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whore-ibly-hot · 3 months

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"A Servant and His King."

Yandere!Fae-King x Fae!servant x. Fem! Reader

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, coercion, fae related hijinks, basically monster fucking, oral (fem receiving), loss of virginity, clit play, p-in-v sex, power dynamics.

(A/N): Part two to a non-smutnfic about Puck, based off of puck from 'Midsummer Nights Dream'. Can be read with or standalone.

Part one (not required to understand)

A brief gust of wind and leaves rattles the shutters of your small cottages window, not sounding out of place when mixed with the usual sounds of the forest. However, the gust turns softer as it gently brushes against the shutters, causing them to open slowly with a creak.

A pair of feet land nimbly upon the wooden dresser across the room from your bed, a shadowy figure squatting down with a grin. The figure hops down, making its way to your bed, where you sleeping form lies blissfully unaware of the intruder.

Groaning, you are soon roused from your slumber by a light pressure on your wrist, and your eyes flutter open. You gasp, seeing the being before you and trying to pull away. "

"W-who are you! Stay awa-" a finger is pressed softly to your lips, the figures face coming into view as the lean forward. Forest green eyes and a set of familiar pearly whites greet you.

"Shh! No need to fear, only Puck is here." He coos, kissing your wrist once more, pressing the soft flesh to his lips. "Sorry to frighten you, little mortal. I would never mean to upset you, but I couldn't very waltz in through the entrance to your humble abode, especially given your mother's feelings about my kind." He lays his lithe body across yours, head on your chest as he looks at you with glee.

"Why are you here, Puck? It's late, I must rest." You say, though you don't resist the fae boys touching. "Sleep is important for humans."

He scoffs. "I know, but I have something more important than your human need for sleep. My king, Oberon, leader of the seelie court wishes to meet you." He pulls you up by your shoulders, a hand fixing your nightgown which begins to slip from your shoulder.

"T-the king?" You're just a human woman, a peasant. You've never even met a human noble, much less a faery king. "Why? Puck, I'm not, I can't! Now? I'm not dressed properly, I'm a human, I-"

Once again, a finger is placed against your lips. Invading your space as per usual, Pucks forehead is pressed against your forehead, nose to nose. "Shush, little mortal. Please, the king loves me. I am his jester-servant, his beloved Puck! We've shared many a-" he chuckles. "Amourous night together. He knows if your good enough for me, then your good enough to meet him. Don't discredit yourself, you are so much more than some mortal maid I take in the woods for a night of passion." He makes her sit up, and tries to slip her out of the bed. "He'll love you, my sweet. It's only proper I introduce my new beloved friend to my closest companion, ruler, and my king." You allow him to pull you out of your bed, and into his lanky form.

"Mmph, Puck. I can walk." You groan, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He tsks with his tongue, and shakes his head.

"No, no, no. Don't whine, don't go away. Be good. It's a long stroll all the way to the spring we're going to, just relax." He cackles. "You humans are so indecisive. Just a moment ago you were whining, 'Puck, no. It's too late, I'm a human, I need my sleep.', now you won't let me carry your frail, tired self to see the king. Make up your mind."

You roll your eyes, but suppose he has a point, and allow yourself to melt into his warm embrace, shoulders flush against his pecs.

As he slips back through the window and dances through the glen, weaving through trees and brush like a gust of cool night air, he soon arrives upon a clearing. Smooth rock reflect moonlight, as the water resting atop them comes from the babbling freshwater spring that rests at the edge of the rocks. A figure, imposing and much more muscular than Puck's is sat on one of the rocks, admiring the water.

Puck gently sets you down with nimble hands, kissing your ear lightly. This causes you to squeak and push him off.

"Stop it, Puck! I-im about to meet a king and your acting like we're lovers! Like your an enamored schoolboy!" You exclaim, and his hands only wrap around your waist from behind, playing with the cloth there.

"And here I thought we were lovers..." He feigns a sad face and a pout, before jolting forward and taking you with him by the waist. "My king!" He yells.

The imposing figure looks over, causing you to freeze, mind not really in synch with body as Puck drags you forward. The king is truly a thing of beauty, rugged and piercing as if he were carved, not from stone, but from the wood that made up the forest which he called his domain. He wears a fur pelt around his waist, covering his only upper thigh and not leaving much to the imagination. His is decidedly hairy, and though beautiful is as rugged as a human man of the woods is expected to be. He has dark curls of hair not unsimilar to Puck's, but not as long. His eyes are a deep brown.

"Ah, Puck, my fair servant friend. I was almost afraid you had planned to trick me, having not shown yet." The king muses, legs spread casually and a hand resting against his chin.

Puck gasps, hand to his chest as if hurt. "Never, my liege. Well, at least not to you." Puck coos, sitting on the rock and curling up to the man's calve. The king runs his hands through the curls of the fae man, and you are taken aback by the sensuality of their interaction.

