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fairysluna · 9 months

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the wolf's cage.

After being captured by the Northerns, you found yourself with the Lord of Winterfell whose strange politeness makes you doubt his true intentions.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Wildling!Reader.

TAGS — smut (p in v, m!oral, spanking, use of the word whore, face fucking, hate sex(?, dirty talk, degrading/praise, belly bulge), cursing, mentions of war, blood and bruises, kind of enemies to lovers, dilf!cregan, and idk if this counts as dark!cregan but I'll add it just in case. If something is missing let me know!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — it's the first time that i write smut after a very long time, and i wrote this in a rush, so it's not perfect but i loved it anyway bc i fell in love with this trope. Reader is loosely based on Osha from GoT. REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED.

WORD COUNT — 5.3k. (oh damn)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

“We found her close to the Godswood,” one of the men said. “She was hiding and preparing herself to kill, my lord.”

Cregan walked slightly closer to you, his curiosity peaking when he noticed how small you looked curled up in a corner of your cell, covered by thick pieces of fur. Your face was stained with dirt and dried blood. His men had told him you were a menace, but after looking at you, he didn't believe it.

“She seems harmless,” he pointed out, kneeling beside you.

“She is not, my lord. She's responsible for the death of three of our men,” the same man explained. They were all in combat position; holding the hilt of their swords just in case you would dare to attack their leader. Cregan, however, seemed to be unafraid, getting closer to you and trying to see more of you. He was certainly intrigued.

How was a young girl like you able to kill a group of ruthless men?

He raised his hand and gently pulled a strand of your hair out of your face; he saw a scar on your cheek and a cut on your lip. Then, you met his eyes with yours. Your cold and mercenary haze did little to intimidate him. You were finally in the presence of the man you hated the most; the man who had killed your people in cold blood. He could see your wrath burning through your haze, and he understood it.

With his thumb, he removed the drop of blood that was dripping from your lip — a soft touch that felt so foreign to your skin. He attempted to do it again, but you moved your face away and he knew it was enough. With a sigh, he stood up casting a large shadow over your smaller frame; you looked down at the floor, ignoring his penetrating stare on you before he turned around and walked out of the cell.

“Tell a maid to give her a bath, then bring her to the dining room,” he ordered.

“My lord, I don't think-”

“Tell the cooks to make a meal for two, and tell a maid to keep Rickon out of my room tonight,” he abruptly interrupted him, the guard was left in surprise.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but I do not think it’s a good idea at all,” The maester advised him, talking in whispers so you would not hear a word. “I believe that being in a room alone with that savage would put your life at risk. We cannot afford that, not when we're in the middle of an imminent war.”

Cregan turned to give one more look at you before one of the guards locked your cell again. You looked so fragile, and you were probably starving after spending days in the merciless Winter cold. He knew you would not be such a threat in such a condition, so he did not follow his loyal Maester’s advice.

“The decision has been made,” he spoke as he started to walk away from the dungeons. The old man quickly followed his pace.

“I would advise you to make some double thinking about your decision-”

“Are you questioning my methods?” His voice came out low and slow, but it carried a bit of an intimidating undertone that was easy to catch. The Maester took a step back when his superior turned around; his Lordship was an imposing man, tall and with wide shoulders and some grey eyes that would pierce through your soul. Lord Stark was a kindhearted man, but whenever he was angry he was unrecognisable.

And the Maester trembled when he saw a small glimpse of his anger.

“Of course not, but it is my duty as your advisor to give you the best options… risking your life it's certainly not.”

“That girl is craving for a meal, I will not let her starve,” he grunted. “Besides, I might steal some valuable information from her. She's just a girl, and she's unarmed. She will do no harm.”

The old man simply nodded, knowing that it was a lost battle and not having the guts to continue to defy his lord. Cregan cleared his throat, repeated the instructions and then turned around to leave his men behind. They shared confused looks, doubting his plan and how unusual it was for him to have mercy with the people of your kind. This new and sudden sympathy towards you raised suspicion among the northern guards, but they were all too afraid to speak up.

They just obeyed the orders of their Lord.

Cregan was tapping his fingertips against the table, patiently waiting for your arrival as he was blankly staring at his half-empty cup of wine. The only sound that was heard was coming from the fireplace, and the rest of the room was deadly silent. He was wondering how much time would it take for you to arrive when two guards opened the door, and two others were carrying you inside. They were grabbing your arms, tight enough to leave a bruise behind. Cregan stood up the instant you showed up, and, with a slight nod from him, you were freed from their grip.

Lord Stark took the time to look at you, shamelessly glancing at every inch of your body. He noticed how your skin was glowing now, freed of any stain or impureness on your face, except for that scar on your cheekbone that seemed to be quite recent. Regardless of that, you were such a sight for his eyes, so pretty and young and fierce all the same. The glow in your eyes was still yelling your hate for him and, somehow, that would make you even more appealing to him. He followed the trail down your neck and found your bossom being squeezed by the dress which looked a bit too small for you, but that fit your body like a glove; shaping your curves and enhancing them, he had to take a deep breath after seeing you.

All the beauty that was previously hidden under thick layers of clothes and dirty hair and face was now starting to show.

“You can leave now,” he indicated to the guards. They nodded and followed his orders immediately.

Once they were alone, Cregan pointed at the chair on the other side of the table, inviting you to take a seat. You were reluctant, staring at the large amount of food with distrust; you thought this was a trap, no one ever invites their foes to supper. You did not obey him at first, standing still in your place, using a pair of borrowed shoes that were almost crushing your feet and making you feel like walking on burning coal.

You knew one thing for sure; you needed to get out of there as soon as you could. Or, better yet, you had to kill that man.

“Please, be seated,” he spoke so softly and politely that you could not believe it. It was so blatantly obvious. “The pork it's better when it's warm.”

A glance at the table and you saw your plate already served; this did nothing but increase your mistrust. However, you walked towards the spot, slowly and with your guard up. The sound of your shoes clacking on the wooden floor as you made your way to your seat until you finally sat.

Then, a silence fell over the room. Cregan's eyes seemed to never look away from you as he raised his cup and brought it to his lips. You nervously played with your cup, already filled with wine.

“I gave myself the liberty to fill your cup,” he said.

Besides that, your plate was full of beans, pork, carrots and mashed potatoes. Everything was already cut into tiny pieces, and only then did you realize you only had a spoon; no knife, and no fork.

“Is wine not of your taste?” Cregan asked after your long silence. “Would you rather have some ale? or juice?”

Nothing came out of your mouth. Cregan was losing his little patience, but he knew better and he stayed calm. Upsetting you would only make things worse.

“You might be wondering why I spared your life today,” he started, attempting a two-sided conversation. “If you were any other, your head would be in a spike by now… but you might be useful for us.” He made a pause, sipping his wine so delicately and manly. Then he added, “For me.”

Again, no answer.

“I believe you have valuable information that would help us to understand your people better,” he explained, trying to sound likeable and friendly, even giving you a warm smile. “Maybe that way we'll understand your reasons.”

“Why would I give information to the one who's murdering my people?” You finally spoke.

Cregan heard your thick northern accent and a smile was drawn on his face. He hid the gesture by grabbing his fork and knife and cutting a piece of meat before putting it inside his mouth. You realized that contrary to you, he had a knife; you wondered how you could reach it without him noticing.

“Ah, so you can speak,” he claimed, cheerfully. “For a moment I thought you were mute.”

“I am not,” you grunted.

“You could stop an imminent war, you know?” He continued the previous conversation. “Save the lives of your people, avoid a bloodbath.”

“You are the only one causing those things, my lord,” the mocking tone in your voice when you uttered the last two words was obvious. “This war carries your name.”

“You are the ones taking over our lands,” he debated.

“We're escaping,” you snapped. “You have no idea what's beyond that wall. You and your men would do the same in our position.”

“And what is it that's up there with all of you?”

“You wouldn't believe my words. You'll have to see it.”

He hummed, not convinced at all. He leaned back on his chair.

“How did you get that scar on your face? It looks quite recent,” he slightly narrowed his eyes.

“An accident while climbing the wall,” you simply explained, not wanting to give out too many details.

“When did you cross it?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“And what have you been doing all this time?”

“I already told you… trying to survive.”

Cregan clicked his tongue, sipping his wine once more and letting the topic go. “You haven't touched your food,” he pointed out. “Nor your wine. The cooks work hard on this food.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“It's not poisoned,” he let you know as if you would believe his mere words. “If I ever kill you it wouldn't be with a drop of venom, that it's not an honourable way to murder your opponent.”

“Honour,” you repeated with a mocking tone.

