silvernight-m

[silvernight-m]

jonathan levy- there for you

Summary: Jonathan Levy breaks up with you. Months later, and in a bad relationship, you run into him, with unexpected results (fighting/angst, break-up, bad boyfriend, a bit fem coded, but reader isn’t referred to by any gendered language, ~2.4k)

-----

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Jonathan one, last time.

He pushes up his glasses, pushes back the wild black and gray curls that fall over his forehead continuously. He looks irritated but you can’t tell if it’s at you or himself. “Don’t do that thing where you ask me not to break up with you. It’s done. I gave you my reasons, please respect them.”

You sit forward on his couch. “When you put it like that, I can’t really argue. Even though I feel like I have the right to respond. Just because your arguments are good, doesn’t meant they’re true from my perspective.”

He takes a deep breath. “If I cared about your perspective, I’d still want to date you.”

That one steals your breath a little. It isn’t like Jonathan to intentionally cause pain. It’s a learned behavior. You know exactly who he’d learned it from.

You’d been bewildered when he sat you down and told you he was breaking up with you.

You’d been angry that he’d decided it entirely without you.

Disappointed when he told you his reasons.

Now, all you feel is hurt.

His words are pointed, designed to get you to stop asking questions, stop digging. He wants you to leave so he’s pushing you away as hard as he can.

As much talking as the two of you have done, about both of your pasts, today you don’t have it in you to fight for this relationship. Especially when Jonathan’s decided not to.

You’ve been happy to take things slow with him. It was good for you too. In some ways, he’s the first man you’ve dated that you could see yourself with forever. Not that you’d wanted to let yourself hope.

Jonathan’s done a lot of work to sort through his divorce, but the long-term damage is harder to deal with. The years of his ex-wife shaping his behavior.

You push up from the couch, pain coursing through your body like the pulse of blood through your veins.

Jonathan follows you to the front door, but at a distance.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice quiet. “I shouldn’t have said that last part. I panic. I lash out. You know that.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to control your shitty behavior for your next partner. Maybe they’ll be worth the effort,” you say, grabbing your coat and shoving your arms into the sleeves.

His eyes close, almost like he’s the one in pain, before his dark eyes stare at you again. He reaches out and puts a hand on his front door, stopping you from opening it.

“I am sorry. But if I let you talk, then I won’t do this, and I have to,” he says. He folds his arms in front of his chest, the dark blue sleeves of the shirt he wears to bed pushed up to his elbows.

“Yeah, you told me that. You said you want to get married again, and you don’t want to marry me.”

“No,” he says, raising a hand, his face deadly serious, “I didn’t say that. I said I want to get married again, but I can’t marry you.”

“Same fucking difference, Jonathan.” You grab your bag, jam your arms into your jacket.

“Wait, your phone charger,” he says, running into the kitchen to grab the charger you keep there. The soft pad of his socked feet is almost enough, for some reason, to bring tears to your eyes. He coils the wire carefully, slowly. Too slowly, as he walks back to you.

You grab it out of his hand. “You wanted me out of your life. So, let me leave.”

“It isn’t the same. I can’t marry you isn’t the same as I don’t want to,” he says as if he didn’t hear you.

“If you give me that bullshit about how I’m a great person and I deserve someone great, I’m going to scream. You’re someone great, Jonathan. I let you tell me how you think we’re in different places, and you want to focus on work and Ava, and I know you said to respect your reasons, but honestly, your reasons are bullshit excuses. Marriage is a distant goal. Like, it could be years from now-“

“But I do the math in my head,” Jonathan says. “We wait 3 years to get married, and then a year to plan it, and then maybe 2 years where it’s just us and Ava, before we think about having more kids, if we even want to.”

You drop your bag and lay your hands on his upper arms, squeezing gently. “You’re spiraling, Jonathan. Breathe.”

He lays a hand on his chest, closes his eyes. You wrap your arms around him, inhaling and exhaling as he does. He leans his forehead onto your shoulder.

“I acted like such a bastard. You shouldn’t be comforting me right now,” he says quietly.

“Well, I don’t want my last memory of you to be an asthma attack.”

Jonathan’s arms encircle you and you try not to think about how this is the last time you’ll feel that. The warmth and safety. The smell of his shampoo, how soft his beard feels against you.

You feel your bottom lip start to tremble and you bite down on it.

As if he can feel it, Jonathan tenses just a fraction. One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of your head.

“I’m okay,” you say.

“I know. You always are. You’re my rock.”

Blinking back tears, you push back. “You have to let me go, Jonathan.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, retreats a few steps. He pushes up his glasses, not quite meeting your eyes.

It’s not your job anymore, but one last time, you push his messy curls away from his face. The soft black and silvery gray hair catches in your fingers and Jonathan gently takes your hand and squeezes it.

“You’re so fucking amazing,” he says.

Saying nothing, because what else is there, you pick up your bag and walk out.

*****

“You always pull some shit. I don’t care about any of this. We have a brunch reservation. We’re going to lose it if you don’t move your ass.”

“You’re so crabby today,” you tell your boyfriend as you look through the buy one get one books. You’d convinced him to stop in before brunch. He hates shopping if he doesn’t have to buy anything.

He taps his watch. “Buy whatever that is, and let’s go.”

You hold up the book on candle-making. “I don’t want to buy it, I just want to look.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’m waiting outside. If you’re not there in 5 minutes, I’m going without you.”

He storms out in a huff, a few people in the store raising an eyebrow.

You set the book down, run your fingers along the covers of the other books. You hate making rush decisions, but he really will go without you, and there’s no way he’ll want to come back to the bookstore after. He probably won’t even talk to you during brunch anyway now, not with the scene he’ll say you made him cause.

“You should break up with that guy,” a voice says quietly, over your shoulder.

You know. You’ve known for awhile. But it isn’t that simple. There are good things about him. And you don’t want to be alone.

He’d asked you to move in together and he owns a house. He tunes out your rambling lectures about nothing instead of asking you to stop. And…

…

“Jonathan?” You turn your head, the back of your neck tingling.

He smiles softly. “Hey, sweetheart.”

His hand rests on your upper back as he leans in. His hooded eyelids are down slightly. He looks concerned as his fingers trace his lips briefly.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug it off. “He’s just hangry.”

Jonathan shakes his head. “No, he’s an asshole.”

“He’s not usually like that,” you say, feeling your face get warm.

Jonathan nods, pushes back his hair. He doesn’t buy it, you can tell.

“Well, it was good to see you,” you mumble.

Jonathan’s hand doesn’t leave your back. “Hang on a second. It’s been more than a year. Let me look at you.”

He smiles, but you don’t smile back.

Jonathan’s big, brown eyes look toward the bookstore’s door, then back at you. “At least let me help you pick out a book. We can be quick. We used to have a standing date to poke around bookstores on Thursday mornings, right?”

He turns you back toward the table.

“I should go,” you say.

Jonathan ignores you. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “So, what do we have here? This isn’t really my expertise. Hobbies and Holistic Healing.” His eyes scan the books. He waves his hand over them. “I’m not really a power-of-crystals guy. Um...”

A laugh bubbles up, out of your chest. “I remember.”

He grins. “How about this one?” He flips through it. “It’s about pets bringing positive energy into your life. That, I can understand. Playing with a cat or walking a dog, taking care of something. Plants make great roommates. Probably much nicer than your boyfriend.”

“We don’t live together.” You grab the book, set it back down.

“Good,” Jonathan says quickly. “I mean, it’s not my business, but good.”

He sighs.

“Let me stop you before you start.” You hold up a hand. “I know he sucks. But he also checks in during the day to see how I’m doing. He likes going grocery shopping with me. He likes to bring me around his friends, have game nights.”

Jonathan holds his hand out to where your boyfriend is waiting. “You shouldn’t have to settle for merely basic human decency. Not when he can’t even manage that. He just treated you like dirt, in public.”

“I told you, he’s not always like that.”

Jonathan laughs, but it’s cold, ironic. “I’ve never in my life wanted to get into a physical fight. I swear to god, I want to knock his lights out.”

“Stop, Jonathan, it’s not a big deal.”

“How you’re treated is a big deal to me,” he says. He props his hands on his hips, looks up at the ceiling for a second, making some kind of decision. “I started coming to this bookstore a few months ago because I know you like it. I’ve been wanting to run into you. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, and you’re obviously very busy dating a jerk-“

Angry tears flood your eyes as you turn and walk away. Not toward the front door because right now, you can’t face your boyfriend either. So, you head to the back, where there’s another exit by the coffee counter.

