frank is asleep. he knocked out after pounding you into your velvet couch and making sure you were properly fed and watered afterwards.
but you’re awake and you want him. he’s wearing grey sweatpants and you can see the print of his fat cock, massive even when it’s soft.
you gently rub him over his clothes, appreciating his size. eventually you’ll pull his pants down and suck the tip into your mouth. he’s so worn out he might not even wake up :)
Rating: General Audiences
Tags: Corbeau x (completely undescribed, no pronouns) reader, fluffy nonsense, secret admirer shenanigans, Philippe is in on our nonsense, my first x reader fic, I had so much fun with this :)
Word Count: 1360
Also readable on AO3.
When Corbeau walked into his office on what started as a typical morning, he came to a sudden, sharp halt as soon as he was out of the elevator. He had his routines, usually strictly adhered to - but this time, the routine was thrown off. This time, by a distinctly overzealous amount of flowers overcrowding a simple vase, front and center on his desk - and Philippe staring straight ahead, stone-still, outwardly even more serious than usual.
His jaw was clenched in a manner that only Corbeau knew him well enough to know came of the furious effort not to laugh.
Corbeau didn't need to ask or investigate to know, with some detail, what was going on. If this were some sort of threat - not the most bizarre he'd received - Philippe wouldn't be struggling not to laugh, pointedly not making eye contact to aid in keeping his composure. He took even non-serious threats too seriously for that. Aside from potential enemies, there weren't many who'd dare do such a thing, and few among those who would dare would bother.
That mostly left you. You, who still managed to surprise Corbeau so often with your bravado and your good heart. You, whom Corbeau knew all too well, would pull this sort of stunt, and really, the only one whom neither his grunts nor Philippe would prevent from doing so. He'd given you free access to his office long prior; it would only follow that you alone would have the access to know when he'd be out, and to be there and gone out of his sight. You, brash, brave, with a spark that drew him in, yet all too visibly affected by the things he said in jest or just to spark your reaction. You, who'd caught Corbeau's attention far too much for your own good in his eyes, for all that you never seemed to take the danger behind him seriously. He hadn't expected this from you - and yet, in retrospect, this was just like you.
Corbeau took a deep breath, eyes locked on the flowers before him, considering them carefully. The bouquet was dominated by roses grown to look like Roserade flowers, housed in purple water for a while to dye the petals that bright shade - some even dip-dyed where the colored water hadn't made a strong enough color. A couple of real Roserade flowers - a choice that betrayed more than a bit of investment - took center stage. There were also smaller flowers and other colors that meshed well with the main event, so it wasn't all lurid purple. Corbeau looked closer: every bloom was poisonous, or at least toxic to some animals or Pokémon, even the smallest of them. Gifted to almost anyone else, such a precisely-made, dangerous bouquet would be an elegant threat. Gifted to a poison specialist such as Corbeau, it was pretty thoughtful. No doubt the work of a rather proud florist, and not a cheap gift nor one that'd be quick or easy to prepare.
Corbeau strode up to his desk, his strides long for his height, hand landing on the desk before the vase, fingers drumming against the expensive wood.
"Philippe, how did these make their way into my office?" Corbeau asked, stern as ever despite the flattered amusement in the back of his mind.
"Sorry, boss. No idea," Philippe answered in a clipped, rehearsed tone, eyes somehow more intently fixed on the elevator than before.
"No idea, hm? You've been here a while. The office has had cameras on it and was locked all night. What, did they just appear from nowhere?" Corbeau pressed, voice sharper.
"Might as well have," Philippe agreed serenely, trying not to laugh so hard that Corbeau almost worried he'd crack a rib.
Corbeau raised an eyebrow. Another person, feeling what he felt, might have laughed. Corbeau wasn't the type.
"Surely, though, someone delivered them. You saw nothing?"
Philippe shrugged a lopsided shrug.
"Someone must have snuck in and dropped them off without my seeing," he reiterated, barely glancing at Corbeau.
Corbeau sighed, deep and heavy and exaggerated, covering the smile that broke briefly through his composure with a hand - even lacking an audience past Philippe, he valued his demeanor as it was. You, however, had an uncanny ability to break his composure. Corbeau sat in his chair more heavily than usual and studied the bouquet again. It was bright, too bright against the carefully curated, dimmed room. Utterly unlike him or his organization, clashing with every impression Corbeau worked so hard to make. Just as you did every time you showed up, never taking him seriously, making that intimidating aura he tried to project crack. It should've driven him mad.