The king looks up. "And you, little mortal, must be my Pucks new favorite thing, hmm?" He asks, head tilted. You nod nervously as the man waves you closer. You bow, and he grins. "Good, good. I assume she knows who I am then? I am King Oberon, of this enchanted woods and over all of the seelie court. Though, my servant here told me you knew little to nothing of our people when asked you about us, so I doubt you'd know what the seelie court is."

You shake your head. "No, sir. All I know-" you glance at Puck, who is practically purring at his kings touch. "All I know is what Puck has told me. That you are powerful, and to be respected."

Oberon grins at this. "That is all you need know. Come here, allow a king to gaze upon you." His hands begin to wander, cupping your face. His large fingers prod your plump lips, your cheeks, and tilts your chin downwards to look at him from where he is sat. Then, the hand is on your shoulder, playing with the straps of your upper garment, then at your chest. This sudden touch in such an intimate place causes you to jolt back. Oberon raises a brow.

"I'm sorry, sir. That is, that is just a very intimate place for humans. It's for sensual matters, when between two adults." You try to explain. Puck sighs, leaning his head on Oberons knee while the king chuckles.

"I am aware. It is intimate and sensual for fae too. That is why you were being touched there." He says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Now, you are only more confused.

"Well, intimacy of those matters between humans happens between a-a married couple, and even then, it should not be openly discussed. A woman like myself couldn't, shouldn't ever bee with a stranger like that, not even a suitor before marriage!"

"I have heard humans are... less indulgent in the passions of life than fae. All those awful, boring rules. And yet you kill your leaders and revolt because your miserable? Perhaps. Eing unable to express those urges is why." He laughs, and Puck joins in. He sense your confusion and continues. "Fae do not believing in brief enjoyment and indulgence. We live life to the fullest. Our liquor is stronger yet we drink more, our food is richer, yet we all eat like kings. And most of all, we indulge in the passions of the flesh with each other more than your little mind could take. I think if you had the opportunity, you'd see it was the best way to live." He muses.

To your suprise, he suddenly moves Puck up from his calve to his lap, holding the thin man by the waist as Puck grins wickedly. "You see, me and my servant here are close, emotionally and physically. We have enjoyed many a night of passion, without the watchful eye of my queen, of course." There is some bitterness in Oberon's tone at the mention of his queen.

"You... you indulge in passion with those, of the same gender as you, o-often?" You ask. It is not wrong, you are just so suprised and curious. You are not even supposed to think about a man pleasing a woman, let alone a man and another man. It is such a foreign idea.

"Mhmm. Being a king is hard for his majesty, and Puck... I, am happy to help him with his desires. My king cares for me, and I care for him." Puck says, before gasping and cutting off. You blush, seeing Oberons hand has slipped below Pucks leafy loincloth, hand stroking Puck manhood. He focuses only on the tip for now.

"I am suprised seeing as you are so shocked by how touchy and sensual fae are, seeing as you bedded my dear servant." Oberon says, and you immediately shake your head.

"No! I've never, me and Puck did nothing together. We drank a little, but he took me home." You exclaim, and look st Ouck for answers. He's too busy letting out soft whimpers and moans as Oberon moves his hand the full length of Pucks cock, paying attention to his bulbous tip.

"Is this true, Puck? I find it hard to believe, my servant can't keep his hands to himself. I suppose this makes you seem even more special to me, that my Puck would wish to see you again so desperately, and rave about you to me even if he had not bedded you yet. That begs the question though..." He leans in to Puck's ear. "Why did you lie to your king?"

Puck groans, brows furrowing. "M' sorry, your majesty! I knew you were so busy, and if I told you I had found a mortal capable of giving such incredible pleasure, you'd be more likely to come and see what a treasure I had found." He stammers. The king shakes his head, slowing his movements on Puck's cock.

"You know better than to lie to a king with a temper, Puck."

Puck cries out, bucking his hips and trying to chase that friction against his kings rough hands. "N-no sir! Trust me, I know if she'd just indulge, the mortal would be wonderful! She... she could be our mortal, not just mine! Please sir, I'll be good, she'll be good, don't stop." He begs.

Oberon sighs, still frowning in Pucks direction but intrigued nonetheless. "Alright, mortal girl. I yell you, if you would only let go, indulge just a bit in the pleasures of the fae, you would live a better life overall. And, should you please a king of the woods, perhaps your... what is it your mother does? Herbs? Perhaps they would see a better yield. An enchantment perhaps?" He offers.

You gulp, body hot with both arousal at the sight before you and anxiety. "I couldn't. What would the people in town think, I-I would be outcast!"

"Who would know? Even if someone were to find out, no one would believe a quiet gardeners daughter slept with a wicked spirit." The king teases, tongue poking out from between his lips slightly. He pulls you to him, and you offer no resistance. "For an untouched maiden, I assure you there is no one better to introduce you to a world of pleasure than the king, and his most loyal servant."

As he says this, the moaning Puck latches his lips onto your neck, continuing to moan as he sucks the soft flesh. You gasp.

"Oh, oh, gods." You squeak, the sensitive skin of your nape never having been touched, much less kissed in such a way.

