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atlabeth · 5 months

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between colleagues pt 2 - anthony lockwood

part one

summary: the morning after and some shopping. this is still a great plan. right?

a/n: lol this took forever to come out but ive been busy asf and dealing with a lot of personal issues but i am really loving these two and they made me feel better so i hope you all enjoy!! they really are just two idiots in love lmao the shop scene was v fun

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): fem!reader, small mention of death in regards to a case, reader freaking tf out for a second. but basically no warnings this is all fluff

also im aware i use this gif a lot but it's like my favorite one of him so uhhhh yeah

Your shoulder was stiff when you woke up, and you had to stifle a groan of discomfort as you rolled onto your back. So much for staying off your injured side, you thought disdainfully. Typical of you to sabotage yourself in your sleep.

A glance over at the other empty bed proved Lucy was awake, and a glance at the clock on the wall proved she might have been awake for quite some time.

It was six in the bloody evening. Lockwood’s call with the Caldecotts must have gone well if you were able to sleep for 14 hours. You normally would have had the sense to be a little bit ashamed of sleeping an entire day away, but after the job you’d had and the arrangement you made with Lockwood, you felt like you deserved it.

You pulled yourself out of bed and went through the paces of making yourself presentable at the very least, then threw on a sweatshirt and made your way downstairs. Lockwood was alone in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a half-eaten piece of toast in front of him and the agency’s case binder in his lap.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Lockwood said, glancing up from the files on his lap with a smile. You rolled your eyes at him as you walked into the kitchen.

“Would you believe me if I said I was still tired?” You took a cup from the cabinet and filled it at the tap, taking a sip as you glanced out the window. Night had already fallen, and you could see the flickering of ghost lamps in the distance.

“You know, I think I would,” he said. “You didn’t make it the full 24 hours you promised—I think you’ve still got some in you.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Where’s Lucy and George?”

“Grocery shopping,” he said, and he looked at the clock. “It’s taking them an awful long while, though.”

“Why are they shopping at night?” you asked.

Lockwood shrugged. “George really wanted to make pad thai, but we have none of the ingredients. Apparently, it’s important enough to warrant a night trip to the store. Lucy offered to go with him, and I made them take their rapiers, so it should be fine.”

“Of course you did,” you mused. “Did you tell them about our little arrangement?”

His eyes filled with amusement. “No. I figured you would want the honor.”

You sighed and let your head fall back. “Kind as always, Lockwood.”

“You should probably start calling me Anthony,” he said. “Just to get used to it.”

“What,” you said dryly, looking back down at him, “girlfriends don’t usually call their boyfriends by their last name?”

“I think your family may frown upon it.” Lockwood checked his watch, then set the binder on the table and stood up. “If you get a kettle going, I’ll make us tea.”

“Bored of write-ups already?” you asked, crouching down to pull the kettle out of a cabinet. Lockwood chuckled as he took the tin of tea bags out of the closet, and he turned the burner on just as you finished filling the pot up.

“I try to do my part, but they’re really not my forte,” he said. “You and George are much better at them.”

“And it comes from filing reports since the tender age of eight,” you said solemnly as you set the kettle on the stovetop.

Just then, the sound of a lock clicking open drew your attention, and you smiled as Lucy and George came inside. George had a reusable bag in one hand and her rapier in another, and Lucy also had hers drawn.

Your brows knit together. “Run into any ghosts?”

“Good morning to you too,” George said. You gave him a mocking look in return.

“No,” Lucy answered, pushing the door shut with her foot, “just being careful. Because somebody swore he saw a Spectre and refused to let a Visitor run away with his goods.”

“I am starving,” George enunciated. “I wasn’t going to let a ghost ruin all my hard work.”

Lockwood smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re both intact.”

“I’m glad you’re finally up,” George said with a look at you. “I thought you’d never come out.”

“She slept like a brick,” Lucy said. “I knocked over all the bottles in the shower and she never even stirred.”

You shrugged. “Last night was exhausting. For many reasons.”

The kettle went off and you turned the burner back down. Lockwood took two more mugs out of the cabinet and set tea bags in them, then poured the boiling water into all four. You handed him the sugar container with a pointed look.

“Remember, half—”

“Half a teaspoon,” he nodded, taking it from you with a wry smile. “I remember.”

“Good,” you said. “You’re always a little heavy handed.”

“Are you saying I add extra sweetness into your life?” Lockwood asked, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“How did you know?”

“You know, we’re also here,” Lucy spoke up, though when you turned to her she was barely hiding a smile.

“As if I could ever forget you, Lucy Carlyle,” you said. “How’s your day been?”

“Quiet without you,” she said. “Lockwood’s been on the phone all day, and even though George didn’t sleep quite as long as you, he still woke up at two in the afternoon.”

“Oh, please,” George said over his shoulder, in the midst of rifling through his groceries, “I earned it. We all did, after the night we had.”

“True,” she said, tilting her head. “I actually didn’t have any nightmares for once— I’ve never slept so soundly.”

“See?” You gestured at her. “The charms I put on the walls are working.”

Lucy gave you a look. “You can’t seriously believe that.”

“No ghosts have gotten into our room!” you exclaimed. “And both of our nightmares have been getting better. That dragon is protecting us.”

Lockwood bit back a smile. “I still cannot believe you bought that.”

“Seriously,” George said, still organizing ingredients. “A week’s wages, just gone.”

You frowned. “My iron dragon is incredible, thank you very much. Besides, I’m supporting local businesses.” You glanced at Lockwood. “So the supply calls were made?”

“Every last one of them,” he confirmed as he stirred sugar into your tea. “Satchell’s was very happy to get our business again. Salt bombs will be in on Friday, flares come next week, and we’re getting brand new chains tomorrow. Plus a couple new silver glass containers from Sunrise.”

“That’s smart,” you said. “I think I threw our last square container in the furnaces last week.”

George frowned. “We went into the disaster that was last night without any silver glass?”

Lockwood cleared his throat as he handed you your mug, then set the other two on the table for Lucy and George. “Everything worked out in the end.”

Lucy just sighed. “We cut things too close for comfort.”

“The Lockwood & Co motto,” you said before taking a sip of tea. Perfectly sweetened. “How about the Caldecotts?”

