Alright!!! This is my sad, sad attempt at fluff, and I also haven't written since like June, so I've had about half a year to lose my writing skills to the mess that is social media.
This fic happens between The Hawthorne Legacy and the Final Gambit. When we first see our OTP, they've just told the world that they're dating, and they're preparing for a charity gala.
(anyone can read- I rated this General Audiences on Ao3) have fun!
T-MINUS FOUR HOURS (BEFORE THE GALA)
“You’re nervous.” The statement came from Jameson, who saw right through her rapid finger-tapping as more than just an outlet for boredom.
Out of all of the things Avery needed to do that day, filling out forms seemed like the least stressful- and yet, it didn’t seem to curb her anxiety.
She looked up from her desk, and watched Jameson lean his back against the doorframe, putting her in the center of his field of vision.
“Of course I’m nervous! The Hawthorne Foundation Gala is today, and for some reason I’m doing taxes-“
“-and for your pain and suffering, you deserve at least a year’s worth of chocolate donuts!” Xander burst into the room, bearing said chocolate donuts and nearly knocking over Jameson. He tossed his brother a donut before taking a better look at Avery. “I fear you may require a stronger source of sugar with the amount of stress coming from you.” he placed the donuts on her desk.
When Avery didn’t take a donut, he raised an eyebrow. “Does this have nothing to do with taxes and everything to do with an upcoming press release involving the two of you?”
Avery looked at him, seeming close to panic, and both of Xander’s eyebrows went up. “I will take that as a yes, leave this room, and strongly recommend you lovebirds speak to each other.”
Jameson left the door and stood against her desk, facing away. “Do you regret this, Heiress?”
Avery stood and braced herself on the desk. “Of course not. You know that, I know that, but does everyone else know?”
Jameson looked at her. “We’re doing this so that everyone knows. I don’t know if they’ll believe us, but they’ll be informed.”
Avery turned around, and leaned against Jameson. “They’re never going to believe or accept it. This community is weird, Jameson. They hate me enough as is, they’re never going to accept us together.”
Jameson raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”
“What?”
“Look, you gave Alisa the picture and the caption yesterday. She posted it about two minutes ago-“
“-when the donuts came?” Avery’s shock was mixed with anger and relief and it caused Jameson to give her a small smirk.
“-yes, when the donuts came. I think you’re prepared for the worst, Heiress, but maybe not as prepared for the reception we’re truly receiving.” He handed her her phone.
Avery rapidly opened up Instagram and found her phone filled with notifications. She checked her latest post and found a picture of herself and Jameson covered in paint, from the day the two had built and painted her desk. In the photo, she gave Jameson a kiss on the cheek and it was captioned ‘first love ❤️❤️’.
It had over a million likes.
“Wait, a million?” Jameson leaned over her shoulder to look at her phone. It felt oddly domestic and she embraced the feeling. “Alisa said it had 10,000. It’s been less than five minutes, how is the app still running?”
Avery shrugged, a smile finding its way onto her lips. She opened up the comment section.
angel_face222 THEYRE SO CUTE
SONICSCREAMS people date this guy?
reply from lia-eliza dude imagine the kids 😍😍
HOT_TO_GO OPPOSITES ATTRACT CONFIRMED?????
reply from SONICSCREAMS didn't she date his brother 😭 like that one interview
laffytaffyhappy does this mean he’ll stop being all law-breaky or will she start doing illegal shit.
my-name-is-slim-shaky wait, I lwk never imagined this, but they work so well together, it's my new OTP
theCALENDARRR oh to be young and in love.
reply from I_is_calculator you're like 16
reply from theCALENDARR shut up Jessica
reply from I_is_calculator my name is Elena 😭
Jameson stopped her from scrolling further. "Look, the reception isn't all going to be puppies and chocolate donuts. But I think you're doing pretty good if Instagram thinks it’s not propaganda.”
"Jameson, that was five people out of-" she checked the phone again. "nine thousand comments."
Jameson shrugged. "I highly doubt they're the only five positive ones, Heiress, you would've had a harder time finding it otherwise."
Alisa, who Avery hadn't seen since that morning, walked into the room holding a large garment bag, followed by a makeup artist. "Congratulations, Avery. That's one of the most positively recieved posts I've ever seen on your account."
Jameson raised an eyebrow at Avery, giving her a look that said I told you so, and Avery let go of a breath she didn't even know she had been holding. "You're not joking?"
"Have you ever known Alisa to joke?" Alisa glared at Jameson, who punctuated the statement with a smirk.
Alisa turned to Avery. "About 95% of the general public reacted well, and out of that 5% that didn't, most were teenage girls."
Avery sighed. "As expected."
With the problem mostly settled, Alisa clapped her hands. "Okay, then, onto the rest of our duties. Avery, you have a gala in about four hours. Jameson, get out."
Jameson opened his mouth to protest and then decided against it, for he closed his mouth and dropped a kiss on the top of Avery's head before leaving.
Avery turned to Alisa. "You didn't have to kick him out."
Alisa closed the door behind Jameson, before ushering Avery to the bathroom. "Once you figure out how to get your makeup on while holding a conversation with him, he'll be allowed to stay. We need you both there on time, and you take significantly longer to get ready than he does."
T-MINUS ONE HOUR (Before the gala)
Jameson wasn’t exactly one to panic, but neither was Avery. He began tapping his foot and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.
Alisa had left him a selection of four ties and matching pocket squares, and Jameson assumed he was supposed to wear them with a tuxedo. He pulled out the garment bag containing the black one, and began slowly buttoning his shirt.
The sounds of Hakuna Matata filled the room while he tucked his shirt in, and Jameson sighed before picking up his phone. Xander had set his ringtone over two weeks ago; Jameson hadn't gotten around to hacking it yet.
"How are ya doin', Jamie?"
"You live three doors down, why don't you tell me?" he hung up the call.
Not two seconds later, Nash strolled into his room, wearing flannel over jeans and a band t-shirt.
"You look like a waiter. Didn’t Grayson ever teach you to dress yourself?” he took a look toward the rest of the clothing Jameson had set out to wear.
Jameson ran a hand through his hair. “I look the same. I wore this last week.”
“And then someone asked you for champagne. And you socked them in the face.”
He then proceeded to walk into Jameson's closet -"There’s nothing wrong with what I'm wearing!" "People are gonna ask you for more caviar; Grayson told me to not let you leave the house like that."- and after rummaging for two minutes, found a waistcoat that he didn't even know existed. It was the exact color of the tie Jameson wanted to pick, but Nash procured a black tie and pocket square.