“Does that word sound funny to you?”

“It does when it's you saying it,” you muttered, clenching your jaw. “You have the blood of innocents in your hands, you have no honour.”

The tense environment was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Soon, a small child entered the room and ran towards Cregan; it was his son, his spitting image standing right next to him. His weakness. You looked closely, and you noticed how Lord Stark's demeanour was briefly replaced by a softer one when he held his child in his arms, only to get angry again when one of the maids walked in rushing behind the boy. You were observant, and then quickly an idea of escape lighted up your mind.

“I apologize, Lord Stark,” the maid murmured, shaking and breathing unevenly. “Little Rickon wanted to say goodnight and he ran away from his chambers-”

“Don't let it happen again,” he stopped her before she could go on with her explanations that were of little interest to his Lordship. “Just take him to bed, and don't let this happen again.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He kissed the child's forehead and hugged him one last time before the maid pulled his arm and took him away. The boy was looking back at his sire with saddened eyes as he walked, and once he was out of sight, Cregan was back to his tough facade. However, you knew new information, and now you knew exactly how to manage to escape.

“Was that your child?”

“Indeed,” he nodded.

“Beyond the wall, children are taught to fight and hunt from a very young age,” you randomly told him. “Does he know how to do that?”

“He's still learning.”

“How old is he?”

“We are not here to talk about my child,” he snapped, growing impatient with each passing second.

You stopped, only for a brief second to let it rest and prepare yourself for the next thing. The suddenness of your next question left him speechless.

“Where's his mother?” You noticed how he tensed, clenching his jaw and forming a fist with his hand. There it is. “Is she around?”

His silence gave you the answer you were expecting, you had to hold back a smile.

“Let me guess,” you murmured, “Childbirth?”

His fist smacked against the table and you noticed how all the plates jumped due to the impact. He stood up, fuming, all the kindness and politeness vanishing from his body as he lost his patience with you. Yet, you did not seem fazed by his roughness, you barely flinched. You stood up too and slowly started to walk around the table, to get closer to him.

“I bet your nights might be lonely now that you've lost your wife,” A false tone of empathy was heard in your voice as you kept taking step after step. “Does your bed feel empty at night?”

“That's enough,” he growled.

“You dressed me, bathed me and fed me… perhaps you're trying to convince me to stay by your side,” you deduced, using your seduction skills to distract him from the fact that you were getting closer to the knife on the table. “Is this your intention? To make me yours? To turn me into your whore?” Your voice lowered itself a few tones, getting raspier and more seductive.

You reached his side, his eyes were stuck on your face as his breathing was starting to get faster with each second. You saw his jaw, sharp as the knife you were trying to grab, and tensed as he tried to hide his growing arousal. Of course, he has noticed your attributes before, and of course, he had secretly —and shamelessly— fantasized about ripping your dress to see what was underneath, but now your words would only make his struggle grow.

Perhaps the Maester was right. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

“Have you heard what they say about the women from the Free Folk?” You were teasing him, boldly raising your hands until they went to his thick coat and untied it; it fell around his leather shoes, and only a thin shirt was beneath it. Your eyes glanced at him, noticing the chest hair on his skin as your hands felt the hardness of his abdomen; years of training with the sword had certainly made its effect. “People say we're difficult to handle, but that we fuck like goddesses. Wouldn't you want to try it out?”

One of your hands travelled lower and lower until it was able to feel the shape of his growing cock in your palm and through his pants. A winning smile appeared on your lips. His growing lust did not allow him to see the moment when your hand took the knife. Luckily for him, his reflexes were quite fast, and he was able to stop your hand right before you almost stabbed his neck. Your eyes widened as he grabbed your wrist and turned your body around, slamming you against the table. He pressed himself against you, your dress now ruined with the food beneath your frame.

Cregan's hand grabbed a big portion of your hair and pulled it back, roughly, forcing you to arch your back. You could not help but whimper due to the pain in your skull. His breathing soon reached your neck and caused shivers down your spine; it smelled like wine.

“You little whore,” he mocked you, “you thought you could've killed me?”

His voice was completely different to the one you have heard before; it was almost like a growl, so deep, slow and hoarse. You would be lying if you said you did not find it amusing. His touch was rough and lacking the gentleness and delicacy that it had hours ago when he wiped the blood off of your lip.

“It was worth the try,” you breathed out, laughing at him when you felt his arousal pressing against your arse.

“What's so funny, huh?” he grunted, pulling you harder and making you hum. “I could kill you right here, right now,” he threatened.

“But you won't,” you murmured.

“That's right,” he mumbled, breathing in your scent. Even after taking a bath you still smelled of pine tree, it was an intoxicating smell. “I will prove your word first. Let's see if the wildlings whores fuck like goddesses, mhm?”

Your eyes widened when you felt his hand freeing your hair and going towards the skirts of your borrowed dress. He lifted them, holding them in place on your waist behind your back. He saw how your pussy was already starting to glisten with your arousal, even when he had barely touched you beforehand. His cock twitched inside his pants when he noticed that all of this was because of his rough touch.

You filthy slut, he thought.

You heard a soft stump on the floor as his pants fell down his thick legs. It did not take too much time for you to feel his leaking tip brushing against your folds, spreading them open and smearing your slick all over it. You had to bite your lip, holding back a gasp as he teasingly rubbed against your clit; this was certainly not what you were expecting, but it felt good enough to make you want more.

Slowly, he started to make his way inside you, grabbing your arsecheeck with his free hand and spreading it only to see your needy cunt taking him. Cregan gasped, your soft walls were wrapping around him perfectly, squeezing him just right and creaming all over him. He hummed in delight as he felt your legs already starting to shake. Gods, he was big, stretching you out as of you were a fucking maiden, providing you with that sweet pain that made your eyes close.

When he was halfway in, he pushed himself all in with a single thrust. His head touched that sweet, spongy spot inside of you. “Fuck!” you cried out, involuntarily spreading your legs further, at the same time your hands pushed all the plates and cups away from your side. It all ended up spilt on the floor.

He remained there for a few seconds, still inside of you and not moving an inch. Cregan's hand reached for your hair once again, pulling it back until your back was pressed against his chest and his lips were brushing against your ear. His breathing was ragged and unsteady; his tongue licked his lips as they started to get dry. You were able to feel him, his veins pulsing inside of you as he would twitch each time you clenched around him. Cregan hummed against your ear.

Without warning, his hips started to move and your legs suddenly felt as weak and giggly as jelly. Your hands gripped the border of the table as his movements started to increase his pace. He was filling you up so good, so deep. You found yourself murmuring senseless words as you slowly started to lose your mind, which was a weird thing for you; you would usually be the one in charge.

Though you did not mind submitting to him for a while. All your morality was soon gone, and all thanks to the man whose cock was good enough to make you forget about how much you hated him.

His hips started to meet yours with more force, thrusting hard but slow. It was just the beginning, and he wanted to make sure you would feel every inch of him, to feel every vein. All while he was also losing his mind over how good your pussy was taking him; your tight grip around him was sending him to the heavens, his eyes never looking away from the place where both of your bodies would join. Your walls contracted around him whenever he was pulling out, almost as if they were reluctant to let him go. Cregan loved that a bit too much, he might have become addicted to it.

Then, he sped it up. His grunts and moans were falling from his lips in cascades that reached your ears. A vocal man he was, expressing his lust with the most arousing sounds you have ever heard. It brought a sense of pride to your chest, having such an imposing man as him reduced to a moaning mess. But the truth was, you were not doing any better; his animalistic movements were now sending you over the edge quicker than you thought. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other and the feeling of your arousal falling down your thighs was enough to pull you into a cloud of raw lasciviousness. Your mind felt dizzy.

Suddenly, Cregan grabbed the knife you were trying to reach and threw it right next to your hand. You saw it through your heavy eyelids as you panted and gasped. You felt his lips pressing against your ear once again, but this time he spoke,

“Try to kill me now,” he hoarsely said. “Go on. Where's the girl who tried to kill me? Not so brave now with my cock ripping you apart, huh?”

“Fuck off…” you managed to say in a murmur. Cregan mockingly laughed, and his hand fell against the soft skin of your rear, leaving a pinching pain behind. Gods, you hated the fact that you loved it so much.

“So fiery, and yet you're a mess…” he chuckled, his heavy breathing against your nape making you tremble under his touch. “I wish you could see how your little cunny is taking my cock… you're fucking soaking for me.”

You moaned, louder than you should have.

“Want to take a look?” he teased you, pushing deeper inside of you. You tried to mumble an answer, but nothing came out of your mouth. His hand met your arse again, this time slightly harder. “Answer me,” he demanded, using his lower tone which made your knees go weak.