“Rescheduled for tomorrow at half past noon,” Lockwood said. “Do you think you’ll be awake by then?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “I didn’t forget our deal that quickly.”

George raised his eyebrows. “What deal?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said. “Just sold my soul for a favor from Lockwood.”

Lucy frowned, eyeing the two of you. “Elaborate.”

Lockwood hid his smile with a sip of tea as he also looked at you. So this was still your treat.

You shrugged. “We’re going to a wedding together.”

“Not exactly selling your soul,” George said. “Congrats.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re going together.”

“Congrats,” he said again. “Are we just emphasizing words now?”

“We’re going as a couple,” Lockwood said.

Lucy’s eyes widened and George nearly choked on his tea as they blurted out the same thing. “What?”

“A fake couple,” you added hastily, “to fool my family.”

“…Oh,” Lucy said, glancing at George. “That’s…”

“Less exciting,” he finished.

Lockwood made a face. “Less exciting? George, we’re going to be lying to her whole family for a whole weekend. I’d say that’s quite exciting.”

He glanced at Lucy for a moment before he sighed and looked back at Lockwood with a shake of his head. “Sure.”

“Anyways,” you segued, “I just thought you two should know. It’s not for another month and half, but between the usual ghost-hunting we’re going to be doing a fair bit of planning together.”

“Spend all the time together that you want,” Lucy said. “George and I are good enough at holding down the fort, right?”

“It was just Lockwood and I for months at the beginning of all this, and half the time I was on my own because of investigatory whims,” George said. “At least you’re usually sort of predictable, Luce.”

She frowned. “I take offense to that.”

Lockwood chuckled and shook his head as he set the other two cups of tea down on the table for them. “We won’t impede work at all, I promise. I’ll make sure everything still goes as smoothly as possible.”

“What Lucy said,” George said, finally satisfied with the order of all the ingredients as he got to work. “Spend as much time together as you want.”

“Maybe you will,” you said haughtily. “Maybe Lockwood’s lying and we’ll completely abandon our duties.”

“We won’t,” Lockwood assured, and you merely smiled as you took another sip of tea.

“Speaking of work,” Lucy said, “we ran into Kipps and Godwin on the way to the store.”

Lockwood’s expression hardened and he set his mug down a bit too forcefully. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“Because it was nothing,” George said, looking up from cutting vegetables. You were glad he was the one with a knife and not Lockwood. “Just typical Kipps posturing.”

“He told us about some job they got,” Lucy said. “Some ridiculously rich widow hired Fittes to find and clear out the ghost of her husband, and they were put on the case.”

“What was her name?” Lockwood asked.

“I wasn’t really paying attention, if I’m being honest,” she said.

“Agnes Colville,” George said.

“That bastard!” Lockwood’s jaw clenched and he moved across the room to a stack of newspapers on the floor, toppling over from the height. He crouched down and began rifling through them, and after a second he pulled out one and held it up for you all to see. The look in his eye was only slightly crazed, which was admittedly progress. “He stole it from us!”

“I do remember seeing her in the paper,” you said after taking a moment to scan the cover. Her husband died of old age, and it was only because of their impressive fortune that anyone knew of it. “A tragedy.”

“I talked to her first,” he insisted, still crouched on the ground. “I called her right after I got this paper, and she told me she wasn’t looking for any agents.”

“She changed her mind, I guess,” Lucy said with a shrug.

“Or Kipps bothered her until she changed it,” Lockwood grumbled.

“Great,” George said wryly as he pushed garlic off his knife. “We’re going to be working double time to make up for this, aren’t we?”

“Sharp as always,” Lockwood said, and he finally stood up as he set the newspaper back down. He pointed a finger at you. “After we go dress shopping tomorrow, it’s straight to the archives to pick up a better case than Kipps.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We’re going dress shopping tomorrow?”

“Did I not tell you?” He frowned. “Caldecotts then dress shopping. And now archives.”

“No,” you said, “you absolutely didn’t.”

Lockwood shrugged. “Well, now you know. We’re going dress shopping.”

“Awfully eager to get into this boyfriend role,” George said.

“I take my job seriously.”

“I already have a dress, Lockwood,” you said. “Dorothy Perkins, remember?”

“This is a special occasion,” he said. “You deserve something nice.”

You felt your cheeks warm and you looked right at him. “You’ll pay?”

“Of course,” he said. “Business expenses, remember?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Yeah. Alright, we can go dress shopping. But if I’m getting a new dress, you’re getting a new suit.”

“Fair’s fair,” he said.

“Do we get any new clothes on your bill?” George asked. “Or is that just reserved for your fake girlfriend?”

“Oh, come off it, George,” Lucy said. “Let them have some fun together.”

“Thank you, Lucy,” you said as you sat down across from her.

“Of course,” she said. “You’re saving me from the Caldecotts and a day in the archives. I should really be thanking you.”

You turned to look at Lockwood. “You’re not going to use this as an excuse to get me to come along on all your errands with you, are you?”

“Do try and be supportive, love,” Lockwood said. “It’s only right as my girlfriend.”

You groaned as you leaned back in your chair, trying your best to ignore Lucy’s smile. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”

“Another Lockwood & Co motto,” George mused. “How fitting.”

“Is that Anthony Lockwood walking through my door?”

You looked up when you walked through the door after Lockwood, a grin already on his face as the boutique saleswoman, a kindly older woman, greeted him. A worker at an upscale clothing store knew him by name—already a good sign.

“Ms. Bridgeston,” Lockwood said, “it’s been too long.”

“It certainly has, young man!” She pulled him into a hug and he returned it, and the woman looked at you when she pulled away. “And who is this darling girl with you?”

Lockwood said your name with a gesture, and you smiled and held out your hand. “I’m his associate.”

“And my girlfriend,” he added as she shook your hand. You shot him a look over her shoulder with wide, questioning eyes.

“Practicing,” he mouthed at you with a shrug. He was so ridiculous that you had to stifle a laugh.

“Yes,” you said, looking back at her with a smile, “his girlfriend, too.”

“Well, it is wonderful to meet you, dear.” Ms. Bridgeston smiled at Lockwood. “Anthony here has wonderful taste in apparel—he was right to bring you here.”