"I think this is the same color as her dress, but honestly, it's gonna be dark, who's gonna see?" Nash held up the waistcoat, as if the nonexistant light would help him see better.
Jameson took it from him. "Have I ever worn this?"
"Maybe. You were also drinking a lot, so I doubt you or the news remembers." Nash sniffed the cloth. "You would never even know. It doesn't even smell like bourbon."
Jameson raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he began to put his tie on.. “Don’t tell me you’re being serious.”
Nash crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I couldn’t tell you whether it was true or not, Jamie, you wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said.”
Jameson buttoned up his waistcoat. “A wise man takes all truths with a grain of salt.”
“Bullshit.” Nash drew out the first syllable.
Jameson gave his brother a smirk. “Don’t you know it.” He grabbed the suit jacket and left.
1.5 HOURS IN
“Oh hello dear!” The sound of posh over-confidence crept up behind Avery, who quickly turned.
“Mrs. Anderson!” The woman was one of the slightly pushy heads of a charity created to support budding culinary minds. While incredibly specific, the charity had sent over a thousand students to culinary school, who went on to open restaurants that were all doing pretty well. Avery didn’t mind the woman; she was a lot nicer than most of the attendees, and used her reach to benefit the people who needed it. “How are you, ma’am?”
“I’m doing great, darling, but we need to talk about that dress. You look stunning!”
Avery was draped in dark red silk, covering one arm, and hugging her body until it hit her hips, where it flowed in waves, just shy of reaching the ground. The asymmetrical neckline and bottom of the skirt were covered in minimal silver embroidery-visible when the light hit just so. Alisa had shoved her in a pair of black stilettos, and curled her hair, painting her lips with the same red as her dress. A silver choker was clasped around her throat, matching her earrings and the bracelets on her left hand.
She thanked the woman, handing her a glass of champagne, and asked, “Have you heard about the charity we’re sponsoring today?”
Avery and the woman chatted for a couple of minutes as Avery convinced her to donate thousands of dollars out of pocket.
“Cancer truly is a scary thing.” Mrs. Anderson smiled softly. “I lost my husband to lung cancer. I doubt the majority of these people consider the research worth funding.”
“They think they’re untouchable.” Avery said.
“Precisely, my dear.” The woman grabbed another glass of champagne before looking behind Avery. “Oh, I must add, you and Jameson Hawthorne are a beautiful couple.”
Avery felt her cheeks heat and she looked down, but Mrs. Anderson hadn’t finished. “The amount of love you two have for each other is simply incredible. Just being in the same room as you two makes me feel like an outsider; your bond is so sweet.”
Avery paused. Same room? She turned and saw an incredibly familiar face.
Jameson Hawthorne had finally showed up. He wore a dark grey suit-so dark it was nearly black, with a waistcoat the color of wine and silver chains. His tie matched his suit jacket and his hair was artfully arranged, neat with enough personality such that he still looked like himself.
Mrs. Anderson gave Avery a soft smile. “You two look at each other like a man seeing the stars for the first time in years. If this isn’t true love, I don’t know what is!”
Avery’s lips parted. “Really?”
“Oh trust me darling, you and Jameson are something that happens once in a lifetime.” The woman winked and walked away, exchanging greetings with Jameson, who was headed Avery’s way.
She motioned towards the side of the room, and he showed up a minute later with two wineglasses.
She leaned on a pillar and he stood her to her. “You look beautiful, Heiress.” Jameson handed her the wineglass as he said the statement.
Avery smiled. “And yet, you still upstage me by millions. How has this gala gone so far?”
Jameson grimaced and drained the wineglass like a shot. “All people want to talk about is the fact that I’m ‘off the market and it’s such a shame and won’t I please put in a good word for Grayson’ - if I hear another woman tell me any of that, I’m going through the old man’s whiskey stash.”
Avery suppressed a smile and switched their glasses. She doubted she would drink the wine, and Jameson seemed like he needed it more than she did. Jameson wasn’t usually this open, and she wondered if the wine wasn’t his first drink of the night. “You seem like you’ve had fun.”
Jameson shot her a smirk. “And you should be prepared for more, Heiress,” he clinked his glass against hers, “because I believe the slow dances just started.”
For the few hours, Jameson and Avery alternated between spinning around the dance floor and resting at the bar. Their routine was occasionally interrupted by a speech, a person or both, but by the end of the night, they had raised over a million dollars to charity. The venue closed, but they stayed for an additional thirty minutes to supervise cleanup.
It took about forty minutes to get back to Hawthorne House and once they made it to Avery’s room, she tossed her heels into her closet and sat on the nearest chair.
Avery sighed. “I am never doing this again.” She stood up and began removing her jewelry, shedding her media persona for the sake of comfort.
Jameson unzipped her dress. “I highly doubt that.”
Avery shot him a look and she had to stifle a laugh when he mirrored it.
Once they were both changed and under the covers, Avery turned to Jameson and propped her head on a hand. “Do you know what day it is?”
Jameson’s eyes glittered and Avery knew he knew the answer. “The fourteenth?”
Avery rolled her eyes. “Valentine’s Day.”
Jameson smirked. “An astute observation, Heiress. And while one AM is a perfectly reasonable time to exchange gifts and other things, I don’t think you want to leave this bed right now.”
Avery nodded. “Definitely not.”
“Then Happy Valentine’s Day, Heiress, and I’ll see you when we inevitably wake up in six hours.”
Avery laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. When they broke apart, she whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jameson.”
And if she woke up the next day with several news articles focusing on the gala (or rather its hosts), well, she was going to ignore it all and spend the entire day with her amazing boyfriend.
fin.
Alright- 2.5 thousand words later, I wish you a happy Valentine’s Day!
(or just a happy Friday if you don’t have plans like me 😄)
(dividers are from @/cafekitsune)
please like, reblog and leave feedback in the comments. Or just throw tomatoes at me. Anything works.
I also realize now that im going to keep writing even if the reception is negative, so if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!
expect another fic in 1-2 weeks, more likely 2 than one.
Word Count: 3,356
Characters: Lodi x GN Reader
Overall Fic Themes: processing of grief, maladaptive daydreaming as a therapy tool, comfort, mutual long-distance pining
Synopsis: You take it upon yourself to look into Lodi's family and see what you can find, to surprise him the next time you talk.