Jonathan follows after you, even when you try to let the door shut in his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says once you’re outside. “I heard him disrespect you, and I saw red. I know it’s not your fault. None of this is. It’s my fault.”

“What?” You round on him. “You don’t have anything to do with this.”

“I shouldn’t have broken up with you,” he says, the words coming out in an anxiety-filled rush. “Mira got into my head that day, and back then, I still didn’t see how easily she could do that. How I let her. As soon as you walked out, I knew I’d made a huge mistake. I just, I thought, at least if you were away from me then you could find someone normal. Someone younger than me with less baggage. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong. Everything works out how it’s supposed to, I’ve always believed that.”

“Then believe that I’m supposed to be back in your life,” Jonathan says, his smile a little desperate. “Please. Or at least send that fucking guy packing.”

A laugh escapes you in a huff. “The sick thing is, when I first met him, he reminded me of you.”

Jonathan’s face scrunches up. “Ugh.”

“He’s academic, really intelligent, but unlike you, he doesn’t really have a sense of humor about himself.”

Jonathan adjusts his glasses. “Well, I didn’t used to either, but it was either start laughing at the mess my life was, or check myself into a mental health facility. And I couldn’t risk being put away and leaving Ava with Mira for two whole years. Talk about childhood trauma.”

He reaches out and squeezes your arm reassuringly. It helps.

“I’m going to break up with him,” you say, actually meaning it this time.

“Good.” He lets go, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looks at you thoughtfully. “My number’s the same. I live in the same house. Custody schedule’s the same. So, you know where to find me.  You don’t have to call. Just text me like, a dumb emoji, or anything. I’ll take it as as sign. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Or if you’d let me take you out again. Or let me-”

His dark eyes turn darker as he cuts himself off, stopping himself from saying something dirty that you’re now desperate to hear. His gaze flicks to your lips and down your neck.

You smile at him, already wondering how many days you have to wait to text him so you don’t seem like a slutty, desperate weirdo. Although, Jonathan kind of is too. It’s what had made you good together.

“Did you really start coming to this store because you wanted to see me?” you ask.

His lips smile thinly. “Yeah. And sometimes I walk by that pet store on their adoption days because I know you like to go look at the animals.”

“You know me too well,” you tell him softly.

“Actually, I didn’t.” He sighs quietly. “This time, I’ll do better. You’re worth fighting for, is what I’m trying to say. Before, when we were together, I was still fighting myself, fighting my ex. Waste of fucking time, when I should’ve been with you all along.”

You blink your eyes hard to keep tears from welling up. You can’t stop the thoughts, though, the crazy ones that are excitedly bubbling up inside you after hearing him speak.

“This is going to sound really bad,” you start worrying your thumbnail on the hem of your shirt.

“I’m all ears,” Jonathan grins.

“Would you mind waiting for me while I break up with my boyfriend real quick? And then, maybe we can get lunch?”

Jonathan’s smile is huge. “I would be delighted. I’ll wait at the corner, in case you need me.”

“You don’t have to-“

Jonathan clears his throat. “I know you’ll be fine. I want to, though. Get used to me be being there for you.”

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[silvernight-m]

This got me :0

And how can you write him like this! Like I know the movie isn't out or he didn't talk that much in the trailer BUT how do you make me hear him talk and actually say each dialog!!!!?!

I'm at awe :0

And this whole chapter got me to cry😭

He loves his creation, bastard

victor frankenstein- a middle

Summary: While working with Victor, a happy accident occurs. But happy for whom? And can you forgive him for what he’s done?

(18+ a little violence against Victor, reanimation, difficulty accepting physical change (on your side not Victor’s), hint of dom reader, p in v, angst, ~3.1k)

:: Part 1 here: A Beginning ::

-----

Victor isn’t worried about the consequences. And so, neither are you.

You know people smile and whisper that Mr. and Mrs. Frankenstein are strange. They spend too much time together. Two people shouldn’t have only each other, surely.

It’s harmless gossip about newlyweds, and you take it as a compliment. It’s true. The two of you are inseparable.

Days go by. Weeks. Setting up Victor’s lab in the sunlight of the garden shed, planning by firelight in the evening, and wonderfully exhausting nights that mean each morning has to be spent taking a cleansing dip in the small, fresh river behind the house.

Always busy, always together.

So it comes as quite a surprise when one morning you wake up alone, lying on a hard slab, somewhere unfamiliar.

In the garden shed.

And God, you feel horrible. Empty and sick.

You cough, your ears ringing and head pounding.

Who are you? And what are you?

A man sits in the corner of the shed. He’s painfully tired looking. His dark, curly hair is matted and his hands are stained with you know not what. His white shirt is dirty and his suspenders hang limply at his thighs.

Everything is a mess in here actually.

Tubes, flasks, overturned piles of books. Metal hangs from the ceiling, attached to something on the roof.

Your mouth opens, but no sounds come out. Surely, you can speak. But right now, for some reason, you don’t know how.

A foreign, ugly sound escapes you.

The man’s head snaps up.

His dark eyes widen, but the rest of him is frozen in shock. Then, with shaking hands, he rises and reaches for you.

“My love, my wife,” he calls you, holding you.

You push him away.

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice unsteady. “I’ve brought you back. All of our good work, everything we thought of together. I thought I’d lost you. I couldn’t bear it.”

Something tickles your mind. Through the haze of confusion, you remember something. Wandering outside with this man. It had been pitch-black night. You’d fallen. A sickening snap in your neck. And just before the darkness had closed in on you, you’d heard him… Victor. A sound of anguish like you’d never heard. Your last thought that you loved him so much.

“I couldn’t let death have you,” Victor says resolutely. “I hope you’ll forgive me someday, my love.”

Victor wraps a blanket around your naked body, but you’re not cold. You have trouble feeling anything at all.

You reach up and touch the back of your neck, where you’d felt yourself die. There’s a thick, hard scar.

“How do you feel?” Victor asks.

You shake your head, unable to quite put the pieces together.

Your memories are spotty, but this is wrong. He’s done something very, very wrong.

Without thinking, your hands close around his neck. You must be strong because Victor immediately chokes, his fingers struggle to break your grip, but he can do nothing.

Whatever you are, it’s Victor’s fault.

He starts to fall to the ground and you release him.

You realize what he’s done. You sob. At first, you have no tears. But like your brain, the rest of your body starts to remember how to live and soon enough, Victor is using his shirtsleeves to wipe your cheeks.

“Get away from me,” you scream at him.

He looks heartbroken. “You’ve every right to be angry, but in time, you’ll understand.”

Victor looks at his hands and seems to realize the state of himself, and of you.

“Come to the river, we’ll have a bath. Like old times,” he says.

Fear strikes you. You have no memory of that.

“Later, then,” Victor says, gently. “Let’s go inside, my dearest.”

He rinses his hands, watching and waiting for you to get off the table.

Your body is stiff, though. Victor has to half-carry you out of the shed.

The sunlight hurts your eyes. Nature smells too strongly.

Victor tucks your face against his neck. “You’ll have to stay here at the house for the time being. Your funeral was weeks ago. I’ve sent away the servants. It’s just you and me, the way we’ve always liked it.”

He sets you on a chair in the kitchen. His dark eyes are unsettled, flitting around, but always watching you.

You try to examine yourself, opening the blanket. You seem mostly unblemished, but a bit discolored in places, and a strange texture to your skin.

“The work was faster than we estimated, being as your body was entirely intact,” Victor says as he adds wood to the stove, sets a kettle on top. Speaking with more energy, his words come quickly. “We were out searching, as we do, to see if anyone had been freshly buried. Your fall in the confines of the graveyard seemed almost like fate. That you should become the body we gave life to. All of my theories, our theories, were correct. It worked.”

He laughs, the sound manic and high-pitched. He rubs his hand over his mouth, excited now. It dims when he glances at your stony face, but he continues making tea.

“I think your color will improve with time,” Victor says as he pours. “Do you feel hunger? Strangely enough, I do. I haven’t felt hungry since the day you died.”

He makes it sound like your life is a train, briefly off course but now set rightly back on the rails. Like nothing will change. When everything has.

“I am dead, Victor. Everyone thinks me dead.” Your voice sounds less rusty, but there’s an odd timbre to it, a rasp it didn’t used to have.

“Yes, that is unfortunate.” He sets the cups of tea down at the table, his mind working. “My immediate problem was bringing you back. I confess, I gave little thought to what would happen when I succeeded.”

How typical.

Though you can hardly blame him. You’d been just as dedicated to the work as he had.