You had no choice, “Y-yes…” you whimpered as tears of pleasure were gathering in the corner of your eyes.

He pulled out of you and you immediately whined, complaining about his absence. His hands went to the ties on the back of your dress, starting to pull them out to get them loose enough to remove that piece of fabric that was just bothering him. When he finally did, he pulled it down in a single movement, and just like that you were completely exposed to him.

He took a quick look at your body once you turned around, glancing at your breasts and your perky nipples, and then looking at the glistening mess between your thighs. His hand wrapped around your jaw, and he leaned forward; his leaking cock rubbing against your belly as his nose touched your cheek. Suddenly, his lips trapped yours in a heated kiss that lacked any delicacy; he was claiming your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and devouring you. You heard how he pushed the rest of the dishes, plates and cups on the ground, then he lifted your body forcing you to spread your legs. Only then he pulled away.

He looked down, watching your pussy drenched with your arousal and chuckling at the sight. “Didn't know wildlings women were such whores… getting this wet when I fuck you rough,” he mocked you, tightening the grip around your jaw and forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

Cregan guided his cock towards your slit, repeating the same teasing game as before, rubbing his tip against your now throbbing clit soaking it with the mixture of your juices and his. He gave a few taps afterwards, making you whine and your legs shake. You never, in a million years, thought you would be thinking of begging a Lord like him, yet there you were, about to plead to have him inside of you once again because the ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable.

As if he had read your thoughts, he soon pressed his cockhead against your entrance, pushing just the tip. You sighed, biting your lip as you looked down at it. You could have come right there as you saw how he slowly filled you up and stretched your walls once more. The way your labia would spread to take him in; such an obscene sight it was, yet you couldn't bring yourself to take your eyes off of it.

Once he was fully sheathed in you, you managed to perceive a small bulge forming in your lower belly which would appear each time he would bury himself deep inside of you. He did not take too much time to be rough this time, starting to snap his hips against yours and making you moan and drool until your mind was fully gone once again. His big hands were grabbing your hips, his nails digging into your flesh and making it slightly painful for you; yet, you didn't want it to stop. The sound of him entering your wetness was enough to make you mumble nonsense, and it wasn't long before you managed to see a ring of your juices around the bottom of his shaft. Your eyes rolled back.

His animalistic movements were sending you over the edge, and it was humiliating how loud your cries of pleasure were; you were certain that they could be heard in the hallway, but neither you nor Cregan cared enough to stop. Both of you were consumed by each other's touch, it was rough and passionate, you could feel the heat running through your veins as he possessed every inch of your insides until you were nothing but a moaning mess. Your skin was glowing with a layer of sweat, and Cregan leaned forward to lick on your collarbone, his tongue creating a path to your breasts; his lips closed around your nipple, sucking and nibbling. You grew desperate for release.

“Fuck- I need to… I'm so close,” you whimpered, your eyes locking with his.

“Come on,” he hoarsely murmured. “Show me how good of a whore you are, and make a mess on my cock.”

His words blurred your mind, sending a stimulus right into your core. You felt that sweet sensation of culmination when he touched your most sensitive point inside of you over and over again until you were sobbing with the tears of pleasure gathering in the corners of your eyes as you felt your release exploding and washing over you until your legs felt sore. You felt weak, trembling and overwhelmed. Your hair was sticking at your forehead due to your sweat and you were far gone into the pleasure he had just provided you. Yet, he seemed to not have enough.

Lord Stark pulled out of you. His length had a layer of your release coating it, and you felt your cheeks grow warm. It was unusual for you to feel this shy in this situation, but this whole thing was something rather unusual and rare. Sleeping with the biggest foe, you were a traitor now.

But Gods, it felt so damn good.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered. His hand wrapped around his leaking cock stroking himself, legs slightly parted as he looked at you with darkened eyes filled with lust. He was achingly hard, you could tell; his stones seemed heavy with his seed, which you would rather feel inside of you.

Yet, you obeyed, kneeling and looking up at him through your lashes. He cursed with a sigh, twitching with the lustful sight of you ready to take him once again.

“Open wide,” he instructed, brushing his cockhead against your swollen lips. You did what you were told. “Wider,” he demanded, and you obeyed again. “That's a good little whore…” he hummed, content.

You stuck your tongue out and felt his salty taste as he tapped his cock against it. You moaned, and he grabbed the sides of your face to keep you still as he started to move in and out of your mouth. He groaned, looking up and then back at you; such a skilful little minx you were, taking him so well.

Soon, your gags were echoing in the room along with your gulps and his moans. You were drooling; your saliva running down the corners of your lips as he fucked them as fast and hard as he pleased.

“There you go, take it all just like that,” he praised you, and you felt the warmth of the tears falling down your cheeks. “Mhm, fuck. I might start to believe what they say now. You're sucking my cock like a fucking goddess…”

You felt the back of your head pressing against the border of the table as he sped up. You were choking around him, and the sounds that came out of it were obscene and filthy, and Cregan loved it.

Before you could tell, he spilt himself inside of your mouth, forcing you to swallow every drop that left him. And you did.

Once he freed you from his grip, you pulled away. A string of saliva was still hanging from your lips as you desperately gasped for air, and only then Cregan noticed the big mess you had become. Hot and soaked cheeks, eyes tearing up, your lips swollen and covered with his thick and pearly seed. You were such an unholy sight.

His thumb reached for your lip, wiping your drool out of it. Such a gesture brought you back to that very same evening when he wiped the blood out of the cut in your lip. It did not feel foreign anymore. You were breathless, trying to regain composure as Cregan looked down at you with a satisfied glance.

“Seems like the rumours are not false,” he muttered, starting to pull his pants up again. “I might keep you so that I can feel those pretty lips around my cock again.”

“Keep- keep me?” you asked, confused and overwhelmed.

Cregan arched an eyebrow, “You think because I fucked you I will let you go?” he chuckled. You felt his hand wrapped around your jaw once again, forcing you to stand up. You trembled a little, feeling your legs shaky and weak. “So naive of you… to think that I would have a taste of you and then let you go.”

You felt your heart sink inside your chest as you heard him.

“Since you offered so nicely before, I will accept,” he sighed, picking up the dress you were wearing and throwing it up to you. “I’ll make you my personal whore, how about that?” You went silent. “Oh, come on, don't pretend this was not your idea… I was going to let you go with a warning but you came out with a better proposal. How could I say no?”

“I don't- I-” you shook your head.

“You belong to me now,” he chuckled. “A wildling made just for me to fuck as I please… Sounds perfect, does it not?”

You look into his grey eyes, perceiving and reading the mischievousness in them. You tried to escape and return to your freedom. Instead, everything went wrong and now you were trapped in the wolf's cage once again.

You were not sure how to feel about that.

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bokettochild · 19 days

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Linked Universe Enterence p.3

Okay! So I have thoughts!!!!

First off, does anyone remember when JoJo shared those first snippets? How there was a fun little detail that suddenly disappeared when the comic actually became more than doodles?

Yeah, I'm talking about this guy

(Not the grouchy old man being offended, the owl LOL)

I know there's a chance I'm wrong, a big one at that, but I think it would be really cool if, if only for a short while, JoJo brought him back, even if it's just for this era of Hyrule. Let Time have his owl buddy!

Anyways, to the actual comic!

I noticed that the boys are all still together, so I'm guessing they're waiting until they come to a cross-roads to actually split up like Four advised last time. So we have that to look forwards to in the coming updates!

I love that she's really highlighting the similarities and differences in this arc, showing us who knows what and what they've done, but also the little things; both with owls and the antifairy!

I adore the Owlan reference/appearance!

And Time immediately agreeing about the "long, drawn out lectures part" made me laugh. (His expression, my Hylia!!!)

That is the face of a man who kept accidentally asking to "hear it again" and regrets it with every bone of his being LOL

It's good to see more call backs to the last comics too! Having Hyrule be wary of the statue because he remembers seeing it before, and Warriors agreeing, but also reminding that it didn't cause harm. The fact that Hyrule keeps his sword pointed at it though, wary, does say a lot about how cautious he's being all the same (Wild ought to take notes)

And of course this whole panel

Twilight's awkwardly trying to assure the rest without spilling the secret, Sky laughing and turning to look at Legend, and the fact that the vet is just so entirely done with even just the thought of being a rabbit. (I love his face, omgosh).

Te way I screamed "anti-fairy!" when I saw this, and then was so, so delighted that Legend and I had the same thought (I am unwell about this man).