TW: narcissistic abuse, SA (both only mentioned)
Sorry this is late for the week, I was given some really bad news the Sunday before last and couldn’t focus on writing. Things just keep getting worse at home.
Lodi’s expanded “Polyglot’s Record Collection”
< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >
———
Whatever gets you through the day, just make sure you’re still here when I come back.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Louis looks like he’s struggling to leave by the way he freezes up; but after a few seconds he lets go of your hand, and when you open your eyes, you’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom with your back to the wall. Alone again.
You let out a long, heavy sigh before running your hands up your arms and hugging yourself tight. If you close your eyes you can still feel the warmth lingering on your skin from his arms holding you tight, and you tilt your chin down to burrow into your shoulder. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you’d find a way to make it through to his next visit.
You still can’t believe that he’d cared enough about what’s bothering you to listen and hold you while you cried.
I’ve got you sweetheart, just put it down for now.
A man who wants to help carry your burdens so you can get some rest from having to do it alone? Even when what he’s going through is so much worse? Not even your partner had given you that kind of consideration in half a decade.
What had you done to deserve that kind of kindness? Listened? Talked? You felt like that was the bare minimum for being a compassionate person. It’s not as if you haven’t helped him with processing his own situation, but you don’t feel you’ve done enough.
The part of you that’s still traumatized feels bad that your conversation had ended yet again on your own issues, but the part of you that’s healing reminds you that healthy relationships have give and take, and that a green flag wouldn’t consider listening to your problems a burden. Still- you feel guilty for not having looked into Louis’ family more for him.
You open your eyes and reach for your phone. This time, while you’re waiting for him to come back, you’re going to look for answers.
At some point during your talks, your foster cat had taken up residence on your lap, curled up and gone to sleep. He’s such a sweet angel who always knows when you’re not okay, more so than anyone in your life ever has. While you love and appreciate him, it does make your heart ache for that kind of human connection.
Instead of completely moving him, you settle for little micro-movements and wiggle and shift your way into a slightly more comfortable position, then get to digging a little deeper into Agent Louis Yero’s disappearance, and what became of his family after he disappeared.
First, you find his obituary, which wasn’t officially published until 1969, several years after his disappearance.
Beloved Son, Uncle, and American Patriot.
That sure didn’t sound like the obituary of someone whose family was angry with them, especially considering how long it had been published after he was first reported missing.
You dig up a few more sparse articles, no more than a paragraph or two in length leading up to it, some “missing persons” columns with his picture (which looks SO different from the man you know, but you can still recognize him), and a UFO tabloid connecting his disappearance with that of one his coworkers’, by the name of Dr. Nella Davis.
You take note of all this and save the pages, then move on to his family’s lives once they’d moved on and accepted his death.
Finding information on his family was easier said than done, even with online census records. All you can scrape together is a little more information about the nature of his mother’s death (passed in ‘93 of natural causes), and his brother’s wife’s death (cancer, ‘90). But when you dig a little deeper into some reddit discussions surrounding The Curious Case of Louis Yero, you strike gold.
Some enthusiasts (read: fanatics) had sifted through public records and found more specific information on his family. His nephew Phillip had followed in his footsteps and joined the Military, went to college when he got out, earned his degree in Aerospace Engineering, and landed a job working for NASA in the mid 80’s. The original poster insinuated that he’d never truly got over the loss of his Uncle Louis, and after watching Apollo 11 land on the moon for the first time, he knew he’d found his calling.
Benito had come out as gay in the early eighties, launching a career as a grunge artist and fashionista that was short-lived, but had continued to work in Chicago as a political activist fighting to protect LGBTQ Youth and Women’s rights until his retirement.
His niece, Betty, led a less glamorous, but a peaceful life in the suburbs of Des Plaines- she’d gotten married and had three kids of her own. His brother Ben had followed Betty and her family out of Chicago, and bought himself a small place in the woods close by to live out the rest of his days closer to his grandchildren.
You smile to yourself quietly, knowing that at least this—knowing the kids are doing fine, and that he was loved—would bring him some comfort.
By the next time he does make contact, you’ve almost lost track of the days. Life hasn’t exactly been easy, between work and your home life you’re being hammered on all sides by stress. Your partner is still out cheating, though this time doing even less to hide their affair. The very next weekend, they’d come home from work, packed an overnight bag for themselves AND their dogs, and took off for two days with them. It had taken everything you had not to confront them, but you managed to instead write it down in your logbook and go about your business. You know the more you let them do what they’re going to do, the more likely they are to screw up, and at this point that’s what it’s going to take to win a case against them.
Lodi shows up while you’re out with some friends and startles you as he collapses into the seat beside you, facing behind you, and faceplants into your shoulder. His energy feels off tonight, low and sad, and you wonder what could have happened to your sweet, sunny friend.
“Hey Louis,” you greet and cross an imaginary arm around his shoulders to run your fingers through his hair. “What’s wrong? ”
He doesn’t answer, but groans as you softly scratch his scalp with your nails. Something about the way he does this that tells you he’s going to need all of your attention, but luckily, the night is winding down and it’s an appropriate time to say your goodbyes.
“Just give me ten minutes, and I’m all yours.”
He nods to signal he heard you, but doesn’t lift his head.
You finish the drink you’ve been nursing for the last hour, thank your friends for inviting you out, pay your tab, then head to your car, head on a swivel. With one last glance over your shoulder, you pop open the door, sit down in the driver’s seat, lock the doors, lean your chair all the way back and close your eyes, to give him your undivided attention. Lodi still hasn’t moved from where he landed in the daydream, so you ruffle his hair to get his attention. “Alright, what is it babygirl?”
Lodi forces a small smile as he lifts his head. You can tell by how red his face is that he’s been suppressing his cries, and you can’t help but wither at how downtrodden he is. Your hands drop to your lap and you turn to face him.
I just-… he pauses to swallow the rock forming in his throat. I did try to go back further… to find my mother.
Oh... So either he saw something that really hurt him, or he couldn’t do it. You place a hand over his and give it a soft squeeze. “And…?”
… I saw-… time scars… he struggles to explain, and turns his chin up to look at something above your head, and both of his eyes start to glow. Not- what happened when I was gone, but- memories of-… of times we had before? Like- holidays, and-and birthdays… Again, he gulps more audibly and groans, pushing down the sickness rising in his gut. I saw my old war buddies, my… room, my brother, I-…
His form flickers in and out of solid state and you realize why it’s been so much longer since the last time you heard from him. He can hardly keep himself focused to stay in the moment.