Victor sips his tea, seeming unbothered. “We might be able to tell people we met when I was away at university. You’re the daughter of my professor, which would explain your intellect. You’ve always been sickly and traveled often in search of a cure, which would explain why no one would know you.”

You watch him with the teacup and you mimic his movements. To your dismay, somehow you end up with the china cup in one hand, and the delicate handle crushed in the other.

Victor is quiet for a few seconds.

“I don’t know how I’ll explain how strong you are, though. An interesting side effect,” he says with a smile, as if your new strength intrigues him greatly. He peers at your hand. “The tea was quite hot. It didn’t burn you?”

“I didn’t really feel it,” you say, confused. “I think I’m hardier than I once was.”

“You’re extraordinary,” Victor says. He holds out his own teacup to you. “Then again, you always were.”

*****

It isn’t as easy as Victor wants it to be.

Being whatever it is you are now.

You long for his companionship, but your more robust nature means your skin isn’t as sensitive. And you know that you don’t love him as deeply as you should. It’s coming back, that emotion, but not fast enough for either of you.

Victor spends every meal going over every second of your time together. The couple he speaks of seem wildly enamored of each other, but you have trouble seeing yourself as that woman.

You can, however, pick up the entire basin of firewood at the back of the house. The river, with its cold mountain water, doesn’t make you shiver as it does Victor. Making the laboratory orderly again is easy, now that you can lift everything yourself.

Victor sweeps and tidies, often stopping to marvel at your feats.

He has to teach you to write again.

The clumsy, haphazard script seems to pain him, but it improves marginally day by day.

You let him kiss your cheek, but you turn from his lips.

“You’re not ready. It’s alright,” he whispers in the dark of your bedroom one night.

The windows are open to the cooler, humid air. The insects chirp through the silence and it would all be very cozy if not for this gnawing feeling in your soul.

It isn’t that you’re longing for a past life. You feel clumsy in this one, though.

The light and shadow of the moon reflects the features of the complex man you’d married as you study him in bed. He looks like himself again, after your death had hollowed him. You don’t know how he can be so happy with how things are now.

“I do love you,” you say.

His smile is small, but true. His fingers trace your forehead and cheekbones.

“And I love you.” It’s evident in every syllable.

“But I’m not the same. How can you still love this strange body? Answer me honestly, Victor.”

He heaves a great sigh. “You don’t believe I do, fine. Perhaps I cannot convince you because you cannot convince yourself. True, when you kiss my face, your lips are cooler and not quite as soft. The reanimation has made your muscles preternaturally strong. Your old hair is shedding and the new is growing in. But this body is the woman I love.

“You wait for our closeness to come back to us as if you have only to wait for it to come in like the tide. Dearest, if you want me still, then meet me at the shore. I am here and I want you more and more every single day.”

Victor has been nothing but sweet. Patient even, which he'd struggled with before.

You haven’t told him, but the memory of him asking you to marry him has come back. You replay it in your mind many times a day. It's helped you remember how to love him.

“I’m not as pretty as you once thought me,” you say, a vast over-simplification.

Victor, as astute as ever, knows it belays a much deeper fear.

“I can’t even see my family, or yours. I was dead,” you say, feeling a lump gather in your throat. “I’m a monster.”

Victor looks so hurt you’re worried he might be having an attack. He flings himself close to you, his strong hands clutching you very hard. It would’ve bruised and hurt your old body. This one endures, though, and welcomes the sensation.

His huge, brown eyes have an edge of the wild genius you remember.

“You’re the culmination of everything,” he says passionately. “Yes, I wanted to create life, that was the hubris of intellect. What you are is so, so much more. My dearest, you’re something entirely new. The body and partial memories of the romantic love of a lifetime. The strength and tirelessness of a being that is beyond mere human. I have not created a monster. I have created a god. And she is you.”

You shake your head, but Victor’s hands frame your face, trying to stop you from doubting yourself.

The ache you used to feel for him burns in your veins. A need, not just for basic human connection, but for Victor.

“They’re not partial memories,” you admit, resting your forehead against his. “They’ve come back. I don’t know if they’ll ever feel like they’re truly mine again. But I remember.”

Your hands find the warm, smooth skin of his chest. Victor shudders under your touch.

You understand now, why he looks at you differently. Not because he thinks you lesser. It’s as he said, he believes you to be more than you once were.

For the first time you believe that you might be.

Kissing Victor is awkward. Like drawing or running, your body doesn’t quite remember how. Long minutes go by before your tongues tangle again, before you know how to press your body against his.

You try to remember how strong you are, not to hurt him as you roll on top of him. Victor’s hands shake as he helps position your thighs around him. Once he does, you take his wrists and hold them back, leaning forward and trapping them over his head.

He’s momentarily caught off guard.

“My dear, you’ve never been so…” he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing under the scruff of hair on his neck. He flexes his wrists, but you don’t let him go. He smiles, heat lighting up his dark gaze. “I like it.”

Your body, now able to endure more extremes in pain and temperature, you’d thought had dulled your sensations. As you take Victor again inside of you, you find that’s not true. Though the roll of your hips is stiff at first, neither of you minds.

Your tight, wet walls squeeze harder now and Victor’s eyes roll back in his head, a groan trembling from his lips in ecstasy. You chase the feeling of how good he fills you, rocking back and forth, riding him harder as you take him completely.

This position had been tricky before, how Victor’s cock hit too deep at certain angles. The sharp pinch of it always took time to work up to. You’d had to be careful. Now, though, it feels almost too good.

His arms strain against your grip, not fighting you, but to give him leverage to buck his hips up into yours. Faster and faster. The better it feels, the more both of your bodies want that release you haven’t had for weeks.

“Please come,” Victor begs, sweat beading on his forehead, his curls stuck to his skin. “My only love, let me feel you come around me. You feel so good. I can feel you squeeze me. More, more. Fuck me. Please.”

Your thighs squeeze him and you’re scared you’re crushing him, but you feel him shudder, as if he likes the sensation of your strong body holding onto him in every way. Something about it, how he embraces your new form, a form you’d made together. It sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into Victor’s. He spills into you with loud groans as you moan his name over and over.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask before either of you has recovered.

“If you did, I enjoyed it,” Victor grins.

You release his wrists, glad to see they’re red but not bruised. He rubs them briefly, then sets his hand on your breast, over your heart.

“The beat of it is changed, stronger like the rest of you.” He pulls you to lie down on top of him, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“When we began our work, I’m sure you never expected to be so,” a laugh bubbles out of you, “intimately involved with it.”

Victor starts to laugh with you. “No, I never thought I would make love to my creation. Certainly never to be in love with it. But I will happily bury myself in my work, so to speak, for the rest of my life.”

When you kiss him this time, it’s not inept and odd, you know how to part your lips for him, how to tangle your fingers through his curly hair.

“Do you think, perhaps soon, I can see my family again? And your father and brothers? And dear Elizabeth and Henry?” you ask, looking down into Victor’s now troubled eyes.

“Can you act as if you don’t know them? To be introduced to them as someone new?”

You sigh. “I’m not sure, but can’t we tell them the truth? If you want to be hailed for your genius then surely we need to start telling people.”

“It’s our genius,” Victor says, lacing his fingers with yours. “But that former egoism I spoke of has tempered. When my creation was to be a collection of disused body parts, collected from strangers, I couldn’t wait to show him off, to have people come from far and wide to study with me. To rub my former university’s nose in my work. It’s rather different, though, when I think of the world’s leading scientists wanting to touch my wife. To look at her like a specimen of modern science, albeit the most remarkable one to exist.”

“Victor, you and I will set the boundaries of study. And if anyone tries to take liberties, well, I’m well strong enough to throw them through a wall,” you remind him.

Victor smiles, but he’s obviously reluctant.

“Just our families, then. To start with?” you ask.

His gaze is shadowed, troubled. “They still think you’re dead, but I had to tell them something, dearest, so they didn’t come up to the house, especially Henry. I told them not to bother me, as I’d hired a female companion.”

“Victor Frankenstein,” you scold him. “You told them what?”

At least he looks regretful, but still, it’s outrageous.

“You know Henry. He would’ve marched up here to save me from solitude and depression,” Victor says, trying to hold onto you as you dismount him, but he has no hope of stopping you.

You jump out of bed and throw on a robe.

“You can’t just hide me away. And I don’t like people thinking you’re sharing our home with a dishonorable woman, when you’re my husband,” you say. “I will re-enter society, Victor. You can’t stop me.”