I'm equally unwell about the fact that Legend just has to say "ouch" (which you only say at inconveniences and not real, actual hurts) and immediately everyone's turning, weapons out and ready to help him face...whatever. Like, he's fine, guys, but it's sweet you care (now Legend, please take note and realize you belong, you idiot)

Love that Time hears "fairy" and immediately is all ears. All the more so at the "anti" part. Man was raised by fairies and he absolutely doesn't like the idea of something that would hurt them.

Meanwhile Legend is just being freaking Haku (Spirited Away) over here!

Tell me you don't see it!!!!!!

Also, his casual use of magic to purify something, to just make it no longer a threat, rather than hurting it. That need to save EVERYONE is really showing through here, huh?

And immediately, everyone is shocked that he did that, but also what it means about fairies. About dark magic. But Time and Wars especially!

Gosh, just Legend's little worried face and Time's offense at the idea of fairies being corrupted and harmed. Shows a bit about them here too I think. Time is maybe slightly obsessed with fairies (reasonably so) and hates them being harmed, but he shows his worry on the matter in anger. legend, meanwhile, becomes more sombre, quieter: it bothers him too (maybe reminds him of a certain predecessor?)

Get this man a tiara, he's a freaking Disney Princess over here, good grief!!!! He's carrying fairy food on what? The slim chance he has time to stop and feed them? Honestly, i know he's probably as attached to fairies as Time (although with a healthier relationship with them), but this is just too cute. this man is going to be the death of me!!!

Anyways, here's the bonuses!!!!

SUN APPEARANCE!!!!!!!! We have a canon Sun appearance!!!!! Like, sure, sleepy student Sky, but it's SUN!!!!

This smile. Oh my gosh I adore him. He's just so glad he got to help the corrupted little one become normal again.

JoJo was having fun with Four I see LOL

Man really said "hang on, let me check my purse, I think I have snacks in here"

Freaking Mom Coded

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu four #lu time #lu sky #lu sun #linked universe update

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whetstonefires · 3 months

Text

Man sometimes I still think about Alfred's Bandit Anecdote in The Dark Knight (2008).

So, the most straightforward reading of this sequence seems to have been the one Nolan intended, because he is not actually a subtle filmmaker, and the further we got into the series the more heavily he committed to making Alfred a mouthpiece. Old man provides words of wisdom that frame the correct understanding of the situation; you can tell it's meant to be correct because subsequent Joker appearances reinforce its thesis statement.

Intended takeaway: some men (like the Joker) don't have rational motivations, they just 'want to watch the world burn,' and you have to account for that when trying to counter them. Chaos agents, basically unstoppable by reasonable means.

But the thing is. This is not a story that stands up to even mild interrogation. The number of assumptions Nolan wants us to swallow without blinking is kind of stunning.

First of all the obvious timeline questions that arise: the Anglo-Burmese Wars and periods between and leading up to them where this kind of white man's burden 'delivering jewels to local elites In The Burmese Jungle to sway them toward British interests, but getting waylaid by bandits' scenario makes any sense all, happened in the 19th century.

The Burmese resistance in the 1930s was centered on university student protests and that sort of thing; it was reasonably successful in moving Myanmar toward independence by increments, though who knows what would have happened without WWII. But it did not provide anyone with reasons to be hand-carrying huge gemstones through forests.

Even if we assume this was somehow a 20th century event, it has to have been before WWII unless we want to postulate a complete alt-history setting, and since The Dark Knight leans heavily into being a modern 21st century story with like, cell phone networking as a major plot point, this still makes Alfred old as balls. Born no later than 1920, and probably earlier.

But that's whatever; comics time. Batman Begins did some fun stuff (possibly in imitation of Batman (1980)) with making it ambiguous what decade it was supposed to be set in, though the sequels dropped that conceit. And anyway, people can be 90 years old.

So that's basically fine, although good god Wayne hire some more servants, this man should be fully retired already.

More problematic is the unfettered colonialism of it all, the confident proclamation that since this guy's motive wasn't profit, since he didn't keep the jewels, he had no motive. Because 'inconveniencing the Raj and weakening their control over the locality' isn't a Real Person Motive that a real person could have had. During or soon after failed wars to resist colonial subjugation.

Like. Come on??

The place where this story utterly shoots itself in the foot, though, is the clever bit at the end, where Bruce asks how Alfred's military unit solved the 'bandit stealing jewels he didn't even want' problem and Alfred's like: 'we burned the forest to the ground.'

Because this is so punchy! In screenwriting technical terms, it's quite well done. It's useless advice that loops the story back to its themes; obviously Batman can't burn Gotham down to get the Joker. Even in a Batman movie that doesn't like Batman very much, this is still obvious.

But at the same time this totally takes the legs out from under Alfred's words of wisdom about human nature. Because if that bandit 'wanted' to 'watch the world burn' then what his unit did wasn't so bad, right; he was basically asking for it. Burning a forest down with all the inevitable collateral damage and economic and ecological cost, all for the sake of horribly killing a group of people in the name of government revenues was totally okay guys!

It transforms the whole thing into a pretty obvious post facto rationalization of colonial violence. Which makes the Insights Into Human Nature bit real questionable!

But the movie gives absolutely no sign of having noticed this.

#hoc est meum #batman #colonialism #alfred pennyworth #film #i throw salt #meta #myanmar #history #order vs chaos framing #never a perfect map onto good vs evil i'll tell you #orientalism

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writingforatwistedworld · 9 months

Note

A request...

Dunno if this has been done already but A self aware Azul, Trey, and Lilia reacting to the player saying they "had a bad day but seeing them made it much better".

Let me know if this is confusing and you're free to not answer of course

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, obsessive behavior, unhealthy behavior, mentions of blood, mentions of war, death, bad cringe humor bc I haven't written for a while

Trey Clover/ Azul Ashengrotto/Lilia Vanrouge-"Seeing you made my day better!"

Oh, are you alright?

The second you returned to them, Trey could tell that something was wrong with you

A bad day perhaps?

If he could talk to you he would sit you down to talk about what (or who) ruined your day (whilst secretly planning their demise but pshh)

But then you suddenly stare at the screen and drop something like that at him? Whew... I-I think he is swooning

He almost forgets that you are having a horrible time before all of this until he finally sees you having a strained expression once more before going off

Oh ok. This is fine. This is totally fine. Haha... TOTALLY FINE

Like, imagine my mans expression

He feels honored that you feel and think that way about him but at the same time...

Bro over here can't really help

He tries to be as present as possible after that

(Toatally not like a cat throwing itself on your lap for attention)

In his mind, the more present he is the better you feel

(Not like peeps play games to escape reality but sure, if Trey wants to see himself as your emotional aspirin then sure)

But perhaps his attention really helped, perhaps something good just happened that got you in a good mood

So when you finally said that seeing him made your day so much better it felt like the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds after a long storm

Well, luckily he didn't need to conspire with Draconia to get you here anymore

But then again, if what you said was true then him being with you would keep you happy all the time, right?

Oh what he does for his go-I mean his uncrowned ruler

This brings back a lot of dark memories for him

And I mean that literally

His memories of these days are filled with him sitting in a dark corner of his little pot

Only with the difference that for him his ray of light was food, for you it… is whatever this is

It does surprise him though

You, the high scholar, wisest of the wise, were more human than he imagined you to be

Well, to be fair, it was easy to imagine you as that unfeeling being that hovered over all of them

Day after day did the octopus see you do whatever you came to do and then go again

Although… you always made sure to check on him whilst having that faint smile on your face

How sweet. Doesn’t make him worry any less though

Until one day you finally tell him that seeing him made your day better

Wow… how is he supposed to react to that?

His inspiration for everything he does sees him in that light

This totally won’t get to his now. Naw. I have no idea what you are talking about

Continue to tell him that. Tell him how much his presence makes you happy

And if you should look in the direction of some unfortunate NPC that unknowingly made you laugh he will see red

Interesting, his cane looks a bit red as well. The handle area should be cleaned again… why is it so sticky?

Lilia is not amused

Sleep deprived, yes, but not amused

Oh why that? Well, this father decided to pray even more to you in order to cheer you up

Now, if you know anything about Lilia in this au then you also know how religious he is, so him praying even more? Uh… perhaps he gets two hours of sleep at best

You are his god so surely you hear his words, asking you why your expression is always so sad, so exhausted

STOP SHARPENING YOUR SWORD YOU OLD BAT THERE IS NO NEED TO START A HOLY WAR IN THE OVERSEERS NAME WTF MADE YOU EVEN THINK OF THAT SOLUTION??!