You reach up to brace both hands on his destabilizing shoulders as his eyes flit around nervously, refusing to make eye contact. His form ripples under your touch, cool and half-gaseous, and you give him a gentle shake. You have no idea if it will work, but you assume the mental chaos has something to do with the way he’s projecting; luckily, you learned a lot in therapy about self-regulation.
“Louis, stay focused. Don’t chase the rabbit.”
It’s an idiom he recognizes, and it helps to release him from his trance- his head tilts down, his eyes start to focus on you as they lose a little bit of their glow and settle back to their natural color. The light cracks in the skin around his left eye dim but remain. You’re worried about him, wondering if these changes are also manifesting physically and not just mentally, but you can’t help but find him beautiful in the ethereal sense.
“Good, keep breathing.”
Lodi’s body takes and keeps its shape after about a minute, he blinks heavily and releases the vapor from his lungs as everything solidifies. When you relax your arms, his head drops and he pitches forward, but you catch him before he falls out of his seat, and his shaking hands snap up to help.
“Are you alright?”
Lodi groans and gags, blinks hard and nods, then finds his calm again after a few moments to catch his breath. He presses his glasses up his nose and glances at you timidly before focusing his attention over your shoulder at something he can’t see but desperately wants to.
… they won’t let me see them, he finally says after a long pause.
“Who won’t?”
The Nine.
You blank- he hasn’t mentioned any Nine, that you can remember. “… who-who is that? Is that who took you from your family and made you into their…”
Emissary… yeah, he says.
Your shoulders drop and your stomach churns. You don’t even know who the Nine are, but you know you don’t like the way they’ve been jerking him around. “Why the hell not?”
They won’t say. His eyes lower even further and you can feel his disappointment, nipping at the back of your consciousness like tiny teeth. It has you seething and brimming with rage.
“You can’t just uproot someone from their life without their consent.”
There was… some consent, he admits.
“Some? What does that mean?”
Lodi’s eyes focus on you as he comes back to himself completely. They spoke to me, in my dreams.
“But did they ever tell you what they wanted?”
Louis shakes his head and lowers his eyes. Of course they didn’t.
“Then that’s horseshit,” you snap, hoping he knows it’s not directed at him. “You can’t just take someone without telling them what they’re signing up for. That’s kidnapping and abuse!”
The Nine don’t live by our laws, nor do they care about my feelings, he says tiredly.
“Yeah well they should!”
You didn’t mean to shout and you immediately regret it. Your hands slide down his arms and retreat back to your lap, your chest and throat tighten, and you start to backpedal. “… I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, I was just-“
It’s alright. Lodi stops you before you can get yourself too worked up, gently sets a hand on your shoulder and waits for you to look at him. I’ve already been down that train of thought, all it did was make me angry.
Your eyes start to well up as the pressure in your head builds. You’ve been in a relationship with a narcissist for more than ten years, and it kills you to see the similarities in his situation.
I know it’s hard to understand.
“There’s not much to understand,” you reply, doing your best to monitor your tone. “They’re trying to take you for everything you have and give nothing back. I’ve been in a relationship like that for longer than I want to admit, and I know the signs, so I hate knowing that you’re stuck there… with your abusers…”
Waiting to be used. That’s what bothers you the most, you realize. Not only that he’d been taken from his family, that he was there alone, but that he was in an abusive power dynamic with these Nine, who only wanted him for his body.
Louis smiles sadly and squeezes your shoulder. I appreciate your concern, he says almost too familiarly, but there’s really nothing I can do except… make the best of what I’ve got.
You push down the pain you feel when he says it, because as much as you want him to fight it, it’s clear he’s resigned himself to his reality. “And what do you have?”
I have a small community of good people here… and a few Guardian-friends.
You tilt your head. “What's a Guardian?”
He stammers, It’s-… hard to explain, but long story short- they’re immortal, soldier-types, that protect humanity.
You ‘ahhh’ out loud even though you don’t really understand how it’s possible. “So like… they winter-soldiered people?”
He throws you a perplexed look, and you facepalm when you realize.
“Ah, sorry… Bucky Barnes- it was a Captain America plot-line, way after your time…“
His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning when you mention comic books and you grin wildly, knowing that you’ve read him right. “Oh Louis, you’ve missed out on so much. Comic books have entire movie and television shows based off of them now. I can’t wait to catch you up.”
Louis can’t hide the infectious grin spreading across his face no matter how hard he tries to hide it. I’m looking forward to it.
Your heart flutters again, and you can’t help but smile back.
I’m glad it was you, he says honestly after an extended silence.
You blush but stay with the thought. “What do you mean me?”
Louis shifts in his seat beside you and repeats himself. I’m glad it was you I found when I looked back in time.
“But you could have connected with anyone else, people so much more interesting than me, even your family,” you try to rationalize, so as to not get your hopes up. “What makes me so special?”
I think you’re their compromise, he says thoughtfully as he lays back with one hand under his head and the other over his belly. I think part of the problem is… I have so many questions that my mother couldn’t possibly have answered on her own, so they found someone who could.
“But why me?” you ask again.
The time period maybe...? Lodi shakes his head and looks at you with an unreadable expression that doesn’t match what he says next. I couldn’t tell you… but the Nine don’t do anything that doesn't serve a purpose.
Your expression sours at the thought. For a moment you fix a hard look at the liminal space surrounding the two of you, wishing it could be more than just the ground beneath you. “Well, I refuse be a pawn in their game.”
He smiles quietly. If your life has already been altered by their meddling… which it has, you’re already being led by them.
You shake your head and lie down into the grass beside him. “I like to think I make my own fate… but hey, on another note- I did some research on your family while you were gone.”
Louis’ brows lift as he turns his head to regard you with interest. You did…?
You nod and pull out your phone. “I couldn’t find much with the limited records available online, but I found enough to tell you what their lives were like,” you say with a warm smile as his eyes start to shine again like glass. “Do you want to know?”
Louis nods excitedly, scrambles to sit upright and pulls out the same field notebook he took notes in last time, and listens intently to everything you have for him.
He huffs and puffs with pride when you tell him Phillip worked for NASA, when you tell him about Betty his lip quivers. When you tell him about his sister-in-law’s fight with cancer and his mother’s death just a few years later, he lifts a hand to claw over his heart in a self-soothing motion. And by the time you read his obituary, he’s taken off his glasses and pressed his fingers into his eyes, tears falling onto the pages of his notebook.