“Do you want to be paraded around like an animal? Drawings of your body published in every journal there is?” Victor protests, out of bed now too, your raised voices silencing nature’s sounds outside the window. “What if they want to dissect you? Or take you away from me?”

“Fear never stopped you before. You were willing to do whatever you wanted,” you shout.

“You are my wife, and my creation,” Victor yells.

“And you are still the same selfish child you always were.”

“Where are you going?” he says, following you downstairs.

“Away,” you shoot over your shoulder, as you stomp bare-footed out into the night. “I can spend the night in the forest, in freezing cold or blazing heat, and be unaffected. Go back inside, Victor, let us sulk in our natural environments. You in a comfortable estate, a spoiled, tortured genius. And I out in the mountains, where a creature belongs.”

You don’t give him a chance to respond, but you know he chases you for a time. You’re faster, though and soon you know the elements make him turn back, naked and alone as he is. You have no fear, though.

Hopelessness, you have in spades.

You sit by a clear stream halfway up the mountains. You’re not tired, but the weight of disappointment crushes you.

If Victor only loves you because you are his creation, then you’re certain it’s a love you do not want.

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[silvernight-m]

Tara’s collar

So, when we meet Tara in Act 3 and Gale is in our party, it’s mentioned in-game that she has a collar that identifies her (Tav: “That symbol on the collar…Gale, is this one yours?” Gale: “It is! It’s Tara!”)

You can clearly see it in her animations:

What I did not know (until I saw it in the Bg3 wiki) is that it’s not just decorative—it’s actually a stealable/usable magic item. (Side note: Who would dare steal from Tara?!?! Who would dare??) The details are below:

I wanted to talk about the collar because as I was looking at it, I realized that there are three subtle details that show just how much Gale loves Tara:

If you look closely at the screenshot of Tara, you’ll see that the leather/fabric portion of her collar is a deep purple—a shade that matches Gale’s camp clothing. Of course he would give his closest friend his favorite color 💜

Even though Gale knows Tara is a “fine wizard in her own right,” and that she can cast a fireball, he still imbued the collar with a very powerful Level 5 Telekinesis spell.

There is in-game dialogue where Gale talks about how, in order to survive during his yearlong exile, he had to absorb all of his personal magic items that were stored in his tower. So the fact that Tara’s collar still holds this enchantment means he did not want to ‘absorb’ it—not even to extend his own life—because it is to be used for Tara’s protection 🥹

[silvernight-m]

Okay, maybe Marc Spector sees more action (danger) than action (sexual).

I laughed at this

And tbh I missed Marc so much🥺

Thank you for writing this Rally❤️

marc spector- first date one bed

Summary: Oh no, you’re stuck in Marc’s safe room for the night and there’s only one bed! /sarcastic (18+, fem bodied reader, sex on first date, danger, love, ~2.2k)

-----

You look at Marc very, very doubtfully. “This is a tiny, microscopic step up from a closet.”

“It’s a safe house.” He braces his hands on his hips, his jaw tight.

“Why are the walls mirrors? You some kinda pervert, Marc?” you ask in a breathy voice.

“It blocks signals, okay?” He grins, catches himself, and puts his I-mean-business face back on. “We’ll be safe here.”

“Uh-huh,” you say with a narrowed gaze, continuing to tease him. “You bring all your dates to your little sex storage room and bend them over your olive drab cot?”

He huffs a laugh out of his nose. “I’d be offended, but you’re actually taking all of this pretty well. Considering…”

You’d been on a first date with Marc. A very nice steak place that you’d been impressed with. He’d even brought chocolates and flowers. You hadn’t thought Marc was the romantic type, so he’d scored major points for that.

Then the entire date had been upended by a van of five men with guns. All wearing black ski masks, shooting at your date and therefore, also you. Marc had turned into every action hero you’d ever seen in movies. He’d taken the guys out, ruined a few place settings and tables in the process, and managed to get you both out of there before the cops showed up. And somehow, his hair had looked better afterward.

It had been so bizarre, so unbelievable, that you’d been incapable of having a breakdown about it. Maybe later. But for now, it’s all pretty fascinating.

Marc had torn his dress shirt, which is kind of a net positive because he ditches it for the tight black t-shirt underneath.

You walk around the small square of space. Everything is spotless, organized ruthlessly.

“Any board games?” You run a finger over the latch of one of his ammo canisters.

Marc fusses with the bedding, what little of it there is. He digs around in the footlocker for a pillow. “No. Not a lot to entertain you in here, sorry. It’s more of a staging area.”

“Staging for what?”

Marc, still squatting in front of the storage locker, glances up at you. “For my life. I guess.” He half-shrugs. “Hard to explain.”

“Yeah, I bet it is. This is some real secret agent shit. Is this a gun?” You pick up a matte black firearm with two fingers and hold it up.

Marc’s eyes pop wide. “Put that back. Are you nuts? Never touch a weapon unless you’re prepared to fire it. Never point it unless you’re prepared to kill whatever’s on the other end.”

“I didn’t point it at you.” You put it back.

Marc’s staring at the reflective wall across from the cot. He’s actively glowering at himself.

“Do you have any clothes I can sleep in?” you ask. “My date outfit wouldn’t really be comfortable.”

You sit on the cot. Maybe… the clothes won’t be the problem. It has hardly any give. It’s hard, but saggy at the same time.

You bounce a few times, the creaky sound echoing in the room.

“I don’t mean to sound sexual, but I’m going to have to sleep on top of you for us both to fit on this. Also, you’d probably be more comfy. You know, I don’t usually sleep with guys on a first date.”

Marc’s jaw twitches. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You look down at the shiny, hard metal. “You can’t. Maybe if we just slept on our sides?”

Marc frowns, deep lines appearing on his forehead and between his eyes.

“I won’t sleep anyway. Cot’s all yours.” He opens up a different footlocker against one of the walls and takes out a pair of sweats and a clean t-shirt.

You start to pull off your shirt and Marc turns away quickly, only to realize he can still see you in the reflection of the wall. He turns, only to find your reflection staring at him again. He stares very obviously before he catches himself. He shuts his eyes and holds out the clothes blindly. You laugh.

To your surprise, and horniness, Marc smiles. It’s not a full, wide one, but you get the feeling his face doesn’t usually that. It still transforms him, though. His mouth crinkles up more on one side than the other and the hard set of his shoulders relaxes.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around his waist and lean in to kiss him.

Yes, your lips hit his teeth and it knocks you off balance, but his reflexes are damn good because in a millisecond, he’s kissing you back and his hands are rubbing up and down your back.

Marc’s kisses are intense. Like a full-body experience. He cups your ass, moving his lips to your jaw and down your neck. He throws the clothes on the floor and you help him take off his shirt. He returns the favor and backs you toward the low cot.

You sit down, the sound of Marc taking off his belt echoing off the walls.

“You get laid a lot in this safe room?” you ask, whipping the rest of your clothes off as fast as possible.

“Sure. This place sees nothing but my bare ass and swinging balls. Every night.”

Marc smirks, nudging you over so he can get on the cot with you. He’s so fit you’re almost embarrassed, but as soon as his hands touch your naked skin he groans like he hasn’t had sex in months.

He’s so hard, maybe he hasn’t.

That’s kind of weird, though. It’s not like he couldn’t have as many people as he wanted. He’s hands down the hottest man you’ve ever been on a date with.

Then you remember: the date ended with gunfire.

Okay, maybe Marc Spector sees more action (danger) than action (sexual).

“You taste really good,” you say as Marc’s mouth devours yours.

“You taste like I want to fuck you so fucking much.” Marc rolls his body onto yours impatiently.

His hand squeezes between your bodies, his thick fingers playing with you until your hips arch up and down against him.

You feel yourself start to tighten around him, your nails digging into the smooth, tan skin of his shoulders.

Marc’s brown eyes dilate bigger. “Can you come for me like this?”

“Yeah,” you say, feeling more turned on than you can ever remember being.

He makes an almost pained sound, his lips kissing yours almost desperately. He slips another finger inside, making your toes curl. His thumb catches your clit as he bites your earlobe a little too hard. You can’t take how good it feels. You lose it with a moan so loud you hope Marc’s fancy room is sound proof. You feel your wetness run down his fingers and onto his hand as you come.

You can only lie there panting as Marc runs his wet hand up and down his cock. His lips part as his other hand pushes your thighs further apart, making room for himself.

“Holy shit,” he says, his eyes glued to the head of his cock as it pushes inside of you. He groans loudly as he sinks all the way in, your legs wrapping around his thighs as he settles his weight down so he can fuck you properly.