"No gods, here, mortal. No angels or demons, only fae. Only the spirits of nature." He leans into your ear, kissing the shell. "Only your king."

Soon, a rough hand gets your skirt pooled around your knees, kneading the fat of your thigh and preparing to spread your legs and allow the fae king and his srmervant a view of the untouched treasure that lies there. You shiver as the cold air brushes across your stomach, you've never felt so exposed.

"See, highness? I told you, she's the perfect, pretty little mortal. Tease her, please? For me? I want to see her face as she experiences pleasure for the first time." Puck begs.

Oberon raises a brow and the request. "Such demands from a liar who has already been granted mercy, and is still being pleasure bu the hands of a king." He pulls his hand from Ouck's cock, causing tears to well in the edged faes eyes, having been denied his release.

"Majesty-"

"Enough. I will allow you to tease and prep the maiden, so she may except you king. Before you say anything, be grateful I don't only allow you to watch, or send you home." Puck whines, but grins a little inside. He knows the king enjoys his presence to much to remove him from this sensual scene.

Oberons large hands keep your shoulders flat against the warm stones of the spring, while Puck, still hard beneath his tented loincloth, crawls unceremoniously up between your thighs.

"What are you doing, Puck?" You whisper out softly, looking into his dazzling green eyes. He smiles warmly, pressing his cheek to one of your thighs.

"I assure you, maiden, my wicked tongue is not only good for japes and jabs." He coos. You are still confused at what he could mean, until the two thin fingers parting your folds are replaced with a hot, wet muscle. Puck licks a stripe teasingly up your center, savoring the flavour but eyes never leaving your face.

Oberon smiles down as he watches your face contort and wrinkle at the new sensation.

"Puck, y-your majesty, what is- oh, what is he doing?" You ask, trying to form a coherent sentence at the odd feeling of pressure and friction against both your clit and your entrance as Puck explores your folds.

"It's called cunnilingus, maiden. Fae have many ways to pleasure each other, but many enjoys the feel of one's mouth on their most intimate areas." He chuckles as he watches Puck tasting you curiously. "Sometimes, I find filling his mouth is the only way to quiet him." Puck giggles, and the vibrations make your legs quake.

Soon, the muscle invades your entrance, as Puck is now groaning almost as much as you. It's a gentle stretch, but both Ouck and Oberon know it will be necessary for what the king is to do later. Your aroused and needy clit is not forgotten by the fae pleasuring you, as a free hand comes to tweak it gently. The feeling is overwhelming, and soon, that knot inside you snaps, and you feel a high you've never known. It feels as though currents, waves run through your body as your maidenhood spasms around Pucks tongue.

He removes it, but continues to lap at your spent clit, tasting the juices of your climax. Oberon smiles.

"Was he good, maiden? Did you first touch by a man satisfy?" He asks. You can only weakly nod. "Ah, answer, maiden. Your being addressed by a royal."

"It was... it was very good, m-majesty." You gasp out. You look away at the sheer lewdness of the sight and Oberon crashes his lips to Pucks so that he may taste you on his servants lips.

"She was a divine nectar, my liege." Puck groans, pulling away from the kiss and now trading spots with his king. Now Puck lays by your shoulders, playing with your locks and kissing your neck and jawline while Oberon moves into place.

His chisled body places itself atop you, his sheer size dwarfing you and removing the moonlight from your body, casting a large shadow. You gulp.

"I... I've never done-" he chuckles, cutting you off.

"I'm aware, mortal. All that talk of purity led me to that conclusion. But, you won't be that innocent for long. I will be gentle, but it will hurt at first when you accept me into your sweet cunt. It's all part of the process."

You tense a little at the feeling of something hard, much more rigid than Pucks limp tongue, prodding at your entrance and folds.

"M' scared." You admit. This seems to soften the sensual yet cold king, and he sighs. Even Puck gives him a sad, wide eyes look. He leans down.

"Don't worry, mortal. I will be as gentle as any man has been with a woman. My Puck was never one to be nervous, but I have had lovers in the past who were. I will take care of you." He says.

Puck holds your hand and nuzzles his cheek to yours to provide a semblance of comfort. "It's true. The king is a fair and gentle lover when he wants to be. Don't worry, my friend." He assures.

Oberon strokes your thighs to relax soon, and soon the tip enters your weeping slit. You whine, the intrusion burns a little, especially as he adds a few inches every so often. But, he is slow, and talks you through it.

"Shh, it's alright. Your taking me so well, especially since I am endowed with more than some. Such a good mortal girl, it will feel good once you've stretched to accommodate a fae's cock." He coos.

As he begins to gently thrust, the slightly pain gives way to a burning pleasure. You whimper, his thrusts rocking your ads back against the stone of the spring. His large, curved tip is hitting the right spots, cervix getting pounded by the large man of the forest.

"O-oh, shit! Oberon, please- please, m-more! I need all, all of you in me!" You cry, and he chuckles.