“I believe it,” you said with a glance around. “We’re actually in the market for wedding clothes—my cousin is getting married soon.”

“Oh, congratulations!” She clasped her hands together, eyes shining as she looked between both of you. “Is there anything you need help with, or would you just like to look around?”

“We’re good to just look,” Lockwood said, “but we’ll certainly let you know if we need anything.”

Ms. Bridgeston nodded with another smile. “Certainly. I’ll be in the back stocking if you need me.”

“Thank you,” you said, and you looked at Lockwood as she walked off. “Any ideas?”

He shook his head. “Get whatever you’d like. This is a very special occasion.”

You chuckled and nodded, going off to look at a rack of dresses. The agency had been doing well for itself lately. You supposed you could splurge on a nicer dress after nearly dying a couple dozen times. “What are you going for?”

“Oh, I’m not getting anything here,” he said. “I’ve already got a suit at home, and I’ll get a pocket square that matches whatever color you’re wearing. We’re shopping for you—I’m just having fun here.”

“How exquisite,” you mused as you ran your finger over velvet. “We’ve only been fake dating for a day and you’re already all in.”

“Consider it getting in character,” Lockwood said. “We’ll already have gotten all our mistakes out of the way by wedding time.”

“Wise as always.” You took the maroon dress off the rack and continued moving down the line, and you glanced over at Lockwood. “You’ve already got what you want?”

“Most of my wardrobe is black and white.” He held up a navy suit. “This is different.”

“Hardly,” you said with a chuckle. “Dark blue is almost black.”

“This is my version of fun,” Lockwood said wryly, and you smiled as he went into the dressing room.

You spent the next while picking out dresses that struck your fancy, and by the time Lockwood was done, you had five in your arms. When he walked out, you nearly dropped them all.

You didn’t know what was wrong with you.

Perhaps it was lingering sleep deprivation from the near 24 hours you spent awake the other day. Perhaps it was lingering anger from your dealings with the Caldecotts—no amount of money could make dealing with Lorena worth it, but all those zeroes did help—or perhaps you were just already losing your mind.

Despite your complaints, you weren’t averse to the day Lockwood had planned out. Seeing as you’d spent entire days rooting through the archives with him on wild goose chases, an afternoon after an interview and some shopping wasn’t the worst it could get.

But now, standing in the back of the store as Lockwood emerged, you were beginning to question the wisdom of this decision.

Because you honest to God didn’t know what was wrong with you. You saw Lockwood in suits every day, or at least something suit-adjacent. Slacks, a jacket and tie, a million white dress shirts that you always end up folding. Pristine shoes, so shiny you can see your reflection in them, getting ruined by cobwebs and plasma over and over—you’ve spent many a night sitting with Lockwood talking as he polished his most recent pair of shoes, determined to get them back to their former glory.

The point was that you were used to it. You were used to seeing Lockwood dressed up—when you first joined the agency, you honestly thought he slept in suits as well until you ran into him one night on a mission for midnight tea.

So why were you unable to look away from him when he emerged from the dressing room? Why were you rendered absolutely and completely speechless?

It was nothing special, at least for Lockwood. Just a tuxedo. Navy blue rather than black like he always wore, but far nicer than the usuals. He was fussing with his bowtie as he walked out, muttering things under his breath, and thankfully not looking at you at all. You felt your eyes widen, your breath stolen from you for a moment, and all you could do was stare. Very classy of you, but you could hardly be blamed. He was stunning.

You didn’t even realize he was saying something until you heard your name for what had to have been the third time, and you blinked and snapped out of your stupor.

“What?”

He gave that damn smile and inclined his head slightly, holding up one end of the tie hanging around his neck. “Could you help me with this? I don’t know what’s wrong with me this morning.”

At least you had that in common. You cleared your throat and nodded, taking a deep breath as you walked up to him in the hopes that you looked far more composed than you felt. “Yeah. Of course.”

You felt his eyes on you the entire time and you tried your hardest not to focus on it. You’d done Lockwood’s ties millions of times, usually before a particularly important interview or a particularly difficult night. He always said it was good luck, and you always rolled your eyes with a smile.

“So?” Lockwood spoke after a moment, still watching you.

“It’s good,” you said with a nod as you finished tying the bow, making sure it was straight before you stepped away. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” Lockwood said, looking at himself in the mirror with a slight smile. “For the compliment and the help.

“It’s what I’m here for,” you said.

“And as much as I appreciate that,” he said, turning that smile on you, “we’re here so you can get a dress too. Did you pick any out while I was getting ready?”

You nodded and picked up the hangers you’d set down to help Lockwood. “Which one do you want to see first?”

“Definitely the maroon one,” he said with a nod. “Goes well with your eyes.”

“You’re too kind,” you said, and he chuckled as he pressed his hand to his heart.

You went behind the curtain, purposefully taking your time as you undressed so you could try and compose yourself further. It was just a suit, and he was just Lockwood, and this was just a fun little ruse to get your mum off your back for once.

Just a suit. Just a ruse. Just Lockwood.

You let out a deep breath and nodded, finally feeling like yourself again. You stepped into the dress and pulled it up, adjusting it around your figure before you zipped it up in the back, but you couldn’t get it all the way up.

“Lockwood,” you called, “can you help me?”

“Of course,” you heard him respond.

You pushed the curtain aside and stepped back out, making some more minute adjustments along the way. When you looked up, Lockwood’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted.

“Lockwood,” you said, staring at him.

He blinked and seemed to focus back in, his head perking up. “What?”

“My zipper.”

“Right.” Lockwood moved just a bit too quick around you, and you shivered as his fingers brushed your bare back for a moment while he pulled the zipper the rest of the way up. “Sorry.”

“Your hands are always cold,” you said. “It’s fine.”

“That’s—” he cleared his throat, and you turned just to see him shake his head. “Right. Yeah. Thanks.”

You raised your eyebrows, the slightest smile tugging at you. “For what?”

His own rose. “Hm?”

“You thanked me. For what?”

Lockwood shook his head again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You chuckled and nodded, holding out the skirt of your dress with your hands. “So? What do you think?”

“You look incredible,” he said, “obviously. It’s an honor to be your fake boyfriend.”