You sit up and cup a hand over his elbow. “Are you alright?”
He fails to hold back his sobs, takes in a gasping breath and slaps a hand over his mouth, then releases the breath he didn't realize he's been holding and laughs through it with a relieved smile. Lodi presses his fingers into his brow harder to soothe the headache.
I’m fine… I’m just-… he sits up straight and breathes deep, then lets it out slowly. … my family’s alright..! You have… no idea how much I needed to hear that.
“You’re right, I don’t, but I could tell that not knowing was eating you alive.” And you could tell, the same way you could tell this was what he needed to hear. Lodi was grieving—properly—now, not just repressing the resentment of not having said goodbye. “I know it’s not the same, but-… I hope it gives you closure, and comfort, knowing they loved you, and they lived the best they could in your absence.”
Yeah… yeah they did, they really, really did… When he turns to look at you his eyes twinkle with admiration, and before you know it he throws his arms around you and locks you in a big hug.
I can’t believe you did this, it's is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me… I can’t thank you enough.
You return the gesture with a tight hug, and turn your cheek to brush his affectionately. “You deserve it, and so much more.”
Lodi tightens his hold and for a moment you think you can feel his heart beating just out-of-sync with yours. Gods, is this what love and consideration is supposed to feel like when both parties are committed to caring for each others’ well-being?
He pulls back and takes in a deep, steadying breath, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand one more time and puts his glasses back on.
You know… you've done so much for me, and- I can’t believe I’m saying this, I’m so embarrassed but-… I don’t even know your name.
You blink in surprise. You’ve no idea how you managed to go so long without exchanging proper pleasantries. “Yeah, I guess we skipped right over that part, didn’t we?”
As you introduce yourself, formally, the same unreadable look from before flashes in his eyes again, like he’s meeting you for the first time, but not.
Pairing: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard/Female, Surface Reader
Word Count: 5,138
Warnings: a lot, rape/non-con, older man (he’s a zombie basically)/younger woman (reader is 20), monster fucking, size kink, rough sex, gun play, blood kink, glove kink?, loss of virginity, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, creampie
Summary: Your father dead, brother gone in search for his killers, mother gone in search for him, you were left alone in the wilderness. You thought you knew how to take care of yourself, but that idea is challenged when a certain ghoul in a cowboy hat shows up at your dining room table.
Tags: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. READ THE WARNINGS. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. Please, read the warnings, if any of this triggers you do not continue!!!!!!!!!!
Note: first post here, but i also posted on ao3 where i have posted fics before... just... bear with me, the brain rot was real for this one. I have never written anything at this level of depravity but this yucky looking man without a nose took hold of me and I had to write this. I did most of it when I should have been studying for a quiz, but it's fineeeee. Anyway, please enjoy this 5k word piece of filth that was only read through once……
(And yes the title is based off Hozier’s song Too Sweet.)
You were born and raised on the surface with its sandy horizons and burning sun, but your life was definitely better than most others who live on the surface of this godforsaken world. Your parents had found a nice place with tons of supplies, the ability to grow plants, a water filter, and it was hidden fairly well. You weren’t entirely sure how they had found such a haven in the wasteland, but honestly you couldn’t complain too much. Alongside your older brother, you grew up knowing how to grow your own food, hunt, defend yourself, create booby traps, the normal things every kid grew up learning. You were also one of the lucky few that was taught how to read and write as your mother had been taught by her parents and passed it onto you and your brother, something you were forever grateful for.
Books were a solace for you, one of the few you could find, especially after your brother ran off to god knows where and your mother went off in search of him just a few months ago. After your father passed away three years ago, your brother felt it necessary to be the “man of the house” and make sure you and your mother were taken care of. It wasn’t that you were ungrateful for his protection and watchful eye, but he could be a little extreme at times. Your father died just over a year ago, and it was hard on all of you. Perhaps your brother took it a bit harder since he never showed his sadness about it… only his anger. See, your father was killed by some raiders on one of his outings to get more supplies. Your brother was with him when it happened but managed to escape. You were almost one hundred percent sure that was where your brother had gone; looking for your father’s killers.
Unfortunately, that had been just over four months ago. A few days ago your mother grew sick of it and went to try and find your brother, leaving you all alone. You knew how to protect yourself and make sure the house was protected and hidden, but that didn’t mean you liked being alone or that you didn’t worry every day about your missing family. In fact, it made it worse.
You felt your patience and sanity wearing thin as the days went on and you heard nothing from your mother or brother. You were worried sick, the only things keeping you from running off by yourself were tending to the farm and the chickens, checking on the water filter, reading your books, really anything to distract you from the inevitable truth;that your family was dead.
One day, you were out tending to the livestock and farms for most of the day. It was starting to get dark and mostly everything was done, so it was about time to head inside for the night. As soon as you opened the door, you could tell something was off. Maybe it was the slightly larger, sandy footprints through the hallway, or the way that everything around you seemed to stand still, either way you knew something was wrong. Unfortunately, you weren’t quick enough. Even with your added paranoia from being alone for a few days, your reflexes couldn’t have prepared you enough for the sight of a man… no, a ghoul, lounging at your dining table. Seat pulled back, feet on the table, fingers lazily playing with the trigger of the sawed off shotgun that was pointed directly at you.
Part of his face was obscured by a ragged hat, but you could still tell that he was a ghoul, his face covered in scars, red and shiny from the radiation. He slowly lifted his head, dark eyes shining in the setting sun streaming through the window, the black hole where his nose should have been even more prominent as his gaze slowly trailed from your muddy boots up your bare legs (you wanted to wear shorts, it was hot out), across your curves until they finally landed on your face, lingering on your parted lips for a moment too long in your opinion.
Your eyes, on the other hand, kept on moving between his ruined face to the gun pointed at you in quick succession, not knowing which to focus on more. Before you could think of doing anything else, he finally spoke.
“Well, sweetheart, seems you found yourself in quite the predicament here.” The words roll off his tongue easily, like they were practiced, used, normal for him to utter. That nickname too, so antagonizing and belittling with just two syllables. It made your blood boil… not like that… right?
You attempted to speak, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, your eyes still flicking between the barrel of the gun and the ruined face before you. Your very apparent lack of thoughts and speech only made the ghoul chuckle. It was a deep sound, like a rumble of the earth during a thunderstorm, the vibrations running all through your body, unyielding to the forces that surround you.
“Cat got your tongue, darlin’?”