And oh god, does he.

You’d complain about how hard he fucks you if it didn’t feel so good. If you didn’t want it so much you were leaving nail scratches in the taut, tan skin of his back. You feel the crescent shapes digging into his skin, but it only seems to make him more feral. He grunts, sweat beading on his forehead as you hold on for dear life, coming again.

And again.

And again, which makes your spine go jell-o and the friction start to just burn a little.

You’re sure you look a mess, but Marc looks so fucked out, this look of concentrated bliss on his face. Like he’d keep fucking you for a week if you asked him to. He’s still harder than a metal rod. How the hell can this man be real?

You make the tiniest, microscopic wince as it starts to feel like too much. Marc slows immediately, his hips rolling his cock in and out of you fully.

“Can I come?” Marc moans, almost begs, his words barely coherent.

You’re not sure if he’s asking to make sure you’re ready to stop or because he always asks permission. Either way it makes you tingly.

“Yes,” your hips rise harder to meet his, “come for me, Marc. Come in me.”

The whimper he makes breaks you. He pushes almost softly all the way inside and holds your hips tight against him as he shudders and releases.

Marc braces himself on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you, but your bodies still feel stuck together by sweat and heat.

Barely enough energy to move, you lift your hand and brush the dark curls off of his forehead.

He gives you a lopsided grin, his broad shoulders still heaving breaths.

“That was,” you can’t even form a word, “not the worst sex I’ve ever had.”

Marc laughs loudly, the sound filling the little storage room. His eyes crinkle at the corners. You’re in love.

Not even hyperbolically. You are.

Your stomach does that little flip you have when you really like someone. Your heart’s a goner already.

“You’re amazing,” he kisses you. “And you’re definitely not going to want a second date. Not just because of the armed assailants but because there’s no shower in this place.”

“Oh no,” you say with a deep sound of suffering.

“Yeah, it’s gross. But at least we’re gross together.”

Marc works his arms under you, keeping hold as he rolls you both onto your sides so you fit. You keep your legs closed, but it’s really a lost cause. The sticky wetness is a small price to pay though, to lie here face to face with Marc.

His eyes aren’t just simple brown. They’re almost endless, different shades. His lashes are thick and long. You trace his eyebrows with one of your fingers, and down his nose. Marc just watches you, looking content. He hadn’t struck you as the kind of guy who could be.

There’s more to this man, you realize.

When he’d asked you out, having seen him around the neighborhood for almost a year, you’d thought, “what the hell, sure I’ll go on a date with him. He’s weird, but hot.” And both of those things are still true. Maybe, though, he’s weird, and hot, and yours.

You snuggle closer to him. “You might have to throw out this cot out. It’s filthy now and the squeaking stopped about halfway through, which probably isn’t a good sign.”

“Worth it,” Marc mumbles against the side of your head.

“And I do want that second date.”

“Breakfast tomorrow?”

“You’re on.”

He leans back a fraction so you can see his face again. “I’ll wake up early and make sure everything’s safe. I’ll walk you home and we can meet for brunch.”

“Marc Spector brunches?”

“Not as a verb, but I do eat brunch.” He smiles, an almost gentle look in his eyes. “Think you can sleep?”

“Yeah,” you say slowly, tiredness overtaking you at the mere mention of it.

Marc tucks you back in close to him. “I think I can too.”

You drift off, Marc’s warmth like a heated blanket around you. You’re sure you’ll dream about him. You haven’t felt this relaxed in forever. Marc’s breath is steady, almost like he’s already asleep. And BAM! the cot collapses onto the floor. Metal clangs. You and Marc both groan in pain from hitting the metal floor.

As uncomfortable as it had been to lie on, this is way worse.

You and Marc untangle yourselves, laughing for some insane reason. Somehow, Marc had ended up kind of under you, which is good for you but probably bad for him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, still laughing like a lunatic.

“Couple broken ribs, but they’ll heal in a minute.” Marc shakes his head, like he needs to think straight again. He runs a hand through his curly hair, looks around. “I, uh, guess I’ll get dressed now and go do a lap. See if it’s safe to take you home.”

You hold him around the waist. “No, it’s late. It’s cold out. You don’t have to.”

One of Marc’s eyebrows arches up dramatically. “Oh, suddenly, you want to stay? You like it in here?”

“No,” you say seriously, “I love it in here. It’s better than the Ritz-Carlton.”

Marc smiles thinly. “Your sarcasm is noted.”

It takes you a minute to stop laughing again. “Just… I don’t know… can’t you fix the cot?”

He looks skeptical. “Yeah, but-“

“Please? For me?”

He sighs, but he’s smiling so you know it’s all good. “For you.”

You try to help him put it back together, but he’s a pro so you throw on his sweatpants and t-shirt, just enjoy the view.

You talk more, more than you had on the date. Marc’s unintentionally hilarious, surprisingly sensitive, and more open than you thought he’d be.

When he’s finished, the cot’s good as new. Squeaks and all.

But you undress again and ride Marc well into the wee hours of the night, just to test it out.

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[silvernight-m]

LETO ATREIDES | DUNE (2021) | dir. DENIS VILLENEUVE

[silvernight-m]

I hadn't read sth in a long time and holy shit this got me back to life :0

THIS WAS AMAZING! YOU COOKED BEFORE EVEN THE MOVIE IS OUT AND I HEARD HIS VOICE IN MY HEAD!

victor frankenstein- a beginning

Summary: You’d grown up with Victor, but you hardly recognize the man who returns to Geneva. Everyone had expected him to marry his “cousin” but she’d chosen another. Now that he’s back, you wonder why his laboratory is so secret, and how you might share a life with Victor and his impossible work.

(18+, tbh the smut isn’t until like 2.7k into this sorry, fem reader, oral fem receiving, sex, marriage, death and then not death, ~4k)

----

Thick sideburns and curly hair. The haughty, intellectual tilt of his chin. Not to mention his clothes (he was as done-up as a woman out for a promenade in search of a suitor, laced into his vest like that). This is not the Victor Frankenstein who was your childhood playmate.

He’s coming down the path to the small clearing that borders your father’s land and his father’s land.

You’d give anything to have spotted him a few seconds sooner so you could’ve avoided him. He’s walking faster though, his hand raised in greeting. Too late.

Pasting on a polite expression, you walk serenely forward to greet him.

He bows deeply, a smile on his handsome face. “Dear girl, it’s been years. Please, you’re so grown now, and quite as lovely as Elizabeth wrote you were, in her letters to me.”

You give him a suspicious look. “It’s presumptuous of you to speak of our mutual friend. If I’d been destined to marry a woman, and had given her up for my own noble pursuits, I’m not sure I’d be so quick to mention it.”

Victor looks distressed. It highlights the changes in his face. His skin is a bit tan from wandering the forests and paddling on the lake. His dark eyes always sparked with curiosity, but there’s a depth to them now. Manhood looks very good on him.

“I apologize,” he says. “I thought Elizabeth was very happy to be the wife of another, to live nearby and be a friend to me, and to all.”

Your heart pangs with regret. You’d always been one to speak too quickly. “Elizabeth is very happy in her marriage. I’m the one who should apologize. You were never formally engaged. We all just thought…”

You’d held a grudge on behalf of Elizabeth. It was your right, as her friend. Still, Victor wasn’t wrong. She’s much better off now, married to a well-to-do man who treated her like the sun and stars.

Victor nods. It highlights the shiny, black curls on his head. “If it had been destiny, as you first said, then Elizabeth and I would be man and wife now. Yet, I’ve just been to breakfast at her estate. She’s very much at home there. Close enough to see my brothers and father every day. Her husband dotes on her. Everything she deserves.”

There’s a hint of wistfulness in Victor’s voice, but it does look like he means every word he says.

Elizabeth and Victor were cousins of a sort, both raised with Victor’s parents at their large house here in Geneva. It had been Victor’s late mother’s wish the two marry, but the years went on and Victor went away to school and then traveled. And traveled.

Elizabeth was sure his heart belonged to his studies alone.

One spring, the estate down the road, empty when you were young, received a new generation. A young man who had instantly fallen in love with Elizabeth. Most men did. There wasn’t a kinder, gentler heart in all of the civilized world.

Mr. Frankenstein had written to Victor, who you’d heard had been nothing but supportive of Elizabeth’s match. She’d been married a few months ago.

“Elizabeth said you’re not yet married,” Victor says as he falls in step next to you.

You pause. “You don’t need to walk with me, I was just heading home.”