Anyways, if Lilia is not in a good mood, so is entire Diasomnia. He is more or less the dorms old and wise fairy grandmother who hands out advice like lollipops so when he is not in a good mood, so is nobody else

No matter what the local group of non-violent military trained guys do, they just can’t cheer up their usually oh so happy teacher and guide

Lilia reminds the NPCs of the dorm of a certain general they read about in the history books (but there is no way that could be Lilia)

Until one day he walks in like he is in a romance anime, looking up with sparkling eyes to the altar and thanking your statue for your favor

If this was any other dorm, he would have been send to the school therapist (oh yeah, they have a shrimp instead of that)

When asked by his son what happened Lilia just looks up, still with that weird look in his eyes, tells him that “I have finally been noticed by our grace”

Malleus is telling Sebek in the meantime to call for a doctor because it seems like their general just lost his last few marbles

What really happened was Lilia heads down dangling from who knows where, perhaps the cafeteria chandelier, and asking himself what could have made you so sullen the last few days

Until suddenly you zipped in, looked at him (probably once up to his knees and then down to his head whilst saying “Mhm. Looks good.”) and were like “Seeing you made my day better.”

That was the moment when Lilia lost his grip on the metal and fell face-first, thankfully it was already late so no one was present but if I got a coin every time he fell like that I would have one, which tells us how rarely that happens

How about you go to whatever NPCs that govern the other countries and warn them that there is a high low-key mad general who would start would annihilation if you so much as feel slightly sluggish

You know those people who need to hear compliments constantly so they don't go bananas? Yeah

Whoops. Seems like you complimented the uniform of Octavinelles uniforms after seeing one of their NPCs. Wonder what happened to that guy. He isn't attending his classes anymore, that's for sure

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hjparisian · 4 months

Text

time doesn't wait for you- theodore nott x reader

p: theodore nott x fem!reader w: angst, sad, cussing summary: a few years after the war, theodore is forced to step back onto the grounds of hogwarts, where he finds an old lover he misses. a/n: something about writing theo angst has me all :D but reading it is like D: anyways sorry for breaking your hearts

Theodore had no intentions to join in on this event. In fact, he wanted to avoid this whole thing entirely. He almost succeeded too if it wasn't for his best friend Blaise randomly apparating to his apartment earlier that day begging him to join.

"Come on Theo."

"No," he told him. "There's no point in going."

"There's always a point in going to a party."

"It's not even a party, more like some idiotic get together."

The 'party' in question was a reunion and a celebration of the ending of the war. All Hogwarts alumni were invited, no matter the age or the house you were in.

"It will be a party when we're there."

Classic Blaise, it was like the war never changed him.

Unlike it did to Theodore.

"Still. I'm not going."

Blaise rolled his eyes at the boy on the bed. "Come on man, Draco will be there with Astoria and her sister. Mattheo and Enzo are going too. It won't be a real reunion without you."

Theodore groans at his best friend's insistence. "You're not gonna give up are you?"

"Nope," Blaise says. "You're always locked in your apartment ever since your hearing at the ministry."

Ah yes. That. Because of Theodore's father allegiance with the Dark Lord, he was questioned for working along side him. They were not wrong though. His father made him to join the Death Eaters in his sixth year. Luckily for Theodore, they ruled it as him being forced to join by his father and was just given some community service.

"Not always," the boy grumbles.

Blaise snorted. "Yeah, sure." The boy walked to Theodore's closet and began rummaging through his wardrobe.

"What are you doing?" He asked him.

"I'm helping you get ready," Blaise told him. Theodore groaned.

"Come on Theo. Just go for a bit, you don't have to stay for the whole thing. What's stopping you?"

Theodore remained silent, his head in his hands. Despite his silence, Blaise was able to figure it out.

"You're scared to run into her, aren't you?"

Theodore sighed before nodding his head. "It's been forever since I last saw her, during the war," he mutters, looking at his best friend. "I never got to explain everything to her."

Blaise sat on the bed next to Theodore. "Mate, it'll be alright. I'm sure she understands why you left her."

But Blaise never witnessed the hurt in her eyes when Theodore broke things off at the beginning of sixth year, nor when he saw her during the battle at Hogwarts. Theodore just shook his head.

"I don't know."

"You might not even see her," Blaise said to him. "I heard there's quite a bit of people going. Plus we will be by your side. I know Enzo misses you."

Theodore sat and thought for a bit before answering. "Fine. Only because you probably would make me go either way."

Blaise had left Theodore to get ready at his own place, promising to meet up with him at Hogsmeade where they would travel to Hogwarts together.

The boy stood in front of the mirror in his room, gazing at his opposite. The person staring back at him was only a shell of what remained of him, the war and his father torturing him. Would she even want to look at him?

He shifted his gaze to the small clock on his nightstand, indicating it was almost time for him to leave. Theodore was half tempted to stay home and not go, but he couldn't, knowing Blaise would probably be on his ass if he didn't show.

Theodore half-willingly exited the comfort of his home to apparate to Hogsmeade to meet with his old friends. As soon as he arrived, the boy began wandering around in search of his old mates, until he found a head of white-blonde hair.

"Theo!"

A girl with dark shoulder length hair wrapped her arms around him in a hug, catching him off guard. The girl stepped back, taking a look at her friend.

"It's been forever! I was starting to get worried about you."

"It has been," Theodore states. "But I'm alright, no need to worry Pansy."

"We have every right to," said Enzo. "You barely reached out to us. Not since the trials. Even Mattheo over here has been reaching us and he had it worse." Mattheo nodded at Enzo's words.

"I've been busy."

"We're all together now, so does it matter?" Blaise points out. "We should start heading towards the school."

The group begun their trek towards the school. Everyone was all catching up with each other, updating how their lives have been. How Draco had begun dating Astoria not too long after the war, how Enzo and Mattheo had recently got an apartment together, Pansy's fling with some witch she met on vacation, and Blaise's many rendezvous.

Theodore remained silent, taking in all information, until Draco's voice cut through the air.

"So Theo, you haven't told us what you've been up to."

"Yeah, last I heard was you having to do some service for the Ministry after your trial," Mattheo said.

"I haven't been doing much," Theodore began. "Mainly reading. Picking up the odd job here and there."

"Didn't you want to be a healer?" Astoria inquired. "I remember Draco telling me that a while ago."

Theodore looked at Draco who looked away, looking a bit embarrassed. Theodore remembered confiding in the Malfoy boy about this one night during their teen years, but he knew he couldn't. Not with his father wanting him to join the Ministry like him.

Another person had known about this dream career. And she was the one person who encouraged him to pursue it. He still remembers what she said to him about it

"Who cares what your father says? That bastard doesn't know shit. You would be a wonderful healer. I know you've healed my heart," she teasingly says.

Theodore shivered at the memory.

"I did."

Before the group could ask anymore questions, the voices of others caught their attention. They had arrived at the castle.

Theodore let his eyes wandered as they walked towards the Great Hall. The last time he stepped on these grounds, they were in shambles. Sometimes he still sees it in his nightmares.

The Great Hall seemed brighter than the boy remembered. Perhaps it was the gold and silver decorations lining the walls. Instead of the four long tables, there multiple round tables around the room. It reminded Theodore of the Yule Ball.

He remembered how he felt the night of the Yule Ball. He built up the courage to ask out the one girl he had a crush on. Granted, Enzo kept annoying him about it, saying if he wasn't going to ask her out, then he would.

Needless to say, Theodore asked her out the next day.

He was nervous. The moment he saw her in her gown, he felt time stop. He was a lucky man that day.

"You know Theo, I was waiting for you to ask me," she tells him while they danced.

He smiles shyly. "Sorry. Just needed a little push I guess."

"It's alright," she tells him. "I would always wait for you."

Theodore shook the memory from his head, trying to tune in to what his friends were talking about. A nudge from the person next to him caught his attention.

Enzo leaned towards Theodore. "Hey isn't that (Y/N) over there?" He looked over to where his friend was pointing to see his former lover, talking to the Patil twins.

She looked gorgeous in Theodore's eyes. The way her hair was styled. The way her dress sat on her shoulders. The way it framed her body. The way her eyes still sparkle like they did back in their schools years. It felt like the Yule Ball all over again.

Oh god, shit feels deja vu.

Theodore continued to watch as she interacted with their old classmates. Seeing her laugh at something Hermione Granger said made something flutter in his stomach.

He didn't even realize how long he was staring until a pair of fingers were snapping right in front of him.

"Hey, Theo!"

Blaise stood right by him, for how long or when he got there, Theodore didn't know. He turned to his mate and looked at him.

"Been trying to get your attention for a bit," Blaise told him. "What were you looking at?"