“You’re gonna make me blush,” you said, but your cheeks already felt too warm for comfort.

Lockwood grinned. “Good.”

You had to turn away at that point. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, teasing you like this. “You’re taking your role way too seriously,” you said, busying yourself with rifling through the rest of the dresses you picked out.

“I told you,” he said, “I take my job seriously. And as someone who takes their job seriously, I think that dress is definitely the one.”

“Really?” You held up a sparkling blue dress against you and looked at him. “What about this one?”

He shook his head. “Maroon is definitely the one.”

“I agree, dear.” You looked up to see Ms. Bridgeston walking out carrying two boxes, that same adoring twinkle in her eye. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You looked back in the mirror for another good, long moment, and you nodded decisively. “I agree. This is the one.”

“Wonderful choice,” she said.

“Perfect choice,” Lockwood said with a grin. “If you get changed, I can go ahead and pay for everything. We’ve already used up half our day—we’ve got to get to the archives.”

You eyed him. “You didn’t just say this was the one so we could spend eight hours in the archives, did you?”

“No,” he assured. “That is the one—trust me, love. You just happened to pick out the best one first.”

You chuckled and shook your head as you started going back to the dressing room. “Whatever you say.”

Soon enough, you and Lockwood were both back in your regular clothes, dress bag in tow, walking down the streets of London.

“You seriously don’t mind spending all that money for this?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“Of course not,” he said. “I can always take it out of your paycheck, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You laughed and hit him on the arm, earning a chuckle in response. “As long as you seriously weren’t lying to me about liking this dress to get me to the archives.”

“I would never lie to you about something like that,” Lockwood said, and he held up his pointer and middle finger. “Agent’s honor.”

You smiled inwardly. “Thank you, then. I suppose I can handle spending the rest of the day in the archives with you with compliments like that.”

“Thank you, then,” he repeated. “We do have to make a stop for tea, first.”

“Naturally,” you agreed.

As you continued on your way, not exactly arm in arm but close enough for your hands to brush every so often, you found your mind drifting back to Lockwood in that damned suit. You cleared your throat and shook your head, trying to physically push the thought away.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just got something in my throat.”

Lockwood nodded, thankfully oblivious to your inner struggle. You let out a deep breath.

This was definitely still a good idea.

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co #x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

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lincolndjarin · 7 months

Text

A Little Mishap.

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day five - afab!reader x dark!francisco morales

prompt : hate sex [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 1.4k (sorry all of these are so short, there's so many i've been struggling to make them longer)

summary : READ ALL WARNINGS. THIS IS MY FIRST DARK FIC. you and frankie return to base camp after an unsuccessful mission, each of you blaming the other for the outcome.

warnings, etc. : dead dove do not eat, dubcon/noncon, dark!frankie, unprotected p in v, spanking, use of restraints, panty gag, painful sex, degradation, orgasm denial, creampie, ambiguous ending, probably other things lmk if i forgot any tags

a/n : a lot of my october stuff is gonna be barely edited so my apologies for that but this is my first time writing frankie but also my first time writing any sort of dark fic and i'm definitely feeling anxious about posting this but here it is uhhhh yeah. i've been finishing all of these before work this week and having this tiny little time crunch before doing a ten hour shift really wakes me the fuck up lmao.

He shoves you into the tent, both of you fuming at this point. Neither one of you speaks as you take a seat on your cot, putting your head in your hands. After a moment you can see his boots appear in front of you.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe you.” He growls and you feel your jaw tense as you look up at him.

“You can’t believe me?” You say incredulously. “If it weren’t for me we’d have nothing.”

“If it weren’t for you we might have everything.” He hisses, planting a hand firmly on your shoulder as he shoves you back into the wall, you sit up quickly, kicking his knee in retaliation, watching as he slumps to the floor.

“I did exactly what Santi would have wanted me to do in that situation.” You usually don’t physical when you two fight, (which is happening more and more often these days) but today you’re fed up with him, you’d been on that mission with just him for over a week when he’d fucked up. You could have lost everything if you’d listened to him, at least now you had half the haul.

“La puta…” He grumbles, grabbing you by your ankles as you lean back to kick him again. “Os voy a dar una lección.” He mumbles, twisting your legs until you stop resisting. You swallow a squeak that threatens to bubble up from the pain, you’re about to swing on him when he pushes you back down, his hands swiftly yank your pants down making you freeze in shock. He doesn’t give you a chance to protest as he drags you off the cot, knocking the wind out of you as you hit the tent floor.

“Asshole!” You yelp as he pins you down with his knees, taking both your wrists in one large hand as you squirm beneath him, trying to flip him off you.

“Fucking- quit it.” He delivers a sharp slap to your jaw promptly halting your struggle as you scowl at him. You’re about to hurl another insult at him when you hear the familiar sound of his switchblade flipping open. “Don’t move.” He mumbles as you feel the cold steel against your hip and in an instant you hear a slicing, followed by the same on the other side, you squeeze your thighs together instinctively as he pulls your panties off with ease now that the sides are torn.

“Frankie!” You shriek and he takes the opportunity to shove the bunched up fabric between your teeth.

“‘Talk too damn much.” You try to kick him again as he tugs your pants the rest of the way down, bringing them up as he haphazardly flips you onto your stomach, binding your hands behind your back with one of your pant legs. You’re about to spit your panties out when you feel the steel on your throat. “You keep that smart mouth of yours stuffed or I’ll find another way to shut you up.” His blade digs into your flesh as a silent warning and you don’t dare. He gives you a minute to decide what you want to do and you choose to just stay still, trying desperately to steady your breathing.

He digs his knee into your lower back one more time, eliciting a pained groan from you before slotting himself between your thighs. You’re dizzy from everything happening so fast and he doesn’t give you much of a chance to process any of it as he takes hold of your makeshift cuffs, dragging you upright as you kneel, his free hand wrapping around your waist to cup your mound.

“You know how often I think about this?” He rests his temple on yours as his chin sits on your shoulder, his body heat suffocates you.

How many times had you reluctantly thought about the same thing? Rolling to face away from him in your shared tent and shoving your hand between your legs, imagining what it would be like when he finally got sick of your shit and bent you over. You’re snapped out of your thoughts as he dips two fingers between your folds with a satisfied sigh. He slides his digits back and forth, scooping up your abundant wetness with a throaty chuckle.