And so, of course, he loved it.
Corbeau knew already what was going on, and that Philippe was fucking with him - the only person other than you who was allowed to. But all the same, Corbeau wanted to see for himself. Both to ensure the obvious and for his own amusement. It was no trouble to find all the evidence - and entertainment - he needed. Philippe hadn't bothered to delete the security footage of you sneaking in (taking the elevator) and dropping them off without being seen (making direct eye contact with a smirking Philippe the entire time).
Not laughing was, frankly, a Herculean task. Not smiling was a lost cause.
There was really only one course of action for Corbeau to take: vengeance, though not quite in kind. Matching your gesture with his own would be easy with the resources Corbeau had at his disposal, but it felt like a minimum he was determined to exceed: merely matching you wasn't enough. He needed to do you one better. To that end, he had something else up his sleeve: your number. Obtained for the sake of emergency, and frequently used (or misused), especially by you. Corbeau generally at least tried to have a business-related justification for calling - this morning was a rare exception. Though the flowers at least gave him an excuse.
Corbeau called your number, knowing you were probably just starting your morning. Sure enough, you answered, always quick to pick up when he called.
"Morning, sunshine," he started as soon as you picked up, knowing it would make you pause, just as it had last time.
"I got those flowers you dropped off," he hummed, and you stuttered something about how it totally wasn't you, and how did he even know - you meant, why'd he even think that - anyway.
"Sure, kid," he interjected with a huff of poorly-disguised laughter, the type you always managed to draw out of him.
"It's thoughtful. But next time, I'll be the one buying the expensive gift," Corbeau added, then paused for a moment, feeling another smile tugging at his lips as he spoke again.
"You should come by my office later, alone. I'll be sure to repay that thoughtfulness of yours," Corbeau added.
And with that, he hung up to let you stew in your surprise, unsure why you thought he wouldn't know exactly who'd left him such a gift. Corbeau was hardly blind, after all. He'd do better to get even later, to take you up on your reciprocation of his rather unsubtle interest. But for now...there was work to be done.
The flowers sat pristinely on his desk for the rest of the day, and no one dared comment. The gossip amongst the Syndicate employees would, doubtlessly, be legendary - but all was well worth it. They deserved the entertainment value anyway. But most of all, Corbeau looked forward to seeing you again. He had plans in the back of his mind, occupying him through his work: far from least of which, how to reciprocate on that gift of yours. Corbeau was a thorough man, after all, and nothing less than the best would do. Not just a gift, no - he intended to take things further. And thus, as he conducted his meetings, regardless of who he was intimidating or what he was doing, you were in the back of his mind - constantly threatening to make Corbeau smile, even as he kept those feelings to himself.
maedhros in barad eithel, strife ii electric bugaloo
decided to go with the AU concept instead of the continuation. because that way i get to kill suloth with my bare fucking hands.
Maedhros is pacing.
He feels -- strange, and not in any way he recognizes. It feels like -- like a hangnail. In his spirit.
It is dark. The clouds are just barely thin enough that Maedhros can tell where the moon is behind them -- it's full, or nearly, and low enough in the West that he knows he'll regret being awake at this hour. Of course there is no point on the walls out of sight of a guardpost, but no one speaks to him now. At most, they'll ask if he managed any sleep at all when next they see him.
The strange sensation in his spirit stretches to discomfort. He stops, looking out into the dark, at the layers upon layers of mountains dividing North Beleriand. And then--
As he stands there, his breath speeding for no good reason--
As he chases down the feeling and identifies it as Fingon, as the not-quite-marriage-bond they've been building up as much as they dare--
Summary: Sometimes the Waking world requires skills outside his own; Morpheus chooses his associates carefully so when one is neglecting sleep, he rectifies it, despite their protestations.
Warnings: none
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
“You haven't been sleeping.”
Your head shot up at the unexpected voice. He was mostly hidden from view behind your chaos of a setup, wires and screens arranged in such a way that most others would consider clutter. You tried to calm the panic gripping you, heart already racing with a caffeine induced jumpstart. Squinting to clear your blurry vision, you tried to make sense of the dark figure currently in your doorway.