"Nothing," he quickly said.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, not believing a word he said. He looked in the direction of where Theodore was gazing a few moments ago. He paused when his eyes set on something and they widened, realizing who his friend was staring at.

Blaise smirked a bit. "Ooohh, I see. You were looking at her."

"What? No I wasn't," Theodore denied. It was blatantly obvious that he was.

"Just go talk to her."

"No."

"What's going on?" Mattheo asks.

"Nothing. Nothing is going on."

"He's been staring at his ex this whole time," Enzo tells him.

"(Y/N)?" questions Draco.

The whole Slytherin gang was staring at Theodore, curious about what's going on.

Merlin put me in Azkaban, Theodore thought.

"What happened between you two?" Astoria questioned. Merlin shut up.

As Mattheo was about to answer, Theodore cut him off. "Just didn't work out." But oh how he wish they did. Astoria nodded her head, deciding not to probe any further.

The topic came to an end thankfully as Enzo and Mattheo went to grab drinks and Draco and Astoria started chatting with Daphne. Theodore stood by Pansy and Blaise as the two were talking about who knows what.

He let his gaze wander again to her. (Y/N) was with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, talking with some of the former Gryffindor quidditch players.

"Do you miss her?"

Theodore looked towards Pansy, staying silent. The boy let out a sigh before answering. "I do."

"Why don't you just talk to her?" She asks him.

"I can't."

"Well, why not?"

"He's scared," Blaise says. "The last time they've talked to each other was after the break up. Then she found out he was a Death Eater during the war."

"You broke things off because of that, didn't you?" Pansy inquired. Theodore nodded his head.

"I didn't want her to get involved in that bullshit."

"You need to talk to her Theo," the dark haired girl told him. "She probably heard about your trial, (Y/N) has to understand what happened."

"Pansy's right," said Blaise. "The war is over, people are healing and moving on. I'm sure she will understand."

But Theodore hasn't.

"No."

"Mate, come on. We both know you miss her."

"Yeah. I'm sure she misses you too. You just have to try-"

"I said I'm not gonna do it." He was started to feel frustrated.

Pansy starts to reach out toward the boy. "Theo-"

"I'm getting a drink." Theodore walks away from his mates, who watched him leave with concern.

The boy walks towards the refreshment table, grabbing a glass of elf made wine. He began downing the glass, until a sweet familiar voice caught him off guard.

"Theo?"

The boy turned around to see the one person he's been thinking about this whole night. Of course the first thing to happen as soon as he saw her was for him to begin choking on the wine he was drinking.

"Theo!" The girl exclaimed as she rushed to help him. The girl conjured up a cup of water for him to drink as he stopped coughing.

"Merlin are you alright?" (Y/N) asked him.

"Yeah, was just surprised that's all."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's alright. Not your fault," He tells her.

The two stood in silence until (Y/N) broke it.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Theodore nods. "It has. A couple years actually."

"How have you been?" She asks him.

"Been alright," Theodore says to her. "Hasn't been a smooth couple of years but I've managed. How are you?"

"I've been well. Been working at the ministry. It's a lot but has helped put my mind off other things." (Y/N) said. "Have you gotten a job at St. Mungo's yet?"

"Huh? What for?"

"You know," (Y/N) began. "As a healer?"

If Theodore had to be honest, he wasn't expecting her to remember. Hell, he would've thought she would forget all about him. "No."

"Really?" She looked at him in confusion.

He nodded his head. "Just a lot going on since the war. Also I don't think anyone would want a former death eater treating them."

He noticed her breath hitch at the mention of him being a death eater, but decided not to say anything about it.

"Well, I think you shouldn't let that stop you," she tells him. "It wasn't deemed as your fault anyways, your bastard father made you."

"You know about my trial?" The boy was a little shocked.

She smiled sheepishly. "I read up on it a bit. Yours and Mattheo's trials were mentioned in the Daily Prophet."

Theodore felt his face go cold as a small oh left his mouth. He should've expected it, considering he's the son of one of the most well known Death Eaters in the country.

"So I guess you understand why things ended the way they did between us," Theodore tells her. "I didn't want anything to happen to you because we were together."

"I mean, I didn't really understand at the time," she tells him. "The trial gave some clarity, but I kind of understand it now."

He nodded. "I hope you know I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Theo," she says, giving him a small smile. "I'm glad you're okay now." Was he really though? He wouldn't say.

He felt his heart quicken at the thought that she was glad he survived the war. She still cares about him, at least that's what he was telling himself.

Maybe, just maybe, if she still cares about him, she may have missed him. Pansy could be right. And maybe, he could get her back. Just maybe.

Theodore decided to take chance, taking Pansy's words to heart. "Hey (Y/N)." She hummed in response.

"I just want to say, that I really missed you." He felt his heart running miles. "And I truly am sorry for what happened between us."

"It's alright, Theo. It's in the past," (Y/N) said, smiling at him.

"But I was wondering," Theodore pauses. "If you would be willing to give it- us, a second chance."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened, not expecting this. Sadness seemed to cloud her features soon after.

"Oh, Theo," she started. "I'm sorry but, no, we can't."

Theodore felt his heart crack. This was not what he was hoping for. "Why not?"

(Y/N) looked down at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers. "I'm engaged Theodore."

It was at that moment when Theodore noticed the diamond ring sitting on her left hand. How did he not notice it?

"With who?"

"With Harry."

Theodore couldn't believe it. He didn't want to.

"We started talking more after the war," she tells him. "With us both at the ministry, some things just led to another."

The boy felt like choking. Like something was in his throat, but he manages to get out one word. "Why?"

"Theodore what did you expect me to do?" She burst out, tears glistening in her eyes. "We were broken up. I couldn't just sit around begging for you to come back. I had to move on! Time doesn't wait for you."

All he could do was stand in silence as (Y/N) attempted to stop the tears from flowing. The pain in her eyes brought back the memories of when he broke things off. Oh how he wish he didn't do it. How he wish they could've just stayed together.

"I'm- I'm sorry," was all he could mutter out.

(Y/N) just shook her head. "I think I should go back to Harry. But it was nice seeing you. Think about the healer job."

She patted his shoulder as she left. Theodore watched with blurry eyes as she walked towards The Boy Who Lived, who wrapped an arm around her waist. Oh how he hated that git and how he wished he was him right now.

It was at that moment Blaise and Pansy appeared at his side. Pansy's voice catching his attention.

"Hey Theo, you alright?"

He shook his head. "I- I lost her."

The love of his life had become the biggest loss of his life. How he wished time would travel back to when they were happy little fourth years.

But unfortunately for him, time doesn't wait for anyone.

#harry potter #theodore nott x reader #harry potter x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x y/n #theo nott imagine #theodore nott imagine #theo nott #theodore nott x you #theo nott angst

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ghostskiss · 1 year

Text

Hate

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader WC: so many omg (9.2k) Summary: On a pranking war, you end up taking something from Ghost to get back at him. He’s bound to get back at you. Warnings: 18+ Enemies to lovers, Voyeurism, Stalking (? Kinda.), Teasing, PIV, Oral (AFAB receiving), Dub-con elements (I think? Just tagging that in case. Reader wants him but isn’t letting him know it), Spit, Biting, A bit of blood, Hate Sex, Edging, Overstimulation, Creampie, Condescending!Simon, He’s kinda mean in this Sorry (heheh)

Irritation is settling into your bones. Maybe even your hair follicles. The pores in your skin. Your entire soul. The point is, you’re irritated. Pretty soon, you’re going to be pissed.

Stomping through the building to the mess hall, you fume. You’re thinking of all the ways you can get back at him. This has been going on for weeks. Months, actually. You’re ready to throw your towel in. Wave around a white flag. You don’t care how smug the bastard is going to be. You don’t care if he gives you that knowing smirk under his mask, unable to see it, but still somehow knowing he’s laughing at you anyways. Hands clenching at your sides, you swing the door open. Soap flinches, seated at the table, his eyes shooting to you. Surprise plasters on his face.

“Uh-oh. Incoming.” Soap starts, his gaze going from your storming form to his friend, Ghost. The pair are enjoying their dinner it seems.

“Riley.” You grind out, coming to a hot stop behind him. Weirdly, he had his back to the door.

He doesn’t even bother to turn.

“Yes, dear?”

Soap tries to hold a laugh back, coughing. “Shit, what’d you two get into now?”