“You get off on bein’ a brat?” He dangles his fingers in front of your face before rubbing your slick onto your parted lips, forcing you to taste your own arousal. “Then I’ll treat you like a brat.” He tangles his fingers in your hair, yanking your head up as you feel him grind the front of his pants against your ass. “Fuckin’ soaking me.” He bends you over, forcing your ass up and pushing your face into the floor. He keeps one hand locked around your wrist as the other shoves his own pants down. You whine into the makeshift gag. “Maybe I’ll just fuck some obedience into you.”

You let out a squeak as he slaps your rear. He lets his palm rest there, before roughly spreading your cheeks. You hear him spit, followed by the sensation of it dripping down your seam, you can feel him lining himself up at your entrance, all of his actions are rushed and you just can’t keep up, your body doesn’t even have time to make an attempt at defending yourself as he rams himself into you without warning. A muffled squeal falls from your lips as he beings to fuck you mercilessly, giving you no time to adjust to the sheer size of him.

With your face pressed into the floor you can’t see him but you can certainly feel just how thick he is. The underlying pleasure does nothing to soothe the feeling of being split open by him.

“Jesus-” He grunts out, your pussy gushing around him only spurs him on, his movements somehow becoming harsher as he bumps against your g-spot with ever slam of his hips, the combines overstimulation and pain makes your eyes water, a few tears slipping past your lash line. “Dunno how I’m gonna last in such a tight cunt.” He slaps your ass again, hard enough that you’re pretty sure you’ll have a mark, drawing a sob from you. “Fuckin’ choking my cock when I do that.”

He spanks you again, a loud crack rings throughout the tent as your cunt involuntarily clamps down on him, his hips stuttering forward.

“You fucking love this, don’t you?” His voice is low and dangerous as the rough denim of his jeans scratches at your thighs. “Is that why you keep squeezin’ me?” You don’t realize he expects a response until he smacks you again. “You love this?” You nod fervently, mumbling something similar to a yes into your panties. “You wanna finish on my cock?” Much to your own dismay you nod once more.

You don’t know how, but against all odds you really are close. The coil tightening in your stomach threatens to consume you as you try desperately to force yourself over that edge to no avail.

“That’s too bad, only good girls get to come.” He growls, readjusting himself so one hand is tangled in your hair and the other is gripping your wrists, keeping you hovering above the tent floor rather uncomfortably, your lurch forward with every one of his brutal thrusts. You groan something that sounds like his name but you know it’s useless to try and reason with him. With a few more long drawn out thrusts you feel him burst within you, his grip on your hair tightens and you shriek as his release begins dripping from your swollen cunt as he slips out of you.

Your tears are drying on your face and you slump forward once his hands release you. Your body continues to buzz with frustration, a small part of you is genuinely upset at your lack of an orgasm. You can hear the rest of your mission party returning as Frankie leans forward and presses a kiss between your shoulder blades, a sharp contrast to everything he just did to you. You can hear the zipper on his pants as he pulls himself together, leaving you wrecked on the floor.

“Why don’t we see how Pope feels about your little mishap?” He whispers before you turn your head just in time to watch him lean out of the tent, calling Santiago over.

a/n : i would love any sort of feedback on this?? i've never written anything like this before so i'm a little nervous.

#lincolndjarin #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #francisco catfish morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie x reader #frankie morales x reader #dark!frankie morales #frankie 'catfish' morales

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multiharlot · 8 months

Text

cayendo // matt murdock x age gap!reader

summary: your husband takes a business trip to la

warnings: it's always the "my wife" guys...looking at you NED FULMER........i'm so sorry for this, lmao

i like feeling pain so uhhhh song inspiration is cayendo by frank ocean.

main masterlist || series masterlist || add yourself to my taglist!

you sighed as you sat next to your husband's half packed bag on your bed.

"what?" he asks, stopping after he places a t shirt into the bag.

"i just...why the suit?" you frown, and he just smiles, sitting next to you.

"hey, it's just in case. i'm literally going to defend my suit tailor from a vigilante. i might need it." he shrugs, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to your pouting lips.

you just groan, throwing yourself backwards onto the bed and flopping your arms dramatically above your head. matt laughs softly, shaking his head at your antics. he places the last item of clothing into his bag and pushes the bag off of the bed before laying right on top of you.

"you know i love you, yeah? and that i'll always come home to you?" he asks, leaning up on his forearms and pushing a few stray pieces of hair away from your face.

"yeah but-"

"no but's. you know that, right?"

"yes." you sigh, and matt smiles, placing his hand softly on your cheek.

"i'll be okay. it's just a week, my love." he says, your heart fluttering at how softly and delicately he spoke to you.

you closed your eyes, leaning your face onto his hand and letting out a soft breath before opening your eyes and smiling up at your husband.

"i love you"

"i love you more" he smiles, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips.

liar. liar liar liar.

it's all that ran through your head as you looked down at your phone, seeing pictures of daredevil and she-hulk flood your timeline. edits of them together and a video of your husband leaving an apartment building early in the morning with his shoes in hand. clearly doing the walk of shame.

you'd seen enough.

you throw your phone to the opposite side of the couch and just sit there, staring at the blank wall in front of you. you weren't really sure what to do. scream. cry. call him and yell. leave and never speak to him again.

you genuinely didn't know what to do.

your phone violently began to vibrate and ring, and you just sat there, letting it ring. letting the texts and calls pile up. undoubtedly foggy and karen calling you after seeing the news all over their timelines. but let's be honest, even if you did pick up the phone, you'd have nothing to say. what could you say?

your husband just cheated on you.

what in the world could you possibly say?

your thoughts were interrupted by violent knocking at your door. you took a moment to breathe before making your way to the door and slowly bringing it open, and you're face to face with your best friend, leanne. she stands there, slightly out of breath and her eyes fixed onto you, seemingly waiting for you to say something.

"what do i do?" you breathe out, your eyebrows furrowed as you stand there in front of her, still in disbelief.