“...Morpheus?” You called tentatively, half expecting him to disappear, “You’re here? I mean, you’re here. Did I miss a call from Johanna? I’m already on a job at the moment, well, a few jobs, but if you need something, I can multitask, for sure.”
He blinked at you slowly before his brow furrowed. You felt your face heat and you quickly stood up, trying your best to clear the mess of desk. Sweeping an arm across the surface, you knocked several energy drinks and empty chip bags into the small trashcan you kept by your desk. You paused, turning to look back at him with your fingers twisted around the handles of several empty mugs when he still hadn't said anything.
“...uh…sorry about the mess, I wasn't expecting anyone.” Another question struck you suddenly, “How did you get in?”
In lieu of an answer, he moved further into the room. When he was only a few feet away he stopped, his presence filling your tiny apartment.
“You haven't been sleeping.” Morpheus repeated, his tone not asking but still commanding an answer.
“Oh! Uh, I'm good, took a quick nap at lunch,” You lied, using the excuse of putting the mugs down to avoid his gaze. "I work better at night so I'll pop a few more Monsters and be good to go for a while yet."
At his continued silence, you hesitantly glanced back at him, twisting your fingers. You shrunk under his glare.
“Um.” You hesitated, biting your lip, “Did I miss a job or something? You seem angry.”
“No.” He stated, voice much too smooth for the chaos of your apartment.
“...No I didn’t miss a job or no you’re not angry?”
“You did not miss a job.”
The relief that had been building was quickly snuffed. “Oh.” you sighed, deflated, “so you’re angry.”
He remained silent, but it was less purposeful this time and more like he was hesitating.
“Well…I’m sorry for whatever it was I did.” You began in a rush, “I’ve been all over the place lately…I mean, not literally, I haven’t left this apartment in like, weeks, but I mean there's just been one job after another, and it's started to pile up a bit. Did you hear about the cult they busted last week? More charlatan wack-os, I’ve been working on them for months, had their data so locked up my poor systems were practically melting from cracking all the encryption, it was-”
“Enough,” he held up a hand, though it was unnecessary with how stern his tone was. Your jaw clicked shut. “I had to call upon Constantine to get your location.”
“Ok?” You asked, confused. You had tried to give him one of your old burner phones the first time you met, but he had refused. Each subsequent time, he had simply found you - you had assumed Johanna had told him where to meet. He had never shown up to your apartment, though, and you assumed that was because your friend knew better than to give out your address to clients, no matter how good looking.
A vein in his jaw ticked, like something you said had only furthered his ire.
“I do have a job,” he began, before closing the distance between you in one stride to examine your face. When you startled a bit and tried to back away, he grabbed your chin in one cold hand. Tilting your face to get a better look, you hoped what he wasn't looking for was what was sure to be a bright flush. Confirming his suspicions, he finished, “But you need to sleep.”
You blinked blearily at him for a beat, before taking a few steps back hoping to reboot your blanking mind.
“Uh,” you coughed, “I’m fine, never slept much. Won’t hinder my work, promise. What's the job?”
“You haven't slept in at least three days." he persisted, frustrated, "The human mind can only go two without starting to break down.”
"That's…a weird thing to know." You said, trying to redirect this conversation into waters that made more sense, "But like I said, I'm good, full 8 hours last night. Are you a doctor of some sort? Johanna never said, I just assumed you were like, a CEO or something, considering you never try to haggle cost-"
"Stop. Lying. To me." He interrupted, seething between clenched teeth, and the caffeine must have really been hitting because the shadows around him seemed to pulse in time to his command.
You had known him long enough to not fear him - he was disgruntled and awkward and more than a bit arrogant, sure, but never frightening. But even still, his current mood made your instincts scream Danger! and the hair on the back of your neck raised. You took a hurried step back, distancing yourself from his stormy aura.
"Why do you even care?" You answered, his anger scaring you enough to get defensive. "I already told you, it won't affect my work, so give me the job or let me get back to my other ones."
He seemed to sense your walls going up, and forced a deep breath. When he spoke again, he seemed less demonic and more like the sardonic man you recognized, but no less annoyed.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" He tried again, voice softer, but still firm.
You sighed, exasperated, but sobered at his look.