"That's your womb speaking. This is your first time, you couldn't possibly accommodate all of me. But I will give you what I think, ugh, what I think you can take." He thursts become rhythmic, rolling in and out of your stretched tunnel, as Puck holds you steady and plays gently with your chest.

Oberon humps against you a few more times, moaning at Pucks encouragement. "She is so close, sire. I can tell, she's all tense and red, come on! Give it to her, let her take you. Please." It's clear Puck is still needy from not having gotten his release earlier. Still, he seems satisfied watching the king fuck his newest treasure.

"Mortal, mortal. You squeeze like a vice, such a warm, needy cunt. You needed this, to feel such pleasure, didn't you? Needed a cock to fill this cunt?" He moans. "It was fate, wasn't it, Puck? Finding this maiden, all alone. It was fate for you to be brought to us." Puck nods as his master continues.

"Your majesty, I'm gonna- its happening again." You cry, and his pace doesn't slow.

"I know, I know. I'm, fuck-" one last thrust sends the king over the edge. He groans, feeling your tunnel convulse around him as his thick white cum fills you. Puck plants quick, overwhelming kisses across your face as you climax, secretly wondering what you would look like if you bore the king's child.

Soon, Oberon pulls out, and you lay there, trembling and on the verge of sleep. Puck leans down and plants a final kiss upon your lips. He smiles.

"Sleep, little mortal. It's okay, you are safe with me and my king. I'll return you to your bed, pretty one." He strokes your hair softly, until your tired eyes close and stay closes. He sighs, and looks at the king. It's clear he could go for a fee more rounds.

"Majesty, our poor mortal needed this so badly, her body was on fire for it. We can't... we can't well let her go back to her little cottage, all alone in the dangerous wood with no one to please her. She's trusting, and she broke all the rules of interacting with fae so quickly, what if a worse one came along and-"

"Puck!" Oberon exclaims, making the imp jolt and go silent. Oberon sighs. "I am not a fool. I know how much this unique mortal has captivated the two of us. You need not convince me to take her back to my palace. As fair as Titania will be concerned, she is a plaything for you, correct? I will not have her cursing this treasure." Oberons muscular arms cradle your slumbering form.

"Majesty, I know of your endurance. Perhaps when we get back to the palace, while our maiden rests, I may please you." Puck asks, eyes wide and innocent.

Oberon scoffs. "All this acting because I didn't allow you to finish, Puck?" Oberon says, seeing through Pucks facade of goodwill and selflessness. Puck pouts.

"Isn't it tempting, though?"

"Perhaps."

#yandere #yandere oc #tw.yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere content #tw.dark content #x reader #yandere boy #yandere fae #yandere king #oc Puck #oc Oberon #tw.dubcon #yandere smut #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #oc x reader

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brightgoat · 3 months

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STANDVERSE AU: Killer Queen's Cat Cafe // The Crimson Court

As an ode to her beloved user, Queen created a comfortable and quiet lounge. It's made to fit a large crowd, but she only ever invites her few new allies.

Meanwhile, in the name of his User(s), King Crimson is rebuilding their kingdom, bringing their tyranny onto the Flipside (with Epitaph of course).

(close-ups under cut)

#jjba #jjba fanart #jjba au #killer queen #king crimson #jjba stands #jjba killer queen #jjba king crimson #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba fanfiction #fanart #lineless #concept art #art #arrt #standverse #standverse au

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vavoom-sorted-art · 4 months

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Of Kings and Kids - A Good Omens Christmas Story

"Preparing for the arrival of the Messiah, The Son Of God, King Of The Jews and Saviour Of Mankind is stressful enough, but Silas the Shepherd (Happiest goats this side of the Jordan!) a.k.a Aziraphale, Angel Of The Eastern Gate, seems to have it all under control... until a certain demon shows up with some more than alarming news..." - written by @gaiaseyes451 and illustrated by yours truly - coming on Dec 22nd!

Completed now, read on Ao3!

#Of Kings And Kids #christmas story #christmas 2023 #good omens #ineffable christmas #good omens fanart #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #art #good omens fanfiction #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #vavoomart

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huskyweebo · 2 months

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Kings accidental consort. PT. 1 [ ? ]

Tysm to this blog for inspiring me to make an RadioApple fanfic!

“ So do you Agree on the terms. “ Lucifer affirmed, folding his arms as if saying to not agree. He and Alastor were on the patio; the only quiet place in the now bustling hotel,

“ yes yes, “ The radio demon said somewhat dismissively, “ I would only act as a parent to dear Charlie when you are not here, “ he repeated.

A sudden, odd thought came to Lucifer, “ just like divorced dads, “ he heard in his head, making him snicker slightly, Alastor tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “ what seems to be hilarious your Majesty, surely not our agreement “ he proceeded to hold out his hand, Lucifer grasped it.

“ oh nothing, I was just thinking that this deal seems like we act like a sort of divorced couple, and how it would be funny if we were actually, truly married “ they shook hands, around them powerful rays of light signaled a deal being made by an Overlord and King.