Victor glances around. “You never know what lurks in the woods. And anyway, I was walking from your house. I was looking for you.”

A moment of tension blooms between you. His eyes are deep and dark. Thick, black brows frame the top and impossibly long lashes fringe out. That a man should have beautiful eyes like this is quite unnecessary.

“Looking for me? Whatever for?” you ask.

“As I said, Elizabeth said you’re not yet married,” Victor says.

“Yes, but that’s nothing to do with you.”

A laugh barks out of Victor’s lips and you realize what he meant.

Victor Frankenstein? Who spent all his time in those dusty old books, and the rest strictly devoted to his family and best friend? Who’d become the darling of his university? Then spent all the years afterward gallivanting about the world? Interested in you?

You resume your walk, unsure what to say.

“Ah, the way is a bit wet from the rain up here. Please, take my arm,” he says, holding his arm out.

Reluctantly, you do. It’s a tiny puddle, barely even on the path. Victor guides you around it, keeping your arm tucked around his afterward.

“How long are you staying this time?” you ask him.

He shrugs gracefully. “As long as you can stand to have me underfoot,” he grins.

“Ah, well, you’d better run home and pack, then. You can still catch the evening train into France,” you joke.

The fading light warms the green forest, throwing light and shadow over you and Victor. It’s cooling rapidly, but this close to him, you stay warm.

“This is unforgivably rude,” Victor says, his steps slowing as if to prolong the walk, “but why has some lucky gentleman not laid claim to you yet?”

You concentrate on keeping your eyes straight ahead. “Your question is no ruder than walking alone with me like this.”

“And will you answer?”

I slight sigh escapes you. “Most men are tiresome. Sometimes, it seems a lofty goal to want a man who can make a decent, intelligent conversation. I’m sorry my words are unfocused. I should have a good answer. My family asks often enough. They think I’m waiting for a truly great man, and that it’s arrogant of me to do so.”

“You require more than average, and I mean that as a compliment,” Victor says. “It’s something we have in common. Though, I wouldn’t describe myself as good company.”

You turn your head slightly to him. His profile is thoughtful.

“How would you describe yourself?” you ask.

His eyebrows raise in a funny expression. “Where would I begin to catalog my shortcomings? I’d like to tell you my virtues, but I’m no liar. Let me put it this way, if I were a wine, people would take a sip, call it too complex, too abnormal, and set the rest of the glass aside.”

“Cabernet Frankenstein. Notes of oak, sideburns, and selfish decisions,” you muse.

“Exactly so,” Victor smiles, looking self-conscious.

A fallen branch across the path stops you. You bend to pick it up, but Victor beats you to it, tossing it aside with a wince.

“Are you alright?” you ask, a hand on his arm.

“A bit of a back ache. It’s why my vest is laced like a corset.”

“Not vanity then?” A smile touches your lips.

“Believe it or not, no.” He takes your hand in his. “My study has brought with it some manual labors. Sometimes I think my body is telling me not to pursue them. It’s why I came home, actually.”

“Your father said you’ve taken over the attic for a laboratory.”

Victor’s smile fades. “Yes, though not all of my equipment has arrived from Ingolstadt yet.”

“Once it does, do you mean to shut yourself away? Will we see very little of you?”

He studies your hand, tracing his fingers over the veins on the back, rubbing the skin as if relishing the warmth and elasticity.

“You will see me, if you wish,” Victor says. “You would be a welcome diversion.”

You see the tip of his tongue wet his lips and you think, hope, that he’ll kiss your hand. Instead, he wraps it back around his arm and resumes walking.

“If I may speak to you in strictest confidence?” Victor asks, his eyes almost pleading with you.

The woods are silent and still, a breeze rustling through the trees. It blows your skirts and quiets the birdsong.

Victor takes both of your hands. “I love Elizabeth as you do, as a dear heart and a faithful friend. If I had come home earlier, we would’ve been compelled to marry. I didn’t want that. I confess, I’ve avoided it for years. I’d always had my pitiful heart set on someone else. Now, Elizabeth is settled down in the arms of a true love. Freeing mine, I hope, to embrace another woman. But, if I were her, I wouldn’t have me.”

“Why not?” you ask, taking a step closer to him, too close to be appropriate, but he has such a strange look.

His hand suddenly comes up, cradling your face. “You don’t know what I’ve done. Or, what I’m close to doing, rather. You’re, perhaps, the only person who could understand, though. Your mind is as capable as mine, but your heart is still good.”

“Victor,” your hand raises to cover his, “what have you done?”

His gaze skitters away from yours. “If man is created in God’s image, then I’ve taken it to an unforgivable extreme. Allow me to call on you at your home, and your mother can sit with us to keep appearances. But, if you take a walk in the evening, do so alone, and we can speak freely. I’ll tell you all.”

*****

You think Victor is insane at first.

Brilliant.

Evil.

The greatest talent in humanity’s history.

He’s as selfish as you’d always thought, so consumed with succeeding that he’d stopped considering whether this should be done at all.

And you love him.

During nightly walks for a week, he’s showed you his journals. Recounted to you the ghastly project that’s become his life’s work.

Creating life from whatever pieces he can scavenge from death’s hands.

“Why must men always think themselves equal to God?” you ask Victor tightly when he’s finished his story.

“I don’t,” Victor retorts.

“You do. You must give this up.”

Victor stalks a few steps ahead of you, then turns around and stalks back. “You know I can’t. With your daily company, though, I believe good can still come of this.“

You cut him off with a sharp laugh. “Never. Stealing dead bodies? Sewing parts together like pieces of a dress pattern? And why did you have to begin with a person? Why not a lower creature? You’re so arrogant, it’s outrageous.”

“And you’re beautiful when you’re angry. You take my breath away.” Victor takes your hands and presses your knuckles to his lips.

“Oh stop,” you scold him, but don’t pull back.

He kisses each of your knuckles in turn, murmuring over them. “Let me speak with your father.”

You can’t help the smile that cracks your face. “I said, stop,” you say unconvincingly.

“You don’t want me to. You wouldn’t have met me all of these evenings, unchaperoned and vulnerable, if you had no feelings for me,” Victor says.

“I have feelings for you, but you’ll be hard pressed to convince me to marry a man who’s primary interest isn’t my body, but rather, creating one of his own in a laboratory, in the attic of his family’s home.”

Victor chuckles. “Perhaps if I had access to your body, I’d be less inclined to make one myself.”

“You’re mad,” you tease him.

“Madly in love with you, yes.”

Quiet for a few seconds, both of you lost in thought, Victor finally wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you close.

A gentleman wouldn’t dare. You weren’t even engaged. After all he’d told you though, Victor no longer concerns himself with gentlemanly behaviors.

He leans in to kiss you and you meet him halfway. He’s very good at it. You can feel his want as he gently sucks your bottom lip. The slight brush of his tongue isn’t fooling you. He does it on purpose.

Now, in the waning light, he’s no longer clean-shaven and his scruff feels seductive and rough against your skin.

“Victor,” you say, trying to stop him from kissing you further, but not actually wanting him to stop. “Victor, I’ll only marry you if you promise me one thing.”

His forehead rests on yours, his breath hot on your lips. “What is it?”

“No, you must agree first, then I’ll tell you.”

He stands straighter. “An unusual bargain.”

“Am I not worth it?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he says quickly. “You’re an intelligent, rational woman. I know you won’t ask for anything impossible.”

“You’re in the business of impossible, aren’t you?” You counter, knowing he’s trying to get out of it already.

He nods reluctantly. “Ask whatever you wish, my dear. I agree.”

Your lips part to speak, but you can’t bring yourself to make rational demands. Stop trying to make life from death. Stop this madness. Leave the dead to their peace.

“Never keep a secret from me,” you say instead. “Whatever you must do, you’ll tell me. I can’t promise to help, or to wish you success, but I won’t be kept in the dark.”

To his credit, Victor thinks it over. “Since I’ve already agreed, I’ll say only this,” he squeezes your waist, “there will be nights when even a long, hot bath won’t wash the smell of death from my skin. The dirt under my nails will be from graveyards. My muscles will ache from carrying dead weight to the attic. But I will love you. With everything I am.”

“I love you too,” you trace your fingers down his thick sideburns, over his jaw. “I’m not marrying you to be your moral compass. You know what you’re doing is wrong. Just as I know that I can’t stop you.”

“But you will marry me regardless?” Victor asks hopefully.

You nod and Victor wraps his arms around you, lifting you onto your toes. He laughs with his entire body, kissing your face.

It had always been your dream to marry a genius. Perhaps you should’ve been more careful what you wished for.