The question was not meant to be answered, in fact it made all semblance of words leave your mouth entirely. He stood up then, the spurs on his boots startling you as he took step after step closer to you, the gun in his hand hanging loosely at his side. At first, you didn’t move, but as he got closer, you took a fearful step back, not realizing until it was too late that he maneuvered you in such a way as he was getting closer so now your back was flush against the wall. The ghoul was close now, too close, so close you could feel his body heat, the stench of his breath from his yellowed mouth, the gunpowder and cigarettes and booze that lingered on him like a haze after a fire. He was terrifying.
You let out a pathetic squeak as the end of his shotgun found its place underneath your chin, tilting your head up to make sure you looked him directly in the eyes. His eyes weren’t an evil yellow or filled with contempt, they were a deep brown, a soft brown, and they were filled with an emotion you really could not place. The position you were in was compromising, with his face inches from your own (his hips inches from your own). And that look in his eyes. Why couldn’t you figure it out?
The cool metal of the gun felt as if it was burning you as he tipped your head back just a bit more, his dark eyes focused on yours, “Ain’t you just a sweet little thing, all alone, no way of protectin’ yourself.” You did have a way of protecting yourself, it was called booby traps that he somehow managed to get by, but you bit your tongue.
“What do you want with me?” You managed to speak that one question that was burning in your mind in spite of the shivers of fear that ran down your spine as your chin moved the shotgun touching it.
At that little comment from you, the ghoul smirked like the bastard he was, “Well you see, missy,” You felt a surge of relief followed quickly by terror again as the gun left your chin only to trail down your neck and land on the collar of your tank top, a collar that was already pretty low cut (again, it was hot). The barrel caught in the fabric as he continued to speak, “I have it on good information that this little abode of yours happens to also be the home of a stupid boy who crossed paths with the wrong man.”
Your heart sank. You knew exactly what he was referring to. Your fucking brother, off doing who knows what, stirring up the worst kind of trouble. He wanted to avenge your father, you knew that, but did he not think? Of course he didn’t. He thought it would be all unicorns and daisies as he tracked down a pack of murderers. Why would he think twice about the trouble that would bring onto you?
“Look, I–” You gave a dry swallow as the gun at your chest pushed further beneath your shirt, just shy away from tugging it to the side and taking a peek. “You’re looking for my brother, right? I-I don’t know where he is. He left months ago and then my mother–” You cut yourself off, you didn’t want your mother caught up as this bounty hunter’s prey as well.
The ghoul cocked his head to the side, eyes never leaving your face even as the gun moved the fabric of your tank top to the side, your cleavage very obviously there for the looking. “Don’t let me stop you, sweetheart. Please, tell me more about your dear mama.”
You felt the tears on your cheeks before you realized they even formed in the first place. Why did this have to happen? You were blessed, you knew that, with this home and your family, but that didn’t mean you had to have horrible things happen to you as well. You already lost your father, your brother and mother were gone, but you didn’t do anything.
The ghoul’s gaze followed the tears as they trailed down your face, a twisted pleasure running through him as he watched them. You were too sweet for this world, too sweet for a man like him to find you all alone like this.
Without much extra thought, you felt the ghoul position his leg between yours, the rough material of his pants around his thigh immediately rubbing against the cloth covering your bottom half. The movement caught you off guard and another gasp of surprise left your mouth, a fresh wave of tears trailing down your face. So that was what he wanted… Growing up you learned what it was that made babies, the simple things like that, but you were sheltered, never leaving your home or the confines of your land, much preferring to stay with your family and not venture out into the dangerous unknown. And it was made dangerous because men, of things, like him.
“Awh, what is it, darlin’?” You heard the gun click into its holster at his side, one hand moving to grip your hip with a strength that really shouldn’t have shocked you, the other moving towards your face, his gloved thumb swiping at the tears gathering there. You mewled again as his thigh moved, the rough fabric causing unwanted friction in an unwanted place. “You scared of little ol’ me?”
“Please,” The fear you felt before only grew as the realization dawned on you. He wanted information and he knew the only way of getting it out of you would be to hurt you… but that didn’t have to mean just cuts and bruises, especially for a man like him. “Please don’t do this. I- I don’t know anything else.”
You knew it was a lie, he knew it was a lie. You just wanted to protect your mother, and maybe you could convince him of that. At least, you hoped you could.
The ghoul moved the hand on your face down, resting on the collar of your shirt, “Sweetheart, you really don’t know how the world works out there, do ya?” His face moved closer to yours, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, “It’s eat or be eaten, darlin’, and you ain’t telling me what I wanna know.”
“But-” You hiccuped as fresh tears left your eyes, “But I don’t know anythi–”
A sharp gasp that bordered on a scream escaped you as the hand at your hip left to join the other one and a loud ripping sound invaded your senses, your tank top now ripped clean down the middle, exposing your breasts to him.
Damn, your skin was so soft. Not a scar on your body, just some dirt and scrapes from working outside. The sweat from the sun still lingered on your skin, making it glow, and that scent, it alone was enough to make a ghoul go feral. But he could stave off that feeling if he found a way to get rid of it.
The ghoul’s eyes found yours again in spite of your breasts being right there. “Sweet thing,” God you hated how small his nicknames made you feel. “I don’t think you’re understandin’ still. I got a bounty to find, you know how to find ‘em, and, well, I know a fun way to get it outta ya.”
At that last comment you felt the rough leather of his gloves finally touch your breast, squeezing and toying with them in a way you never thought possible. His hands were everywhere, twisting, rough, strong, it made your skin sweat and your back arch. You whimpered as he tugged at your nipples, the pain mixed with a different feeling, one that didn’t feel that bad. As your back arched, your hips unintentionally bumped against his and you felt something hard poke at you. Your eyes widened in shock, the nice feeling from before immediately dissipating as your situation dawned on you again. With that thought, a renewed vigor filled you, your hand clenching in a fist that was raised and swung at the monster’s face.
Your punch landed with a loud thud but to your horror he didn’t even flinch, just stopped his ministrations on your breasts to glare at you, his anger radiating off of him in waves.
A cruel smirk grew on his scarred face, “There’s that fight I was looking for.”
His sentence was punctuated with a harsh slap across your face, the force making your vision blink out for a couple of seconds as your head swung to the side. You tasted blood in your mouth and felt a strong hand grip your jaw, harshly moving your head so that it faced him again.
“You wanna try that again, sweetheart, or are ya gonna tell me what I wanna know?”