Downstairs Charlie and Vaggie were heading to their room after letting Angel handle the new guests for a break. Suddenly, the lights darkened around them and Green light was seen, both girls knew that all too well.

“ I’m sorry but who is making a deal with Alastor? “ Charlie asked. Vaggie raised an eyebrow

“ wait didn’t your dad go up with Alastor a couple minutes ago? … oh shit, “ Vaggie muttered, she grabbed Charlie’s hand and rushed up the stairs leading to the patio where Lucifer had said he will be. The was a lot of commotion behind the closed doors, Charlie kicked it open and ready to fight.

“ -re you shitting me! What is this?! This is your fault sinner ! “ Lucifer yelled once Charlie smashed the door open, her father appeared to be wearing a wedding dress, and blushing profusely. Vaggie burst out laughing.

“ well I wasn’t the one who made a frivolous joke about being married, am I ? “ Alastor said. he seemed frustrated, but he still held his smile. He himself was wearing a black tuxedo and holding a bouquet of flowers.

As they argued, both of their hands flared around. Charlie stayed quiet, not wanting to intervene but suddenly noticed wedding bands on each of their clawed hands, putting two and two together, she gasped loudly. She started squealing making both men stop yelling to look at her,

“ oh my gosh, oh my gosh, Vaggie!! Alastor is officially my Father!! They have Ringsss! “ she said shaking her girlfriend, Tears fell from her eyes.

“ ok easy on the sparkles Hon, “ Vaggie said while being shook, she turned to the males with a questioning look,

“ did you guys seriously get married? “ Charlie ran to hug Alastor, “ NEW DAD ! “ she yelled while sobbing madly,

“ What is this? Dear this isn’t for long, His Highness messed up a deal we were making and ended up like this, “ Charlie was peeled off of his body, and her face told them she was hugely disappointed.

“ what but what kind of deal can you botch that badly to- “

“ WELL TIME TO BREAK THIS MARRIGE “ Lucifer interrupted, snapping his fingers.

The wedding garments disappeared for both, Alastor brushed his clothes, “ There you go, the deal should be of- why do I still have another ring. “ Lucifer stretched out his hand in front of him, on top of his old wedding ring that Lilith gave him, there was still the new one. Alastor looked down, he still had his on aswell.

“ Now this is particularly “ he said off handly, “ I thought you had it covered your majesty, “

“ well I do, give me a second “ Lucifer growled,

20 minutes later and everyone was in the palace with Lucifer running everywhere and looking through all the books he can find, he was muttering under his breath frantically similarly to how Charlie did when she was in a panic,

“ HOW IS THERE NOTHING ABOUT STUPID DEAL BREAKS IN THIS SHITHOLE “ Lucifer yelled out from another room and a book could be seen thrown.

“ hmmm “ Alastor hummed through his smile, he enjoyed the little one running around with tarnish, but he knew the fun couldn’t last. He he assured Charlie then went through his shadow and to where Lucifer was.

“ Your highness what seems to be the problem? “ he asked knowing full well the answer to his own question. Lucifer looked like a complete mess: both his horns and wings were out and he wore a crazed expression,

“ well, funny thing, well um- “ he stammered, then flew up and took another book out of a shelf instead of answering him.

Alastor waited for him to come down, he was like a prissy baby and currently, he knew not that Alastor could hear him from down below. The king cursed him out and his past living self. The book he previously had in his hand fell with a slam right next to Alastor, Lucifer cursed even more and flew higher, deep into the high rise library, Alastor went to pick up the book but immediately dropped it when it burned his skin through his gloves.

It was a holy book, ‘ Deals With The Unholy ‘ it was called. All around Alastor was holy books similar to that.

Finally, Lucifer calmed down slightly and flew back to where Alastor was, he was panting heavily.

“ finally calmed down? “ the Sinner rejoiced, his smiled sickened Lucifer, “ I see you don’t got this handled, “ the King rolled his eyes,

“ looks like apparently once a deal is made it can never be broken until it ends, but we never put a deadline, so it’s not possible… but I swear I had saw something about breaking a deal somewhere! “ he said with a pout, Alastor laughed slightly.

“ well I suggest we go ahead and tell our daughter that becuase she is currently worried about you. “ Alastor said smoothly,

“ she worried about me ? “ Lucifer said excitedly, then clearing his throat embarrassed when he saw Alastors face.

“ what do you mean, ‘ our duaghter ‘ she’s my duaghter not yours “ he growled. Alastor laughed,

“ Well this ring says otherwise, so until we find out a way to break this frivolous deal, we are officially married so she is indeed my duaghter. “ Lucifer narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything, “ go along now darling, please tend to OUR daughter “ The short king muttered angerly as he left, not waiting for him.

Alastor waited for him to close the door. The sound of a Wendigo could be heard from him.

he held his hand with his wedding band out, from it, sparks came from it and suddenly a book appeared in his hand. He reading for a brief moment before shutting and burning it.