"you do whatever you need to do. and whatever it is, i support you. need to leave? i'll pack your things. do you need to stay? we'll get comfy and we can talk through it. wanna set his stuff on fire? i'll grab the matches. need to disappear and change your identity? i know a guy. you tell me whatever it is you need right now, and we'll do it." she says firmly, walking into your home and shutting the door behind her.

for a moment, you just stood there, still in the hallway. everything around you felt like him. hell, you were wearing his clothes. and even in his betrayal, you'd never felt safer than when you were surrounded in these pieces of him. knowing that made part of you angry, but it also made part of you break more than you thought it could. the place where you felt safest is a place you didn't belong. a place you weren't sure you ever belonged in the first place. deep down you always kind of knew. you knew that you weren't really his...type.

you almost wanted to laugh at yourself.

a type. what a small menial thing in comparison to falling in love. who cares about an archetype when you're in love.

but deep deep down, and every now and then, very sparsely, the thought came into your head. you'd considered the women he'd loved. the hard headed type, fighting the world in their mini skirts and heels. the bold type. they were so outspoken and strong. physically and mentally. when they spoke, everyone turned their heads to look and listen. they captured the attention of a room full of people simply just by walking in. you'd admired it. admired them. but you also knew, that just wasn't you. and even though you knew that, you'd always figured it was dumb. it wasn't an insecurity so much as it was just....a known fact. you were his type breaker. but that didn't really matter because at the end of the day, he married you. he built a life with you. why would something as dumb as a type matter when he chose you to spend forever with?

but now, suddenly, types mattered. and while he was always yours, it's clearly evident that you were never his. wether he married you or not, at the end of the day, you just weren't his type.

"what's going on in your pretty head, huh?" leanne asks softly, coming up behind you, wrapping her arms around you and laying her head on your shoulder.

you didn't bother to answer. not wanting to burden her with everything going on in your head.

he was supposed to come home tomorrow. you'd counted down the days. but now, you weren't sure you wanted to be there when he got home and yet you couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

*****

matt murdock didn't think it was possible for him to run this fast. as soon as the plane landed, he'd run out of the terminal gates about to flag down a taxi when he'd heard foggy shouting.

"HEY YOU GIGANTIC IDIOT GET IN THE CAR!"

for a moment, he'd considered walking instead. he'd rather suffer walking 20 miles back to his apartment than a 30 minute car ride with foggy, who was beyond pissed.

matt walked towards the car and foggy snatched his suitcase from his hand, quite literally throwing it into the backseat and slamming the door shut as he walked over to the drivers side.

"i'm not opening your door"

matt opened his mouth to speak, but he decided it was best not to. he slid his hand across the door before grabbing the handle and sliding into the passenger seat before sinking into himself. all he could think about was getting home to his wife. hoping and praying that she'd be there when he got back.

"why'd you do it" foggy asked, his voice cold and angry.

his tone was harsh and he was short with matt. rightfully so.

"i...i don't even know."

matt wasn't even sure why he did what he did. he'd just...slipped into his old ways, he guessed. he loved his wife. he loved you. you were everything he'd ever dreamed of in a woman. you two fit like a glove. complimented each other. your lifestyles complimented each other. so he didn't even know how it happened. he just knew that he was sorry, and he'd do anything to fix it.

foggy scoffed, shaking his head.

"you don't know? you don't know. great. that's just great, matt. so you did it for no reason then?"

"no. not for no reason i-"

"then what? huh? what fucking reason could you possibly have to cheat on your wife, matt? the woman who makes you elaborate lunches to take to work and- and- brings the entire office coffee in the mornings on the way to work? the woman who re-sews the buttons on your shirts with silk thread so they're more comfortable for you and who planned an elaborate beach honeymoon so that for once in your life you'd be able to experience silence? that's the woman you deiced to cheat on?"

matt didn't have an answer. he wish he did. any answer, even if it was an awful one. but he really didn't know why he did it.

"i just...got caught up in the moment. the adrenaline of it all-"

"the adrenaline of it all. okay. right. so do you just have sex with everyone you fight with out there? that a normal occurrence for you?" foggy sarcastically spit out.

matt almost physically winced at foggy's coldness. never in their many years of friendship had foggy been this angry at him. never had matt ever felt like foggy would give up on him. except for right now.

"fog i-"

"no. no you don't get to speak. you're gonna sit there, and you're gonna think about what you're gonna say to her."

and that's what he did. matt sat there, thinking about you. thinking about if you'd be there when he got home. how he'd fix this. he opened his mouth as he turned to foggy and dared to ask

"how is she?"

the question almost made foggy want to laugh. like...maniacally laugh.

"i dunno. her husband just cheated on her. i'd say not very good."

"is she...did she-"

"leave? no. but if you ask me, she should have."

deep down matt wanted to argue that face, but he didn't. he knew better.

"so she's still-"

"i said yes, matt. she's still at home."

matt sunk further into his seat, if that was even possible. and while he and foggy sat in silence, so did you. you were sat at the living room table, a cup of tea in your hand, your leg bouncing up and down in attempt to release your anxiety.

you looked down at your phone, and part of you didn't want to do it. you were sure you wanted to stay here. work through it. but the next thing you knew, you were running across the apartment, stuffing clothes into a bag with your phone tucked between your shoulder and your ear.

"y/n? are you okay?"

"no. i can't be here when he gets here. i need to go."

there was a moment of silence and then lianne's voice came through, harsh and determined.

"i'll be there in five."

taglist:

@multibishh @anothersworld @fuck-goes-on @Mrbillymontgomery @takeyour-pants-off @alexxavicry @eddiemvnsons @caseket @glowstick-lesbian @inas-thing @luvr-bunnyy @desert-fern @dvredevil-s-initivls @thychuvaluswife @drunkangels @nia_um @afootnoteinyourhappiness @slut4murdock

#murdock #marvel #x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel men #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #netflix daredevil #matt murdock imagine #matthew murdock x reader #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x age gap!reader #matthew murdock

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miasmaghoul · 9 months

Note

what about mountain and dew high together and dew gets the courage to top mountain. but mountain thinks it's adorable (but he doesn't let dew know that) and he let's dew top him

oh hell yeah

(this is maybe not exactly what you asked for but uhhhh just go with it lmao)

Cozy.

