks of all the deplorable ways to make you pay for causing these feelings, but he ultimately knows the blame lies within him. You see him as a boss and friend, nothing more. You would never intentionally drag him down to this state, so he bottles up all these feelings for your protection.

It takes a particularly bad mission for his control to break.

Whatever reservations he had about locking you in his bedroom evaporate when he sees you covered in blood and rubble. Protecting you from himself was one thing, but the thousands of universes?

You didn't realize what happened until you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, weary from pain medication.

He takes your fear, anger, and tears in stride.

While he can't shake his bitchy personality, his annoyance always fizzles out to mumbles and sighs. For months, he takes your verbal abuse and outbursts with resigned acceptance. Miguel didn't always like what he had to do, but he would commit any atrocity if it meant keeping you at his side.

He moves some of his work at home to spend more time with you, just content to occupy the same room while you adjusted to your new situation.

Your shared apartment is quiet most days, save for sporadic outbursts of rage from you, and Miguel daydreams about having a few little kids running around to fill the void.

He stares at you most evenings, watching you curled up on the couch pointedly ignoring him. Miguel thinks you wouldn't be so belligerent if you needed him for something, if you craved his presence and help in some way.

Miguel's mind always drifts back to his favorite fantasies on nights like these: you nine months pregnant and too big for anything other than his shirts. His eyes drift down to your stomach, to the place where you could make his dreams come true.

Patience is something Miguel prides himself on, which is why he puts up with the loneliness for nearly a year after bringing you home. You were given ample time to warm up to him and he's been nothing but kind. Every broken plate and spoiled food, every scratch across his face, every insult—he let you have your way in hopes that you'll eventually recognize him as your lover.

But no. You complained and struggled every step of the way.

Miguel could never hurt you, but he realized that more permanent and assertive measures had to be taken to make you see that you need and love him as much as he does you.

---

When he finally takes you, there's hardly any space between your bodies. There are months of touch starvation to make up for and Miguel is compensating all at once.

His entire 6'9" stature pins you to his bed, locking you between arms as large as your thighs. Miguel is the only thing you see or feel, as his hands caress every dip and curve of your body and his cock grinds against your slit.

With your legs helplessly hiked up around his waist and one of his hands pinning your wrists above your head, he makes love to you with a slow burning intensity.

Your fear and disgust are palpable, but between his sweet voice in your ear and his fingers somehow knowing the rhythm and speed to play with your clit, you're more wet than you've ever been.

"Shh, shh, mi cornazón. I have you." Miguel kisses your jaw, his cock rocking in and out of your aching heat with an agonizingly slow pace. "Just breathe steadily and let me take care of you."

He's too big inside of you, and your grunts of pain make him linger in place to help you adjust. When his stride picks up and the wet sounds of sex fill the bedroom, disgust roils in your stomach. Yet fuck, fuck, fuck, your body temperature rises with each stroke.

Miguel kisses you deeply, using his free hand to hold your head in place. He says, "It's time. I've been so patient. Be brave for me and take our baby."

He swallows your horrified pleading with another scorching kiss.

Your pussy clenches around his dick and your breath catches in your throat. Miguel hugs you tighter, his nose pressed into your hair as he angles himself just right. When the first waves of your orgasm make your head dip back, the sharp edge of fangs scratch your neck.

You barely register his mantra of, "Te amo," when his jaw clamps down on your shoulder. Blood spurts from between his teeth, and you cry out in confused pain as your orgasm shakes your body.

Miguel moans into your flesh seconds later, pumping his cum deep inside you. His thrusting is uncoordinated and rough, too blinded by pleasure to notice how powerful his pounding is. The mattress springs whine beneath you two, and you can only cry from the overwhelming treatment.

He milks every last drop of cum into your cunt before he begins to slow. Both of you gasp for breath, your chests heaving against one another's as sweat cools on your hot skin.

He keeps you plugged up for a while longer to give the conception time. His bloodied lips drag across the wound on your shoulder, peppering you with kisses as he trails red along your neck.

A sob shutters in your chest as Miguel runs a palm along your stomach.

"You'll understand soon. I promise. This will be the best thing that's ever happened to us."

#yandere miguel o'hara #dark miguel o hara #yandere miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #yandere miguel o'hara x reader #yandere spiderverse #cw: noncon #cw: breeding #afab