“ A slight mishap that I could use, maybe being married isn’t such a bad thing “ Alastor started laughing, he continued on as he went through the shadows…

TBC [ ? ]

#radioapple #vivziepop #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #fanfic #hazbin spoilers #hazbin hotel fanfiction #appleradio #appleradio fanfic #radioapple fanfic #alastor #alastor x lucifer #prompt fic #my hands hurt #maybe will be another chapter idk #Kings accidental consort

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luxurychristmaspudding · 4 months

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Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all.

until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said.

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled.

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him.

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you.

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out.

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten.

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking.

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other.

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away.

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice.

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out.

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner.

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand.

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks.

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally.

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter.

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there.

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him.

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him.

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street.

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping.

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes.

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down.

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging.

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope.

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name.

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on.

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch.

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim.

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle.

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches.

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot.

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare.

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms.

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach.

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it.

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering -

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead.

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed.

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable.

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put.

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips.

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed.

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question.

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt.

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain.

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp.

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off.

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘I just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock.

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

#pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pickup truck #kings of leon #Spotify #pedro pascal x reader

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asceluffy · 5 months

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OP MEN when they’re in the mood pt. 2

ft. Shanks, Mihawk, Katakuri, King (not proofread)

Shanks

Little did you know that it’s you who gets him in the mood every single time. It’s not just a “I’m feeling horny and I need release” typa thing.

He gets riled up when he watches you put on your favorite lipstick, when you try on your newly bought clothes and show it to him, when you walk around the ship with his shirt on, and when you sit on his lap.

His brain is quick to conjure up different positions he’ll fuck you in when you sit on his lap.

At first, he’d rub your inner thigh ‘absentmindedly,’ and when you shift on his leg, that’s when he’ll go further.

With a mug of beer in his other hand and half his attention on his crewmates, his fingers slowly dance their way up your leg until he stops just when he’s near your panties.

While he chats with his members he’ll toy with the garter of your underwear, tugging it at first before he snakes his hand inside just to feel the skin near your pussy.

And when you squirm, he’ll lean near your ear, face flushed with words a little slurred.

“Once they all get wasted and pass out I’m gonna fuck you on my bed, yeah?”

Mihawk

Mihawk is the type of person to plan things before it happens.

He’d feel the need to feel the warmth of your pussy as it clenches on his thick cock, but when he sees you busy he’d patiently wait until your schedule is free.

He’d set up a romantic candlelit dinner, cooking you steak and pouring you the finest wine in his collection.

He’d let out a small, ‘nonchalant’ smile when you compliment his cooking, all while holding himself back from pining you on the table and taking you then and there.

On the middle of the dinner, he’d casually say, “Let’s have sex.” which will lead you to choke on your food.

“After dinner,” You’d say, and in his mind he’s already celebrating.

When you two finish, he’ll ask you to take his hand and lead you to the bedroom, gasping when you see rose petals scattered inside and lovely music playing from his vintage record player.

Katakuri

He’s mostly shy around you, being his first girlfriend and all.

Some people may think that he acts coldly towards you, but it’s only you who truly knows why he acts that way.

You’d know he’s in the mood when he acts cranky and touchy.

He’ll wrap his arm around your waist, fiddle with your fingers, compare hand sizes, and glare at anyone who dares speak to you or even breathe your way.

But when he’s really in the mood, his subtle touches will level up.

He’d rub your inner thighs, fondle your breasts, lightly squeeze your butt.

You’d notice how his breath gets heavier and how his pupils dilate when you get near him.

You’ll notice him staring at you the whole day without saying a damn word, and when you notice these signs you’ll chuckle and pull him into a passionate kiss.

King

King is a busy man, working under Kaido means he has to do things almost 24/7.

The only time you’d spend with him is when’s sent on expeditions, which rarely happens because he’s always glued beside Kaido.

Or, when he just finished a battle.

While his whole system is still pumping with adrenaline from a recent battle, the only reason for him to calm down is to sink into your tight cunt.

When he sees you after he just won a fight, all his pent up energy will shoot straight down his dick.

He’s a man of few words, and once he has you pinned against the wall, you know what will happen next.

“Fuck, I haven’t seen you in a long time. Open your pretty legs for me so I can show you how much I missed you.”

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece smut #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #king one piece #king the wildfire #king the wildfire x reader #king x reader #katakuri x reader #charlotte katakuri #akagami no shanks #dracule mihawk

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karmavongrim · 3 months

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Dear Father fanfic idea

DC x DP crossover fanfiction

Fanfic idea of Danny adopting everyone. He’s worse than Batman since he does it 200% deliberately with no age nor race restriction.

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“Absolutely fucking not.”

Yeah, nope. No way in hell was he, John mother-fucking Constantine going to let this happen. Only over his dead body, which might actually be the case by the end of the bloody day if they couldn’t come up with something else other than that. And he wasn’t going to change his mind no matter how much the kid currently gallivanting as a demi-god whined. Wasn’t that a news when he found out several months ago.

“Come on Constans, we both know he wouldn’t mind. Besides what else can we do, we’ve tried everything.” Captain Marvel pleaded with the older man as he gestured their surroundings.