*****

Victor agrees to hold off on his grisly work until after the wedding.

Partly because he can’t really continue until his equipment arrives, partly because he’s setting up a small home on his family’s property for you both to live.

He’s made no mention of his scientific endeavors moving from the larger, family home into your new one. He says his work will be safe enough from his father and two younger brothers. What Victor plans is now a secret between only the two of you.

The wedding itself is beautiful, everything you’d ever hoped.

Victor is the handsomest man you’ve ever seen.

As he escorts you into your new home for the first time, your smile catches, freezes, as you look down at his hand, a smudge of dirt under his nailbed.

“Victor, you promised,” you say softly.

He rubs the dirt away. “I’ve kept it. Only, I’ve still been digging around. It’s not what you think. Come, look.”

Victor pulls you through the house and out the back door, to a sunny little garden. The last time you’d seen it, the flower gardens had been bare. The sizeable shed that was meant to hold gardening things was empty.

Now, it looks… well… the flowers are haphazard to put it kindly. They’re planted in chaos, but that they’re planted at all warms your heart.

You laugh, looking at a group of very droopy violets near a small metal table perfect for two.

“I stole the plants from your mother’s garden. Thought you might like them,” Victor scratches his hand through his curly hair. “Honestly, making life out of body parts is easier than this. I can’t figure out why they all look so sad.”

“Well, they need water and care, Victor. Extra attention.”

“Extra attention,” he scoffs. “Mother nature will take care of them, I’m sure.”

“You’re right,” you say sarcastically. “We wouldn’t want to make mother nature cross by meddling in her business, right?”

Victor’s lips twitch. “I’ll have the servant water them tomorrow.”

“No, the garden will be mine to care for. I don’t want anyone to intrude on our new life yet,” you pull on his slim waist, drawing him closer for a kiss.

He makes a low sound in his throat as he does, his tongue pushing its way past your lips. His hands grab into your bottom. He grinds lightly against you.

“Let’s go upstairs. I’ve pictured you naked every night for weeks now. I’ve rubbed myself raw thinking of your mouth and tits, not to mention between your thighs.”

“Victor,” you scold him.

“We’re married now, I can speak about my wife as I wish,” he says proudly. “And what I’d like is to lick at you until you scream for me.”

You laugh, the sound fills the garden and soon, Victor is laughing with you.

It’s idyllic. Like nothing is wrong, or could ever be wrong. Probably a perfect first day of marriage.

Then, Victor settles his beautiful curly head between your legs and you’re absolutely sure it’s perfect.

Your hips are lifted on a pillow, presented to him like a gift. He buries his hot mouth on you. He makes you so wet and then licks it up like its the most sought-after delicacy in the world. No part of you down there goes untasted by him.

Victor hadn’t even taken the time to undress. He only half unbuttoned his shirt before he’d gotten too impatient and gave up.

He hums in appreciation, groans in ecstasy, thrusting against the mattress as he feasts on you. You can do nothing but arch and moan, fistfuls of sheets in your hands until you’re a shaking, weak mess for him.

Only then does he fully take off his clothes and sheathe himself inside of you. It’s uncomfortable at first, but Victor takes care with you.

In a split second of clarity, as he pushes in and out, his fingers working your sensitive clit with surgical precision, his eyes almost frenzied as he watches you come, you think of what his hands have done.

To love this man is to love his work. It might be mad. It’s definitely wrong.

You’d always known Victor’s heart was a labyrinth of secrets. But he’d always loved you. God help you, you’d always loved him too.

He kisses you deeply, his hips pressing desperately against yours, like he wants to seat himself into your body forever. Your back arching, voice moaning his name, Victor shudders on top of you, spilling his seed. His lips tremble and his hands, those clever hands, hold onto you so tightly you’re sure his fingerprints are etched into your skin.

You feel him dripping out of you before he even softens. He stays stuffed inside of you and you never want him to leave. He lies on you heavily, but peppers your face with soft kisses.

“I love you so very much.” Victor’s voice is full of emotion. He props himself up on his forearms so as not to crush you. He smiles, his eyes clearer now that the haze of lust has cleared. “You look quite alluring like this, Mrs. Frankenstein.”

“Do I? Because I feel a mess,” you laugh.

“But it was good, yes?” he asks, almost hopefully. “It didn’t hurt too much? I wasn’t too rough?”

“Oh Victor, it was perfect.” You pull on his sideburns, bringing his face down to kiss him.

“I’ll be loathe to keep my hands off of you,” he says earnestly. “If you would allow me, though, I was planning to get up early tomorrow. Back to business. ”

Victor rolls off of you carefully, his eyes avoiding yours. He stares emptily at the ceiling, lost in thought. You feel a pang in your heart.

“About that,” you say carefully.

A quiet sigh escapes him. “I won’t hide anything, like you asked, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll spare you every detail. I know you don’t approve and it wounds me that I have to put you through this at all.”

You sit up, looking down at his worried face. “Now that we’re married, I think of your work differently.”

Victor looks stricken. Almost sick. Like you’re going to make him choose between you and his experiments.

“No, my love, please listen,” you reassure him. “Your equipment arrived, but it’s still in boxes. Tomorrow, we should move the laboratory into the gardening shed here at the house.”

“So close?” Victor says reluctantly.

“I’d like to help you,” you say.

Victor’s eyes narrow. “I could never ask you to do that. You’re too pure to be so near death.”

“But your work isn’t about death, is it? It’s about life. Creating life. Which, as far as I know, is primarily what a husband and wife should do together.” You touch your pointer finger to his nose.

“You’re too clever,” Victor says with a soft smirk. “You know I respect your brilliance as much as my own. It isn’t that I think you’re not capable.”

“Then let me help you,” you insist.

His hand traces your face and neck, your shoulder, down your breast. He licks his lips. His hooded eyes take you in, considering. His long lashes blink.

“I do not deserve you,” he says.

“Perhaps not, but humility has never been your strongest quality. You’re a genius. It’s part of why I love you.”

“Ah, and here I thought you loved me because of my nimble tongue,” Victor raises an eyebrow.

Your cheeks warm. Not just from the memory of his mouth on you, something you hadn’t even known men did at all. But also from the anticipation that there would be many such times as this. Tired from loving each other, speaking as equals. An idyllic life, even with the shadow of his work looming overhead.

“Very well,” Victor says finally. “I promised to share myself with you in every way, and I shall.”

Your heartbeat quickens. A trickle of fear settles over you.

Not fear of the work itself.

No, the fear that maybe, this is why you and Victor are so well matched. Both of you mad, in the same way.

It’s too late now to go back. There’s a new light in Victor’s eyes.

“I know today is the first day of our marriage and therefore, the start of our new life together,” Victor says. “But tomorrow is also a beginning. Tomorrow, we’ll start something no one’s ever done. Our days and night spent always together. We’ll think as we wish, do as we wish, love as we wish.”

You feel Victor’s excitement in how his body hardens again. He pulls you on top of him, guiding you. From this angle, you can almost take your pleasure at will from him. Victor lets your hips glide over his. His hands are everywhere on your body.

This time, you don’t think of awful things his hands have touched. You think only about the skill he has with your body, and with any body he works with. That if he’s this good at touching you, getting your body to shake and orgasm, then you can’t wait to see him in his laboratory.

Victor pulls you down to kiss him as you ride his cock faster. You clench around him, driving both of you toward ecstasy as his hands cup your ass, encouraging you.

It was meant to be this way, you’re sure.

You and Victor, making something new together. Something impossible and unique. No consequences. No doubts. Nothing to hide between you.

Creating life, as a newlywed couple should, though not in the traditional way. Passion and intellect are why you and Victor are perfect for each other. It isn’t madness. It’s love.

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please lmk if you'd like to be removed- i promise not to take it personally!

[silvernight-m]

I don't think so?

Like he would be mad about being scared (I say scared, you read worried) and since its an emotion he doesn't usually feel, he is gonna throw tantrums instead of admitting it?!?

Idk I'm not a Nathan expert👀

ok kids

would nathan bateman ever admit someone scared him? Not "Boo!" scared, but like he was worried/terrified?

would he ever admit this out loud?

tagging some people who might have an opinion off the top of my head, but please chime in if you wish

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missdictatorme @marshmallow--3 @reallyrallyauthor @nathanbatemanfucker

@ominoose @steven-grants-world @campingwiththecharmings @silvernight-m

[silvernight-m]

My all time favorite Jake art😂

Resisting the urge to spam all the silly doodles I've got,,, this is the last one for today...mayhaps...