That's the word Mountain would use to describe his current state. Sprawled on the floor of the greenhouse, high as a kite and basking in the scent of turned earth and humid air. Watching early spring rain pour over the angled glass roof, accompanied by the low rumble of distant thunder and the rare flash of lightning. His favorite sort of weather.

The press of a small body on top of his own has him purring, and it's loud enough to drown out the thunder.

"You're so high," comes a light voice from above him, and Mountain chuckles.

"Like you aren't," he murmurs, sluggishly lifting his head. Dew is definitely at least as stoned as he is, red-eyed and twirling a lock of silver hair around an elegant finger. It's a good look for him.

"Maaaaybe," the little ghoul sing-songs, resting his chin on Mountain's chest and giving him a goofy grin. "You complaining?"

"Never," Mountain rumbles, wrapping long arms around Dew and giving him a squeeze. It wrings a chirp from those pretty pink lips, a sweet sound that hits Mountain in all the right places.

They've been here for a while now, long before the rain started. Dew is a frequent visitor in the spring, happy to finally be outside again without the wintery chill biting into his flesh. The hazards of being a water ghoul, Mountain supposes. Dew is a different person in the greenhouse - soft and quiet, tapping into his power to help him mist the plants and re-pot overgrown foliage. They fall into a routine, and it's the only time Mountain has ever seen Dew content to attend to something like a chore.

Maybe that has something to do with what always happens after they finish work. When Mountain breaks out his secret stash of the good shit and they end up in just this spot, loose and comfortable and lost in a decidedly purple haze.

Mountain drags broad palms over Dew's back and the little ghoul hums his appreciation, mirroring the motion along Mountain's sides. Casual touches, the pair of them tactile and blissfully caught up in simple sensation. Mountain watches Dew's face as they feel one another, watches his eyes darken and his smile gain a lascivious tilt. He licks his lips, and Mountain's stomach gives a delightful little swoop.

"Come here," he says, and Dew needs no further invitation.

He shimmies up just enough to catch Mountain in a languid kiss, slow and decadent in a way Dew only gets when he's stoned. His long fingers thread into Mountain's hair at the same time Dew licks into his mouth, thumbs grazing the tender place where his horns meet his skin, and Mountain can't hold back his groan.

His own hands stroke over the little ghoul's back, rippling his already wrinkled shirt and tracing the ridge of his spine. Subtly lifting it, exposing the soft skin of Dew's lower back to his wandering fingertips. Mountain drags them along Dew's waistband while Dew busies himself sucking on his tongue, and the sound he makes when Mountain's callused digits sneak into his jeans is simply divine.

"Grabby," he accuses, tugging at Mountain's lower lip with playful fangs. "Lookin' for somethin'?" Mountain hums, leaning up to lick a drop of saliva from the corner of Dew's mouth.

"Could ask you the same thing," he replies, pressing against Dew's ass. It forces the little ghoul to rut against his stomach, and the press of his stiff little dick into his belly has them both groaning. Not that he's alone there, Mountain's been chubbed up against his zipper since Dew took up residence on his chest.

Dew catches him in another kiss then, but there's a new hunger in it. An eagerness matched by the way the little ghoul rocks his hips, grinding into the slight softness of Mountain's belly. He can feel the wet spot on Dew's jeans already, the sea-sweet aroma of his arousal mixing with the heady floral scent surrounding them. If Mountain slipped curious fingers between his cheeks, he knows Dew would be all wet there too.

But when he tries to do just that, Dew chitters and pulls away.

"Wait, wait," he huffs, resting his forehead against Mountain's and giving him a perfect view of bloodshot seafoam eyes and pink cheeks.

"Something wrong, droplet?" He gets both hands on Dew's ass, gives it a solid squeeze. "I can tell you want it." He tugs those slim hips against him once more and relishing the little shiver Dew gives in return.

"Yeah," he breathes, low, "yeah, but not - I don't -"

He fiddles with Mountain's hair, carding his fingers through think auburn strands while he stumbles over his words. Mountain rubs his nose against the little ghoul's, affectionate and encouraging. It's interesting to see Dew hesitant, he's not usually one that has trouble saying what he wants.

"What is it, angelfish? Is there -"

"I wanna fuck you."

He says it in all in a rush, and Mountain's words catch in his throat. His hands still as the gears in his head turn, processing Dew's request. The little ghoul searches his face for a moment before he leans back down, nuzzling Mountain's jaw and giving his earlobe a nibble. He sighs, stretching his neck as Dew starts to kiss his way down it. Wet and filthy.

"You...you what?"

"Wanna give it to you," Dew mutters, the words soft but insistent. "Wanna...wanna stick it in, can I?"

The way he asks could almost be called innocent, but the nasty little hump he gives Mountain's stomach is anything but. It makes his head spin, makes his cock throb where it's trapped against his hip. It's something Dew has never asked for, something he didn't even know the little ghoul would want. It's rare that anyone asks Mountain if they can fuck him, and Dew being so blunt about it is doing funny things to his insides.

Or maybe that's just the cool slide of that skilled tongue along his pulse point. Hard to say.

Either way, he knows the answer.

"Yeah," Mountain says with a sigh, hands slipping up Dew's shirt to hold him close. "Fuck, yeah you can."

Any slowness gets thrown out the window the moment the words are out, Dew wriggling out of Mountain's grasp and sliding down to kneel between his legs. It only takes a moment for the little ghoul to divest Mountain of his pants, and even less time for Dew to wrap his lips around the ruddy head of his cock and give it a firm suck.

"Oh, oh -" Mountain gasps as Dew takes him deeper, reaching down to lace his fingers into long, silver hair. "D-Dew, shit..."

The little ghoul works him purposefully, bobbing his head over the first few inches of Mountain's thick cock, one hand working the rest while his other fumbles with his own belt. Mountain groans low in his throat while he watches the show - watches Dew drool down his shaft and dip down to lick at his balls, watches him kick off his own jeans and boxers. Watches him pull back to kneel between his spread thighs, that hand still wrapped around the base of his wet length, lips slick and swollen.