It couldn’t be described as anything else other than apocalyptic. A complete fucking shitshow.

Apparently a prophecy of some kind came to fruition right under their bloody noses and they were left grasping straws to try and stop the end of the world from happening. If only-

“Call him or I’ll call him John! Your choice.” Pressed Marvel who was getting fed up with the magician’s nonsense but he wasn’t bugging, no siree!

“Shut up, we don’t need his help! Just let me-” John yelled while buried head first in his spell book, desperately trying to find away that didn’t require him to relinquish the last few pits of his shabby dignity. Or what was left of it anyways. But Marvel was having non of it.

“Nope, that’s it! I’m making the call!” The red glad man shouted over the blonde brit and pulled out his personal phone which looked like it had been pulled strait out of a sci-fi movie.

This caused John to lunge at Marvel who in return floated away out of his reach.

“Are you daft? I’ll never hear the end of it so don’t even- Hey! Don’t you dare, I swear-!” They were quickly interrupted by a black looming silhouette quickly approaching them.

“I hope that you two have come up with something since you’re able to play around like this.” Batman demanded in gruff manner, man looking worse for wear just like the rest of them. Marvel swiftly positioned the dark one between him and his would-be assailant.

“Oh we did have a solution from the very start but someone thinks that we don’t need any help. His poor ego wouldn’t be able to handle it.” He told as he threw a look over his makeshift barrier’s shoulder.

“Shut your cakehole.” John hissed but was reluctantly put in place by a hard glare from mister darker and gloomier who turned to the floating magic-user.

“What is this solution exactly? Help from who or what?” At his inquiry the boy-man hero couldn’t help but beam when he began to explain what, or rather who he had in mind.

“Well I was thinking calling our-” But he was rudely cut in before he could get far.

“We aren’t calling anybody because we don’t need his help! We can take care of this on our own!” Batman turned back to the blond and was clearly at the end of his patience.

“We are running on borrowed time Constantine, if there is any chance to for us to stop this then we should take it since we don’t have any other options left.”

The two began to argue so heatedly that they didn’t pay attention to Marvel speed dialing the number he kept close to his heart. With a dopey grin he bounced on his heels while he waited for the other side to answer. After just two rings the line connected.

“Hi kid! What are you calling in for, did you get out of work already?” A jovial, baritone voice rang out which instantly relaxed the kid-not-kid hero. The all-composing feeling of warmth, protection and safety could almost be felt through the phone which never failed to make him feel comfortable and at peace.

“Hi dad! No, I’m still at work and we kinda shorta need your help. Badly.”

He could near feel the change in his father’s mood and he definitely heard it in his voice.

“What do you need? Where are you?” Came the rapid questioning. His smile never left as he thought how dad always went strait to business when it came to his family and friends. Always ready to help no matter what or why.

“Well, apparently the apocalypse is happening and we have no idea how to stop it… Can you help us? Please?” He tentatively asked as he glanced back at the bickering duo. Sometimes he asked himself if he really was the only secret child there.

“Ha ha, no need to beg, let alone ask. I’ll be there in a jiffy once I know where you guys are. Just try and hang in there kid.” Voice on the other side commented in lighter tone.

Marvel let out a sigh. He knew that everything would be okay after all.

“Thanks dad. We are currently stuck on Metropolis in it’s central, it’s a complete mess in here.”

“Everything will be fine. See you soon.” The voice chuckled and cut the call.

Yes, everything would be just fine. He turned to call out to the idiots who looked to be near ripping each other a new one.

“You two can stop now, he’s already on his way!”

He had to wince at the speed which the blonde turned his head to stare at him. Then came the familiar cursing.

“Fucking shite!”

He merely rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in irritation. He glared at the magician.

“Seriously, what’s your problem? It doesn’t have to be this difficult you know.”

Before John could comment, Batman pushed pass and stalked up to Marvel.

“Who did you call?”

He couldn’t say much before more of their fellow heroes started to trickle in. Flash no surprise being the first.

“Hope you got something up your utility belt Bats, we can’t take this much longer.” Pleaded the red speedster. He was joined by Green Lantern carrying injured Superman and ouch did he look roughened up.

“Have to agree with Flashpoint. Were running out of juice fast, and even Big Blue is out cold.”

Marvel looked at the others coming in. Martian Manhunter, Zatara, Wonder Woman, Black Canary and even Doctor Fate was there, none of them looking any better.

“Well, I’m glad to announce that help is on their way so we can all sit back and relax for a bit. This will be over in no time.” He declared brightly.

The others goggled at him like he made the most outlandish statement in all of history, minus Constantine who has decided to use this small window of calm to drown his headache in his flask while he still can.

“What the hell are you on about? What help? Who could possibly help with this!” Flash yelled out the question in everybodies mind.

“I would like to known this too finally.” Batman demanded this as well.

Seeing everybody hanging onto his up coming explanation he smirked at John who gave him oh-so-eloquently middle finder in retaliation. Well to bad, he would have to just deal with it, the big baby.