Despite your fear and the knowledge that this man, this ghoul, could kill you in a matter of seconds, it would take more than that to get you to give up your mother and brother to him. With that thought in mind, you gathered up some of the blood in your mouth and spit at him, the red liquid splattering over his already reddened face.
The hand at your jaw moved to grip your throat, squeezing just enough to cause discomfort and fear that he could do much worse. You watched in horror as his free hand then moved to gather up some of the blood on his face, the finger now sticky and shiny with it moving to his mouth as he licked it clean, a face of pure pleasure overcoming him as he tasted you.
“You taste sweeter than apple pie,” Your throat was squeezed tighter as his face grew closer to yours, his missing nose making it easier to invade your space. “And that just makes me wanna taste you even more.”
His head immediately moved to your neck where you felt his hot breath on your shoulder, his hand moved to grab at your face to keep you from moving. You squirmed in his grasp as you felt a rough tongue drag against your skin, the feeling foreign to you. It seemed like he really was tasting you, licking at the sweat and grime that coated your skin, savoring the taste. Your body tried to wriggle free, a scream warbled by the grip he had on your cheeks as you felt the blunt ends of his teeth bite deep into the juncture of your shoulder and neck. The force in which he bit down was sure to leave a mark, the abused flesh turning red and irritated almost immediately.
You wanted to pass out right then and there, your mind racing with thoughts of what he might do to you next. He lingered at your neck for a moment before giving it one last swipe of his tongue and returning to look you dead in the eyes, a wicked smile on his scarred skin. Your face was smushed together by his gloved hand and you watched as his gaze traveled back to your neck, back to the mark he left there. His hand quickly followed that gaze, trailing over the mark before gripping your throat again. You saw as the thoughts and emotions raced behind his eyes but you didn’t know where they would lead.
Without any more warning, the ghoul used the hand on your throat to swing you around, slamming your back onto the table. You tried to get out from under him, swinging your arms and legs wildly, screaming (not that anyone would hear you), trying to land a punch or a kick, anything to get away. The ghoul grabbed a hold of your wrists in one hand, pinning them to the table above your head as his free hand went to his waist, grabbing the shotgun from its holster and pointing at your face once again.
Your struggle stopped the moment you heard the holster pop open, your terror growing tenfold as you knew at this distance, one simple slip of his finger would cause your entire head to explode off your body. The ghoul’s smirk was horrible, devilish, and it turned your blood ice cold. He moved the barrel of the gun closer to you until it brushed against your pursed lips still stained red from your blood.
You knew what he wanted you to do, but you couldn’t, the thought making you want to die on the spot. The ghoul didn’t seem to like that, though, the barrel pushing against your lips more roughly.
“Open wide, darlin’” His voice was dark, gravely, filled with irritation but also wild interest, or perhaps lust. “You really don’t wanna make me even more angry.”
You looked deep into his eyes, the flakes of red across his face from your blood making him appear even more frightening, even more like a monster only seen in children’s stories. You knew if you hesitated any longer he’d be more than happy to pull the trigger and blow your head clean off. Your vision grew blurry as more tears formed, your mouth opening just the slightest amount to allow for the gun to slide past your lips. The taste of metal and gunpowder made you want to gag, your eyes finding the dark ones above you as a slow exhale of breath left the ghoul’s mouth, his gaze transfixed on the way his gun slid deep into your mouth.
“Ain’t that a sight,” He spoke in a low tone, voice filled with fascination.
The gun moved deeper into your mouth, the taste giving way to pain as it pushed against the back of your throat, your mouth wrapping painfully around it, stretching it in uncomfortable ways. You felt it begin to leave your mouth before pushing back in, the slow fucking of your throat by a gun making your tears only increase, the gaging sensation becoming more prominent. You tried to move your arms, to get the gun out of your mouth, but his grip was too strong, his fascination with the scene he created too enticing for him to stop. You felt a hard poke against your thighs as they draped over the end of the table and were pinned by the ghoul’s strong body. You continued to gag around the gun as he fucked it faster and rougher into your face, his breaths becoming louder above you. The hard poke from before rubbed against your thigh as he continued, unprovoked, or perhaps more enticed by your tears and the pathetic sounds attempting to leave around the thick barrel of his gun.
“It’s a damn good thing you ain’t out in the real world, pretty lady. You woulda been eaten right up the moment someone laid eyes on ya.”
His final comment was finished as the gun was shoved further down your throat, a garbled scream rising from you only to be smothered by the metal. He finally removed the weapon from your mouth, saliva making the metal glisten in the dying light from the sun outside. Your cheeks felt burning hot, covered in your tears and sweat as you were given some reprieve from his assault.
The ghoul looked over his gun, that same bastardly smirk still prominent on his face as he placed it back in its holster, leaving your spit still on it. “Now that was fun, wasn’t it sweetheart,” You tried to glare at him, but didn’t dare speak, your mouth too sore and abused. Your small fight made the ghoul chuckle again, the hand holding your wrists dragging you up from the table with a harsh yank. His face was inches from yours again as he held you in the air, the only thing keeping you from falling was his grip on your hands and his hips digging into yours against the table. “Wanna tell me where you dear mama is now?”
So this torture was still to get information out of you. You loved your mother, you couldn’t bear the thought of giving her up so easily just to save your own skin.
“Fuck you.” Your voice was strained, your throat throbbing in pain at each syllable.
“I hoped you’d say that.” With a shove, he threw you to the floor, moving to stand over you. With your limbs finally free, you scrambled to get away, but he was too quick, one heeled boot slamming down on your leg with enough force to stun you. You screamed out in pain, eyes going wide as you watched him reach for his belt, foot still pressed against your leg, keeping you from moving. His hands worked slowly, the terror building up in you at each passing second. His belt came off far too quickly followed by the button of his pants.
You closed your eyes, not wanting to see where this was going. You heard the rustle of fabric as the ghoul removed his foot from your leg and went to straddle you, strong thighs on either side of your hips, one hand slammed against the floor beside your head, the other grabbing your jaw in a vice-like grip.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” You hesitated before giving in as his grip strengthened to the point of pain, making you gasp and your eyes fly open. “I want you to watch as I ruin you.”
The tears never seemed to stop, his hand leaving your jaw only to rip your shorts and panties down your legs in one harsh tug, the fabric burning against your too sensitive skin. You didn’t dare look down, your gaze staying fixed on his, hoping that if you didn’t look then it wasn’t actually going to happen.