[silvernight-m]

Some old pieces of Steven Grant for you🧡

I loved the idea of fish pattern for his socks from @rosellacwrites !

These were for her fic Oh, My Dreams

Please go read it and know what I mean when I say I WANT THIS MAN!

That fic is so dear to me🥹

─┉┈˚*･༓ ☾ ༓･*˚┈┉─

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[silvernight-m]

jake lockley, out and about 🌘

- aleks

[silvernight-m]

MARC ONE IS THE BEST

Wanna smooch that face😭😍

I immediately remembered that thing I hadn't finished

Celebrating the news heh... finished some details on Marc that was mostly what was left and other tweaks

[silvernight-m]

First of all, HOW DID YOU KNOW I GET SNARKY ON THESE DAYS?!

Second, I feel bad for Marc😂poor baby and Steven's ear

And tbh I screamed when Jake came bcz THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I NEED!

He knows!!!!!

Hewo Rally🧡🌻

I missed being on your page!

And Im sorry I haven't been able to read (or mostly reblog since I don't have the patience to describe how amazing your writing was) ever since I can't sit and just do something!

So I wanted to ask you about how the moon boys would act around a reader who can't sit still for more than one minute.

Have this silly wip lego Marc as a peace offering

MANI HE'S SO CUTE!!!! Look at his little LEGO body!!!! AAAHH!!!!!

Please accept this very belated offering to YOU, dear @silvernight-m . (<1k, no smut, but suggestive language)

-----

Marc is visibly impatient with your impatience. He’s sitting on the couch reading a magazine (Who reads an actual, paper magazine anymore??? Sometimes Marc is such a lovable old man).

He flips one of the glossy pages, gives you a look. “Will you sit down, please?”

“I can’t.” You sit on the end of the couch. You stand. You pick up your phone.

“Don’t do that, scrolling for hours on your phone just makes it worse.” He tosses his magazine aside and gestures with his hand. “Come sit with me.”

“Why? So I can squirm around and you can bitch about it?” You put your hands on your hips.

“Don’t be a wise acre. Sit your adorable ass here.”

He points next to him and you sit by him. He cuddles you snugly against him.

Being held by Marc Spector is one of the greatest things in the world. There’s almost literally no safer place in the universe.

His arms are strong and warm, secure and bite-able.

So why do you want to leave? Why are you jiggling your foot? Why are your thoughts building and building and you know you’re going to go on a 20 minute tirade about something soon and-

“Hey, Marc,” you turn to him, “can I talk to Steven?”

“What the fuck am I? Chopped liver?” he asks, comically offended.

You lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. “No, I just want to give a huge speech about something and I know you don’t mind hearing it, but…”

Marc nods. “You and Steven have that in common. I understand. Okay.”

He kisses the side of your head and in a blink of his heavy eyelids, Steven’s smile beams at you.

“Hiya, love, what’s the word?” Steven squeezes you in his arms.

To his visible dismay, you untangle yourself, standing again. You start to gesture and ramble, and at first Steven’s a bit confused, but he catches up quickly.

“Love,” he finally interrupts, “you know I love to hear what you’re passionate about. I could talk with you for hours, but I know it’s not about that. I can tell. Have you been like this all day?”

“Like what?” you ask, knowing full well what he means, and trying to avoid it.

“Um, well, uh,” Steven peers at you owlishly, “nothing. Just beautiful. You look just beautiful, probably have done all day.”

He nods, giving you a lopsided smile.

You heave a huge, audible sigh. “I can’t sit still today. I don’t know. I have no focus. I feel like I have all this energy to do something, but I can’t actually do anything.”

You rub your hands over your face, trying to get it together and failing miserably.

“Oh, I’ll give you something to do,” Jake says from the couch.

You back away a step. “Excuse me, I was having a conversation with Steven.”

Jake grins at you, leaning forward from the couch. “And now you’re having one with me, amor. Marc tried it his way. Steven tried it your way. Now, you’re going to do things my way.”

You sigh. “Jake, I can’t just lay there and let you do me. I have all this-“

“Energy, I know, I know.” He rises, smiling wickedly at you. “When you get in this kind of mood, you need something exciting. Something fun enough to hold your attention. That’s why you’re going to do me.”

Your eyes light up. “I’ll get the strap.”

“Wow, that didn’t take much convincing,” Jake says dryly, taking Marc’s t-shirt off over his head and throwing it aside. He unbuttons the jeans.

You turn back to him and wrap your arms around the naked skin of his torso, hugging him. “I love you, Jake.”

“Glad to be of service, mi amor,” Jake kisses you gently. “Now, I’m going to bend over that bed, and we’re going to give you somewhere to put all that energy.”

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[silvernight-m]

Sugar Daddy Leto Atreides

Based on an ask from @reallyrallyauthor 🧡

How he would be around the house when taking some time off from working.

(Tumblr ate my askbox😭)

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[silvernight-m]

This is the kind of prank I'd pull on Jake and he would pull on me.

The local mustache man seemed to be annoyed at the yogurt staining his beloved upperlip skirt

[silvernight-m]

"You're the smartest thats why I got mad at you bcz I expected you to be brilliant!"

OMG IM GONNA APOLOGIZE TO HIM WITH THOUSANDS OF KISSES

Mean

Steven Grant x Reader (eventually) Blurb for Blurbsday Thursday by @cocommunitymoon

Summary: You lose your cool with Steven at work.

“Steven, I'm sorry. I didn't…” Your words cut off as you catch his downcast eyes and tense posture.

“I apologize,” you say stiffly. “I shouldn't have said that. That wasn't professional.”

Steven nods once, looking uncomfortable. His fingers idly trace the edge of the checkout counter.

Damn. You feel absolutely terrible. Why did you have to lose your temper and snap at the one person at your job who didn't make you feel like a basket case?

“You don't have to forgive-”

“It's ok,” he cuts you off, still looking down. “I am a bumbling idiot.”

Your stomach drops again in horror at your words echoing back at you in Steven's voice. He was taking your frustrated, rageful words to heart. You knew from personal experience how words like that could stay and burrow into a mind, whipping back into your conscious thoughts whenever you started to feel low.

Without thinking, you put your hand over his on the counter to get his attention. His head snaps up, eyes finally meeting yours, and you can see tears starting to form in his eyes.

“You’re not, Steven!” You say urgently, willing him to understand and believe you. “You're not an idiot at all! You're one of the smartest people I've ever met!”

[silvernight-m]

I'm so happy this lil sketch inspired this🤣

And lil shit being like safety first! BITE HIS ASS

Jump Scare - Marc Spector

Based on a true story...in a world where I could actually come home to Marc

Summary: Marc sends you a nude and you almost crash the car Pairing: Marc Spector and his bare ass x gn!reader wc: 311

Inspired by this VERY delicious and distracting art by @silvernight-m

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"Marc!" You call out as you enter your apartment, your arms a tangle of your bag, keys, water bottle and your phone -

which is open to a nude that Marc sent you on the way home.

"In here, babe," he casually responds, relaxing comfortably on the couch...

butt ass naked.

He doesn't even glance up as you drop your bag to the floor and motion up and down toward him.

"What the hell is this?"

The corner of his mouth curls. "What the hell is what? I'm just watching the Cubs."

"This," you only-half-seriously scoff, gesturing to his dick. "Where are your clothes? You know what? Nevermind, scratch that. Why did you send me nudes on the way home?"

A self amused chuckle rumbles in his chest. "Would you rather I send them while you're at work?"

"Yes, actually. I opened my phone, saw your bare ass and almost crashed my damn car. That thing needs a warning."

Marc folds his arms over his chest, showing off the definition of his biceps. He's been working out and he's very proud of it.

"Why were you on the phone while you were driving? Safety first," he tuts.

"Thanks, dad. I'll remember that."

At that name, Marc shifts his eyebrows temptingly. "Did you like what you saw?"

Uh yes. Marc's bare backside...wait a second -

"How did you get a picture of your ass?" You snort with laughter. "Did you pose and set the camera timer?"

"I'll never tell," Marc shrugs. "I don't see you complaining."

Definitely not. Marc had, hands down, the best ass on planet Earth.

"But the text, seriously?" You mock, now giggling. "'Wanna go for a ride?'"

He holds up his hands. "Well, do you?" He pats his lap.

What in the world are you waiting for? Tossing your phone on the coffee table, you take off your pants.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[silvernight-m]

OMG JAKE JAKE JAKE JAKE

Some Jake Lockley 🌙 as a little treat ✨