It’s not unknown to the rest of the 141. The thing you and Ghost have, the going back and forth, the endless pranks on each other. It started as an accident, your accident. Sometimes at night when you’re lying in your bed, you stare at the ceiling, wondering what would have become of the two of you if you hadn’t done what you had. It was an accident; you even apologized to him! Multiple times. He still would not let it go. He got back at you. And then you got back at him for thinking he could get back at you. The cycle continued. Still does, to this day. All because you’d accidentally -accidentally- switched out his shampoo for yours. Something so stupid and trivial snow balled into…into this!

Your hand opens over the table, the item falling to the middle of it. You should’ve dropped it into his food. Soap looks down, shock spreading across his face before he sputters with laughter. It makes you angrier. It’d be fine if Soap was laughing at something you did to Ghost, but when it’s turned around, it makes you want to kill the both of them.

A small black plastic spider sits in the center of the table. It looks ridiculous now, under the lights of the mess hall, but it was scarier in your dark room, sitting right on top of your pillow.

Ghost lets out an unimpressed snort, “The hell is that?”

“What do you mean, ‘the hell is that?’ It didn’t crawl into my bed by itself, Ghost!” You shrill out, ready to punch him in the head, really. You never should have told anyone about your fear of spiders. It’d been another accident; this time alcohol had loosened your lips. You never thought it’d be used against you like this.

Soap slaps a hand to his mouth, trying to contain his glee. It looks like he kicks Ghost under the table. “You put that in the lass’s bed? You’re cruel, Lt.”

The man gives a noncommittal shrug and finally looks at you from over his shoulder. His mask is pulled up enough to eat. It’s normal for him to be comfortable enough to expose that much of his face in front of Soap, but the rest of the team? Forget it. He seems to notice his mistake, pulling his mask back into place. You don’t miss the curve of his smile before he does. It sends a shock down your spine, and you feel yourself falter a bit before fixing your scowl.

“You scared of a little toy? Explain to me how you’re on the team, again?” He stands, apparently done with his dinner. You have to move back to give him space, and of course, he doesn’t ask you to move. You do it anyways, pissed that he knows you’ll move to accommodate him.

You cross your arms over your chest as he pushes past you, tossing his food in the bin. He leaves the mess hall like you’re not throwing daggers at his back. Huffing, you turn back to Soap, who’s playing with the tiny plastic legs on the toy spider. Pointing the toy at you, he chuckles, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.

Sighing, you sit down, anger almost disappearing now that the idiot who caused it is gone. You snatch a bread roll off Soap’s plate, sinking your teeth down into it.

“Gotta give it to him. Where the hell do you think he found this?” He flicks the toy to the table, not bothered that you’re eating his bread.

You shrug and swallow the piece before answering, “Who knows.” Your gaze is fixed to the toy, and then a thrill runs through you. A smile crawls to your lips as you fixate on it.

“Christ, lass, you look absolutely evil.”

Standing abruptly, you push yourself away from the table. Soap calls out to you, and you ignore him. You’re on a mission now. Your feet take you through the building to the sleeping quarters. You mentally check the time. Ghost was just eating dinner. Next, he’ll be in the showers. Without fail, you can count on the routine your lieutenant keeps. It’s not like you’re paying that much attention. Everyone knows, so that they can steer clear of him. The time he eats dinner, the time he heads to the showers, the time he cleans his guns in the weaponry room. He’s very vocal on the times he needs to be left alone. Soon, he’ll be bedded down for the night. You need to utilize the time that he’s in the showers.

You’re standing outside his quarters, staring down the closed door. A nervous chill hits you. It feels violating, this plan that you’re scheming. To even be going into his quarters. Anger comes to you now. He crossed that line with you, remember? He went into your room, somewhere in between the time you’d got back from your operation with Gaz and the time it took you to get ready for bed. You’re just playing the game he started, as always. Steeling your nerves, you push the door open. Of course, it wasn’t locked. The audacity someone had to have to sneak into Ghost’s room. He’s cocky enough to think no one would.

As the door creeps open, you slip in the dark room, shutting the door as carefully as you’d open it. The dark’s adjusting to your eyes as you lean up against the door. Taking a deep breath, you regret it instantly. It smells so much like him. You step forwards into the room, captivated. You can see a bit, but you don’t want to risk turning on the light. Pulling your phone out, you activate the flashlight on. It luminates the room as much as it can, and you suck in another breath. There’s nothing personal in here. It looks barely lived in. You at least have some things in your room, books, pictures. The only reason you know it’s his room is the singular knife on his desk. That’s what you’ve come for. Not wanting to test your luck, you shoot your hand out and grab it, leaving his room.

You’re pacing quickly down the hall, passing the corridor that leads to the showers. Your walk slows to a crawl as you listen intently, ears straining to pick up anything they can. The showers are still running, good. It gives you a bit of relief, and you continue on your mission. Hiding the knife in your room is not going to work, that’d be the first place he’d look. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you look down at the object in your hand. It’s a simple pocketknife, small and black. You have no idea why he’s so fond of it. In meetings, it’s the thing he toys with, flicking it back and forth in his gloved hands, opening and closing, running a gloved finger on the edge it. It irritates you because it’s distracting, always. Price never calls him out on it either, letting him fidget with it like he’s a kid that can’t sit still. Your thumb catches on the hidden blade, popping open with a satisfying click. There’s an old engravement on the blade and you squint, trying to read it. No use. It’s obvious the blade has been used and worn over with how ever long he’s had it, years you’re guessing.

Shutting it, you ignore the wiggle of uncertainty in the back of your mind. Of course, it means something to him. That’s why you’re taking it. It’s a line the two of you have yet to cross, but you’re still pissed about the toy spider. If he’d heard the shrill of fear you’d let out, you would be more eager to do this. It was humiliating, how scared you were, only to realize the thing hadn’t moved an inch as you clutched your hand to your heart, pressed up against the door like it’d jump and attack you. The courage it took to step near it, to touch it with a pen you’d grabbed from your desk.

The memory makes you grit your teeth. You hate him. It was one thing to prank each other, it was another to come into your room and deliver your worst fear, plastic toy or not. Your hand clenches around the knife handle and you close it with determination. Fuck him. You head to the locker rooms. You have a locker, just as everyone else. You hardly use it, however, as you have too much trust in your team to ever put anything in there. Thinking back to the combination of the lock, you put it in wrong several times before getting right. Opening the empty locker, you place the knife down and shut it, spinning the lock, and checking to see if it’s locked. A tension filled sigh leaves you. For now. The tension will be back tomorrow, when he finds out his knife has gone missing, you’re sure. You’ll need to practice your poker face.

Heading back to your room, you settle down for the night. Of course, you check for any strategically placed toy spiders. When you find none, you climb slowly into bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was in here. He placed the toy on your bed. You wonder what he thought of your small space, your things. If his hand trailed on your covers before he left.

***

“No. There isn’t enough time, you’ll go out to this building,” the eraser of the pencil in your hand presses against a point on the map, “and you’ll move to the roof. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Lass—” Soap starts, and you cut him off with a mere hard look.

The two of you have been here in the mess hall for too long, arguing with half eaten bagels and coffee that’s getting cold. Going back and forth isn’t something you really do with Soap, it’s Ghost. But he’s got something up his ass about this op. The extraction is supposed to happen at a different point, he’s supposed to take the package and head to the roof of a building in the opposite direction going in. He doesn’t agree with splitting up in enemy territory, neither do you, but it’s how it has to go down. Only the two of you are assigned to this job.

“Don’t start, seriously.”

“Why don’t we get more people on this?”

“You know why, Soap. Everyone has a job to do, this is ours. I’m not about to ask Price to stretch his crew thin when it already is.”

“I know exactly who to ask. I bet if I tell Lt, he’ll do it, no questions asked.”

You roll your eyes and huff, settling back into your chair. It’s been two days since you’d stolen his knife, and he’s still livid. No one knows exactly why, he wouldn’t say what’d happened, but you knew the moment he walked into the meeting two days ago. You knew he knew that you knew why he was uptight. Not that you told him. You denied knowing anything on why he’s in a piss poor mood, even when your mates pulled you aside to ask what you did. You could’ve boasted, told everyone you finally got a one-up on him. But you liked knowing that you got so deep under his skin that he wouldn’t even ask anyone where his knife went. Wouldn’t even confront you. That should scare you, you know, but you’re high on the achievement.

Soap scrunches his nose, “Well, maybe not. You’re on his shitlist, y’know.”

“Whatever. I’m on his, he’s on mine. That doesn’t matter because he’s busy. Everyone is busy, just do your job.” You take a sip of your cold coffee, pulling a face from the temperature.

“No, I mean, you’re really on his shitlist now. He told me his knife is missing. And I saw that devious smile on your face before it disappeared. Do you even know about that thing? He’s had it since he was kid.”