Dew's own cock juts out from his lap, pink and shiny and so hard it's curved up towards his stomach. Mountain's mouth waters at the sight of it, and when he licks his lips he has the pleasure of watching it spit a blob of pre that dribbles down his short, slender shaft. If he were in a teasing mood he'd call it cute, but the look Dew gives him - starved and needy - helps him keep the thought to himself.

Dew gives him one last tug, long and slow, rubbing over the frenulum long enough to make him hiss before letting go. It falls against Mountain's shirt with a wet slap, makes him grunt, but all his attention is focused on Dew. On the hungry look in his eye, the flush of his cheeks and the tension threaded through his slim form. He grips Mountain's thighs, spreads them wide, and when the rough tips of two fingers graze his hole Mountain shudders.

"Good?"

"S'nice," Mountain slurs, his own hands idly running over his own chest. Fiddling with his nipples through his shirt for something to do. "Keep going. Get me ready."

Truthfully, Dew could probably fuck him with no prep. Could slide that sweet little stiffy of his right inside with no trouble. Sure, it might sting for a second, but beyond that?

But saying it is worth it for the moan Dew gives him, tight and pained and paired with a strong kick of that small cock. Makes it hit his t-shirt, leaving a cute little wet spot behind. He gets a hand on himself immediately, giving it a firm squeeze.

"Hold your legs," Dew says, shaky and thick. "Lemme see it, wanna see it."

His voice cracks at the end, and Mountain obliges. Hooks his hands behind his knees and pulls those long legs to his chest. Holds himself open, exposes the most secret part of himself in a way that would have him blushing if he were even a little bit more sober.

Now, though? Now he's too caught up in the way Dew's brow furrows at the sight. In the way he sucks his lower lip between his fangs when Mountain clenches.

"Pretty," Dew breathes, wiggling a fingertip over wrinkled skin just enough to tickle. To make it wink against the pad of his finger. Dew's slight shoulders hunch with it, he makes a strangled sound, and Mountain leaks onto his own shirt.

"Gonna stretch it out?" He feels breathless already, and he really doesnt know why. Must have something to so with the stunned look Dew wears. "Fill me up?"

"Uh huh," Dew says, slack jawed and staring at the way his hole twitches. He sounds so adorably stupid like this, and Mountain can't resist pushing just a little bit further.

"Gonna make me take it?"

The little ghoul's face crumples as he gives a frantic nod, and then he's moving. Pulling back the hand that was teasing Mountain's hole and using two fingers to polish the sticky head of his cock. Smearing pre over the digits and getting them nice and slick. There's always so much of it, a leaky tap thanks to his water ghoul nature. Mountain rarely has to use lube when he carves a place for himself in that tiny body, and he's ever so pleased to see that it works both ways.

Dew spreads the mess over his entrance, presses a spidery finger inside, and oh it's good. Better that it should be for how little stimulation there is, helped along no doubt by the high and the anticipation. By the way Dew's already panting as he pumps that single digit in and out, crooking it on each slide in until he finds the spot that makes Mountain's thighs quiver.

"Yeah, right there," he groans, letting his head thump back against the floor while Dew massages him just right. Presses against his prostate and makes his cock spit more fluid onto his already damp shirt.

"More?"

Dew sounds lost, somehow. Like he can't believe this is happening. Mountain grunts his assent and Dew pulls his finger back, sliding in with two this time. It's enough of a stretch to really feel now, a tingly burn that lights up Mountain's nerves and has him moaning deep in his chest.

Dew whimpers at the feel of him clenching around his fingers, hunting again for that sweet spot. He finds it quicker this time, and when he puts blessed pressure on it Mountain goes boneless on the greenhouse floor.

"Dew, oh fuck, Dew -"

"Is it...good?" Poor thing sounds so unsure. So needy for reassurance. Who is Mountain to deny him?

"So good," he mutters, rocking his hips in an effort to take those wonderful fingers even deeper. "You're doing so good, don't stop, oh -"

His back arches when Dew curls his fingers just right, and he can hear the moment the little ghoul loses his patience. It comes in the form of a stuttered whine and Dew's other hand flying to Mountain's thigh. Holding on for dear life. The one inside him goes still, and Dew's breathing is so harsh you'd think he'd been running a marathon.

"Mount...Mount, can I?" He pulls those talented fingers back, lining himself up and nudging the flared head against that hole instead. Prodding at it. "Please, I gotta - gotta feel you, please -"

He wants to watch. To see the undoubtedly shocked look on Dew's face when he finally pushes that slippery little dick of his into the hot clutch of his body. Wants to drink down the hurt cries of pleasure that he can already imagine filling the room, to lose himself in the filthy slap of skin on skin.

But he can't. Can't lift his head. Can't take his eyes off the sheets of rain washing over the roof. Can't focus on anything but the ache in balls and the gentle press of Dew's cock at his entrance. Waiting for permission.

He'll have to be less high next time they do this.

"Go on," he encourages, hitching his knees higher, "put it in. Give it to me."

Dew digs his claws into Mountain's thighs, presses forward, and Mountain doesn't know which of them is louder. He slides in so easily, so smoothly, further and further until their hips meet and they're both left gasping.

Dew's babbling, he can hear it, but there's no sense to the words. A reaction to sheer overwhelm, to heat and pressure and the newness of it all. His hands stroke feverishly over Mountain's skin, from his ass to the backs of his knees. Self soothing more than anything else. Mountain can feel him pulsing inside, so very hard, and to his utter delight that little cock is just long enough to nudge perfectly at his prostate.

"You feel so good," he sighs, and Dew throbs. Mountain clamps down around him, and Dew sobs. He forces himself to look then, and it's enough to have the knot of pleasure in his stomach tightening.

Dew looks beautiful, flushed right down his throat. If he didn't have a shirt on, Mountain knows he'd be painted pink right down to the nipples he can see poking though thin cotton. He's sweaty at his hairline, silver strands plastered to his cheeks and forehead. His top lip is curled back, exposing the chipped, crowded fangs that everyone finds so charming. His chin shines, slick with drool that has dripped down to soak into his shirt. He's wrecked already, and Mountain can't resist clenching again just to see him wince.

"C'mon, droplet," he coos, "be a good boy and fuck me like you mean it."

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #mountain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #mountain/dew #mountain x dew #bottom mountain #dew has the worst praise kink and we all know it

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