In spite of your prayers, you felt the rough leather of a gloved finger run through your folds, a sharp intake of breath the only sound you made. Your attempts at staying quiet were soon overcome as his finger found that secret spot just at the top of your cunt, the roughness of the glove and the fear that was coursing through your blood made it even more sensitive and a small mewl of discomfort left your lips.
The ghoul continued to rub at your clit, your thighs beginning to shake, the sounds escaping your throat enough to make your skin boil in shame. “C’mon, pretty lady, do ya really wanna make this harder on yourself?” He went to whisper in your ear again, his fingers working magic against you. “I can make this feel so good for ya, just tell me what I wanna hear.”
Your hips began to buck against his hand, your moans growing louder as his thumb remained on your clit, one finger entering your cunt and it was like you were seeing stars. You had never done anything like this before, never really had the chance to. You experimented by yourself of course, but having someone else do it to you? It was on a whole other level.
You chased your peak like it was the only thing standing in the way of your survival, your hips shaking, mouth agape, eyes still fixed on the dark ones above you. You were so close. You could feel it building, boiling over–
A pathetic cry left you as he removed his hand, bringing it up to his face as he inspected the wetness now coating his fingers. With that same hand he gripped your cheeks, your own fluids coating your face, the scent invading your senses.
“I said I could make ya feel good, but you haven’t given me anythin’ in return yet.” His tone was so cocky, so arrogant, and yet it sent warmth shooting down to your core, unbidden and unwelcome to your mind, but it was received with exaltation as it fueled the slowly dying fire within you.
“Please–” It was pathetic, you knew that, and you weren’t even sure what you were saying please to, please stop, please don’t stop, please let me come mr ghoul sir?
Your desire was partially snuffed out as you felt something large and warm slap against your stomach. The suddenness of it made you forget to not look down as your gaze landed on the ghoul’s cock. It was big, the skin red and irritated, scarred from the radiation, just like the rest of his body. As much as the pleasure he was giving you before felt amazing, you couldn’t take that thing.
“That can’t fit,” You spoke hurriedly, the fear taking hold once more. “Please, I-I don’t know anything! I can’t help you, just please don’t put that in me.” Your sobs grew hysterical, tears free flowing, incoherent mumbles leaving you.
“Sweetheart, you really think I care?”
He was cruel, he was a monster, a horrible, despicable monster.
The ghoul reached for his discarded belt, using it to tie your wrists together above your head as you tried to squirm away from him again. And you watched in terror as one of his hands guided the head of his cock to hit against your opening, the other hand roaming down your neck to grab at your breasts again. The tip of him tried to get inside of you and you already felt like you would die right there.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you are tight.” His gaze left his cock and moved to look at you again, “You never been fucked before, have ya?”
Your blabberings and the fear in your eyes was enough of an answer for him.
“Damn, didn’t think I’d find a cunt as sweet as yours in this place.” He finally managed to push in, the pain was horrible, it made your insides burn, your mind going blank. “Makes me wanna stay here just a bit longer, still gotta know where your little shit of a brother is afterall.”
Your mind was gone, overcome with pain as he pushed more of his length into you, heedless of your squirming, your tears, the resistance he felt as he kept on going deeper and deeper.
It was horrible, you were glad your brain tried to block out other thoughts, albeit in vain as he pulled out just to slam back into you, fully sheathed in your tight cunt.
“You’re gripping me like a vice, darlin’, I dunno if I can even get out.” He gave a soft chuckle at that, punctuated with a sharp tug from your warmth only to shove it back in at a brutal pace.
You couldn't take it, couldn’t comprehend how this was happening to you. Distantly, you heard as his gloves came off, the rough skin of his fingers grabbing your hip with enough strength to form bruises while the other other arm braced against the floor beside your head, using it as leverage to rut into you. Your legs were splayed around his, your back scraping against the wooden floor, digging sharp lines into your skin.
You could faintly hear quiet sounds escape the man above you as he fucked you, his arms moving to grab your legs, bending them until your knees were beside your head, allowing him to reach even deeper into you. The head of his cock felt like a nail was being hammered into your cervix with each thrust. Your glazed eyes wandered down to see where you were joined and a jolt of horror ran through you. Each time he rammed into you, your belly bulged up a bit, it was like he was rearranging your insides to make more room for him.
The ghoul’s gaze followed yours and a louder grunt left him, one hand leaving your leg to press against the bulge on your belly. “Darlin’, you’re just too good for this fucked up world.”
The house was filled with the noises of flesh meeting flesh, your eyes were blank, staring up at the ceiling his thrusts continued. You didn’t want to think, to feel, to exist anymore. But the ghoul has other plans. Your face scrunched up as you felt a textured finger find your clit once more, rubbing it in all the right ways to make your mind snap back into focus. The pleasure was building again, each snap of his hips mixed with the bundle of nerves at your center being played with and you were reaching that peak again. Your moans intermingling with the slapping of flesh on flesh, you didn’t want to reach that crest and fall over it, you didn’t want this encounter to feel good for you too, but by god it did.
Your voice was raw as it screamed out, your pleasure pushed over the edge as you came, your thighs coating with your fluids, the noises becoming even more obscene as he continued to fuck you harder and faster.
“Goddamn, you are just too fucking good.”
His hands gripped your hips as his pace quickened but lost its rhythm. You knew he was getting close and the overstimulation of being fucked through and beyond your orgasm was making it hard to think of anything other than him. His hips finally stopped pistoning into you, giving one last, rough thrust as something hot and sticky filled you up, leaking out around his cock that remained in you.
The ghoul braced his hands on either side of your head, his eyes zeroed in on yours, breath heavy, sweat on his brow. “You gonna help me out now, sweetheart?”
Your head lolled to the side, eyes closing as you passed out.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 仮面ライダーギーツ | Kamen Rider Geats
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sakurai Keiwa/Ukiyo Ace
Characters: Ukiyo Ace, Sakurai Keiwa
Additional Tags: 4 +1 fic, Fluff, Getting Together, keiwa is actually popular, Ace is jealous, bit of time travel cause future ace is there for a bit, npcs as love rivals for ace, they dont have a chance though, i tried to make it funny but im not sure if it worked, the other main characters act as POV characters for the parts but im not sure if i should tag them, Emotional Constipation, at least for Ace, could be a bit ooc since ace is being a bit dramatic in this
Summary:
Despite what people thought, Keiwa wasn't actually unpopular. In fact, he was actually very popular when it came to romance, he just never noticed. Ace is bad at dealing with that.