"It's really not a big deal, Morpheus, I'm ok." You tried one last time, hoping to appease him. "Do I really look that awful?"
"You look exhausted." He fired back, unapologetically, "But my concern is the underlying cause. Do you need help falling asleep?"
You sagged against the counter, defeated. Persistent ass.
"I don't like taking sleeping pills, they give me the most fucked up dreams," you admitted, finally letting the exhaustion flow through you, "Mostly I've just been too busy, I won't be able to sleep until everything's done."
"Your work ethic is admirable, but your ability to deliver will suffer if you continue. I cannot have anything less than perfection from those in my employ." He paused, "I can help you sleep. Without the aid of medication. Will you let me?"
You stifled a yawn, before answering, "Would it matter if I said no?"
He smiled dryly, "No."
You rolled your eyes at him, rubbing them as they burned from the strain of keeping them open.
"Ass." You murmured tiredly, "What's your-" you interrupted yourself with another yawn, "Whats your job? For me?"
He shook his head at your stubbornness, before moving towards you once again.
You would have been alarmed if you had the energy, but instead found yourself tilting forward, lethargy making standing impossible, head landing on his broad chest where he secured you with a firm hand. Despite your best efforts, your eyes slipped shut.
"Tomorrow. For now," you felt him shift, and then a cool breeze crossed your face. "Sleep."
*****
You woke up the next morning on your couch, throw tossed over you.
You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and spotted a note card, perched on the coffee table across from you. Behind it was a brown paper bag.
You flipped open the card to read the ornate calligraphy inside:
"Need deep background on a Roger Yates, he is an occultist out of America. I will find you in a week's time.
I have provided breakfast and rid your apartment of any stimulants. Do not neglect yourself again.
Morpheus"
You rolled your eyes and tossed the note back onto the table before moving for the brown paper bag. You recognized it from the Cafe you first made contact with him in.
You were almost touched before the realization dawned that all stimulants meant no coffee.
"That ASS." You complained to the empty room, before flopping back down onto the couch, groaning. It'd be a week before you could even properly yell at him.
Summary: What seems to start as a bad day for Gilbert, takes a turn for the better.
Characters: Gilbert, Alice & Oz.
For Pandora Month, Week 1 (Golden Trio Week), Day 1, with the prompt "Coat".
Link to the AO3
Tagging @phmonth to be on the safe side.
Excerpt under the cut.
As Gilbert woke up, he didn’t need more than a minute to know that today would be one of the “bad days”.
It was a cold morning. He knew it because he had moved in his sleep, and the result of it was that he had thrown haphazardly his blanket all over the place, leaving him with a rather chill feeling.
If it wasn’t bad enough, his stump was hurting.
At first he had tried moving it, because he could’ve sworn he had slept over his arm and he could feel it cramping around the elbow. It had been a rather distressing thought until he remembered that he didn’t have an arm, not anymore. As though his realizing that it no longer existed was what he needed, he felt sharp pain on his shoulder where the stump was located.
He had to take deep breaths for almost five minutes before he could open his eyes again without his vision turning black from how everything was too raw.
Thinking of Fundy giving gold to Eret saying ‘Gold for the true king’ to cheer him up.
Thinking of chat chanting for Eret to adopt Fundy, and it became canon because the failed adoption adds to Fundy’s character’s trauma, sadness and angst.
Thinking of how Eret still wants to adopt Fundy, and always thinks of Fundy first.
Thinking of how Fundy was his first priority when talking to Ghostbur about his resurrection.
Thinking of Fundy and Eret interactions after the betrayal.
Thinking of how Fundy and Eret immediately returned to their personal prank war, that is still ongoing, after the betrayal.
Thinking about how Fundy is technically the prince, the adoption papers are the only thing standing in the way of it being official and legalized.
Thinking about how impactful that would be because Eret is only King by Dream because he doesn’t directly involve himself in conflicts but we all know Fundy would.
Thinking about how Eret called Fundy adorable during his halloween difficulty stream when Fundy was in a grandma cosplay.
Thinking about Fundy and Eret during them playing the halloween difficulty.
Thinking about Fundy and Eret during helping Daily Dose complete the game.
Thinking about Eret calling Fundy ‘Fungi’ and ‘Fundip.’
Thinking about Eret calling Foxy Fundy.
Thinking about how Eret is a better father to Fundy.