“Oh nobody too important, just the most powerful and influential being in all multiverse. Some of you might know him by his monikers like the First Champion, the Balancer, the High King and the Great One.” He said flippantly as he pretended to check his nails, trying his absolute best to hid his smug smile when he noticed Zatara and Fate going rigid and pale.

Zatara near stumbled thanks to his shaking knees. He took couple faltering steps towards the Champion of Magic. His expression mix of reverence and fear as started to whisper as if dreading that someone or something might hear him if he spoke too loudly.

“Y-You couldn’t possibly mean King-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence for they all felt the change in the air, in the ground.

He has arrived.

Time came to a crawl, the world slowed it’s movements in face of approaching force. It quaked, it trembled, it slithered. Leak becoming a downpour, a tear in reality of sickly green opened above the group, high out of reach. What little light still had remained in the hellish landscape around them were drained as if all the world’s shadow congregated around the opening to greet its master like a deprived servant. Then a figure of black and white caped in light seemingly holy, descended from it. Even from afar they could distinguish their towering form who’s muscles failed to hide under its full-body armor. Their mountainous presence becomes more and more apparent the closer they came. What they thought as wings of pure and white was actually a cape of moving light.

Blazing green eyes as that of the tear gazed upon them from under their moonlight hair, which coupled with the iron grown of flames created figures of shadow dancing across their hardened features as if to praise their beholder’s glory.

Zatara had already collapsed on the ground in utter disbelieve. All the myths and legends were true all along.

“King Phantom.” He spoke in awe and bowed before the king as did equally shocked Doctor Fate.

“Hi dad!” Marvel yelled and dragged the laughing magician by his coat to greet their new arrival.

All of their associates looked between the clear powerhouse of a being and their red heavy hitter in utter incredulity at the revelation. Zatara and Fate near had a heart attack at the way their magical colleague addressed the mythical presence. Marvel had a father? And this horrifying existence was it? What sent them reeling even more was how the king’s responded.

With his arms stretched he lowered himself fully to gather the two smaller men in his embrace.

“Kids! Boy, when you said that you needed help bad I think you might have underestimated a tiny bit.” He joked with a toothy smile as he moved to get a better look at his more-or-less willing captees of his affection. His expression softened even more at the face of Constantine, not the others could see.

“John, it’s so good to see you as well.” He said softly and ruffled both of their hairs, eliciting a laugh from his youngest and indignant pout from his fourth oldest who tried to swat the offending hand away.

“Whatever.” John growled but Phantom didn’t mind since he could see the blush caking his scratched up cheeks.

Now this drew his attention, both of his boys were in horrendous shape and he would do something about it after his job was completed. Looking at the blood willed sky no longer colored by his green and the burning wreckage that is this dimensions earth, he knew he didn’t have much time.

“I suppose we should get this over with then. You two better get back to the Keep after this, understood.” He stated and then was gone just like that.

Now that the oppressive feeling of death and power has left along with the godly being, every single one of the heroes present turned to the two for explanation. Marvel send a pleading look towards his brother, but John pointedly turned away and began to nurse his briefly forgotten drink which was now empty, damn you dad.

Discreetly gulping his nerves down he twirled to face his peers.

“Okay, let’s start with one question at a time please.”

This caused the floodgates to open and Zatara practically jumped him in his feverishness.

“You are a son of King Phantom? The King Phantom? I thought he was nothing more than a myth! A legend told through out several histories!”

As Marvel was trying to dislodge the man he was approached by Doctor Fate.

“I too held the believe that he was nothing more than a story to strike fear onto the forces of evil and to aspire heroes of both old and new. To think he was real this entire time.” He mused, and before Marvel could say anything, Flash barged in as well.

“And what about you John? This might be the first time I’ve seen any otherworldly being be happy to see you.” He pointed at the man who chose to wisely stay far behind.

“Fuck you too!” Shouts the offended man from the back. Even if it’s true doesn’t make it any less rude. And oh look here comes Batman.

“Enough! Marvel, explain.” He demands as he moves effortlessly to the front of the pack.

“Well… you see-” Marvel stammers as he tries under the pressure to come up with something to say but was thankfully saved by the sky shifting again.

As quick as a snap the red sky was returned to its blue color, signaling the King’s victory over his enemy. Marvel smiled widely and even John couldn’t stop a heavy sigh of relieve from escaping his mouth. Good old dad, always up to any task he comes across.

“Incredible.” Wonder Woman gasped, even Lantern had to give an impressed eyebrow at the instant change in atmosphere. And while everyone was distracted by his dad’s handiwork, Marvel shimmied his way to the grumpy magician who was in progress of making his getaway.

“I think we should continue this some other time, there’s a lot of cleaning up to do and me and my bro need to do a little house call. So bye!” He called out with a wave as he was crabbed and transported to their destination before anyone could stop them.

Others could do more than blink as Batman stewed in his place. In Lantern’s arms Superman began to stir.

“H-huh, what did I miss?”

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