You shrug, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You push away from the table, grabbing your paperwork and mug full of forgotten coffee. Making your way to the kitchen, you dump the remains of your mug into the sink, rinsing it out and washing it thoroughly. The door behind you kicks up, and you sigh.

“Seriously, if you’re going to start up again, let me remind you—” you start, turning towards who you presume is Soap.

The words die in your throat, your mouth a little open in shock. Luckily, your paperwork is on the counter, you would have dropped it otherwise. Ghost stands before you, head tilting in mock question.

“Remind me what?” His gruff voice comes out.

The air is tense, heavy with danger. You’ve been on Ghost’s bad side before. Or so you thought. Nothing can compare to what you’re feeling now, locked the kitchen with the presence of a man who is pissed. You successfully avoided him for two days, until now. Your throat dries and you swallow, the movement caught by him, his eyes dipping to your throat. He takes a daunting step forward, causing you to take one back, pressing into the sink behind you. Shit. Is this how his true enemies feel? A bead of sweat drips down your spine, your heart beating quickly under your breastbone. Dark eyes of his are latched onto yours as he moves closer, caging you in. He isn’t touching you, but you can feel the heat coming off his body in waves. Angry heat. You start to feel panicky. This isn’t the first time he’s cornered you, or tried to use his presence to make you feel uneasy. You used to pride yourself on how well you could handle the pressure from him, that you were never scared of him. This is…different. This has weight, it has fear.

“Where is it?”

His voice hits you like whiplash, your gaze shooting up to his. He simply whispered the question, anger nowhere to be heard in his tone. It makes you feel queasy. Your eyes are searching him, trying to figure out what has got him so calm, if it’s a trick. His posture says anything but. Ghost has never been able to hide anger from his tone, so how is he doing it now? He’s just watching you as you scramble for an answer, patient when he should be anything but.

“Where is what?” You counter, tone steady. You’re clinging onto the training you have to mask your nerves. Maybe he’s doing the same.

Ghost leans forward, face coming close to yours. Christ. You felt panic before, now it’s true fear. His hand comes up and you tense, ready for him to grab you, lash out at you, something. He’s moving slow, like he enjoys seeing the fear rush through you, as you press painfully into the edge of the sink behind you. He likes seeing you squirm as you try to guess what he’s doing, why he’s doing it. His hand reaches up behind you, his body pressed close to yours, eyes never leaving your face. The hand shuts the sink off behind you, the water that’d been running stops with a trickle. He steps back, like the proximity never happened.

“Well, I guess you don’t know. G’luck on your op tonight.” Ghost says, almost cheerfully, turning away and leaving the kitchen.

You blink.

Even without his presence, your heart rate doesn’t understand the danger is gone. A breath shakily leaves you as you slump against the counter. God, he was so close. He’s never been that close to you before. He’s tried to intimidate you before, sure. Chewing on your bottom lip, you think about the knife in the locker. Should you put it back? Could you sneak it back into his room without getting caught? It feels too serious, it feels like you really crossed a line here. Fuck. Then he’d know it was you, probably already does, who else would steal his things? He more than likely has already hatched a plan to get you back. There’s no point in giving it back now.

Good luck on your op tonight.

“Shit.” You mutter, his voice ringing through your mind. He’s never said that before. Praises and encouragement aren’t just given to you by him. It hardens your resolve. Grabbing your paperwork you leave the kitchen, straight to Price’s office.

Lifting a hand, you knock on the closed door in front of you. Your captain’s voice calls an affirmative to come in. You walk into the dimly lit office. Price is sitting at his desk, lazily reading some paperwork.

“Go on.” He says. Christ, what are you doing here? This is cowardice. This is the lowest Ghost has ever made you go.

“I need more time on the op Soap and I are on. We need more people. It’s insanity to have just the two of us. Soap agrees.” This isn’t a lie. None of it’s a lie, why does it feel like you’re lying to your Captain?

Price’s gaze leaves the paperwork, and he apprehends you silently. He looks surprised, leaning back into his desk chair. “You’ve never asked this before. Must be serious.”

You nod silently. What he doesn’t know is the suspicion you have about Ghost sabotaging the operation. To get back at you. It’s something you hope he hasn’t done, but why would he say that to you? Good luck.

Price lets out a sigh, “This is going to push us back. But fine. If you and Soap think it’s right. I pride myself on listening to my team. Safety first. Keep the paperwork, I’ll work it out. Tomorrow then.”

His tone is dismissive, so you salute before you turn and leave. Fuck, fuck. What is wrong with you? You’re marching down the halls to your room, ready to just mindlessly lay in bed. You have to give Ghost back his knife. This is dangerous, it has the taste of blood in your mouth. He wouldn’t really sabotage your op, right? Right? Whatever the case, you stopped the operation for a night, at least.

Flinging the paperwork haphazardly onto your desk, you sigh out, taking off your attire. If you aren’t doing the op tonight, you’re going to hole yourself in your room and think about what to do. Maybe you’ll give Ghost his knife back tonight, and finally, once and for all call a truce. It’s gone on long enough, hasn’t it? You hate to be the one to give in first, but this is serious. It was only a matter of time until it got out of hand, until one of you decided to mess with the other deeply. You always kind of thought Ghost would be the one to cross the line first, but it seems like you have. Exhaustion falls around you, seeping into your bones. You shrug your pants off and get into something comfier, a large t-shirt you like to sleep in. A nap is calling your name. You’ll deal with consequences of whatever later.

***

It’s dark when you startle awake in your bed. You’re groggy, the blankets around you are twisted at the end of your feet, like you kicked them off during your sleep. Your shirt is pulled up, exposing your bare abdomen and underwear. A groan rushes out of you when you pop yourself up to your elbows, blinking slowly. The nap had hit you hard, you feel out of sorts. Your senses are coming back to your body at a snail pace. You lift yourself up into a sitting position, flinging your legs over the edge of the bed and you fix your shirt back down. Damn, that was…that was a good nap.

Something barely moves in the corner of your eye. You freeze. It came from the small chair in the hidden corner of your room, the one you move to your desk when you need it. When you don’t, it’s where you pile your laundry before you can get around to fold it. Was that good nap making you hallucinate? Are you still dreaming? You swear it’s just your pile of clothes.

Doesn’t matter. You’re scared. You keep frozen in time like you hadn’t seen the movement, left hand inching under your pillow to find your pocketknife. It was hidden there for times like these, times when you felt nervous in your own room. Your hand brushes against nothing, the movement in the corner of your eye starting again. Heartrate spiking, you drop pretenses and brush your hand under your pillow wildly. The pile of clothes at the chair is starting to look like a body. A man.

“Looking for something?”

Shock hits you so hard you flinch, like it was a physical hit. Fuck.

“Eye for an eye, right? Isn’t that how this whole thing started?” Ghost’s low voice crawls over your body. Goosebumps run across your skin.

“Ghost, what the fuck. You scared me.” You breathe out, a bit relieved it was just him. The turning feelings from fear to relief to anger rushes over your mind. Jumping up from the bed, you face him, able to barely see him in the dark of your room.

“What the fuck!” You whisper-shout at him, “What are you doing in here?”

Not the right thing to say, you guess. He stands to his full height, yet again moving you with the mere presence of himself. He’s daunting, towering over you in the dark. You can just see the outline of him, his stature. He looks bigger in the dark like this, in the shadows. Anger is steeling your nerves.

“You were watching me sleep?” You’re still whispering, incredulous. “Wait until the team finds out what a fucking pervert you are!”

A dry chuckle comes from him, humorless. “You’ve no fucking idea.”

You don’t have the time to process what he just said, as he suddenly shoots a hand forward, gripping your jaw. Your hands cling to his forearm, clawing at him. His hands are bare and so are his arms. Shit. This shouldn’t be making you feel hot. Were you still dreaming? He’s pressing into you, making you stumble backwards until the back of your legs hit your bed. He shoves you not too kindly at all. You can see him a bit better now that he’s closer, your eyes now adjusted to the dim light. A scowl moves on your face as you lay back on your hands to glare up at him.

“What. Are you. Doing.” You hiss out at him, pissed. He thinks he can come into your room and just bully you like this? Man handle you as he pleases?

Ghost tosses your pocketknife onto your bed. You get the memo.

“Fucker. I’m going to give it back to you, okay? You didn’t have to go this far. Sabotage my op or creep into my room and piss me off to high hell. Christ, even I wouldn’t do this.”

“Oh, but you did. You creeped into my room.” Is his response. Oh, so he did sabotage your op. He didn’t deny or confirm it. No answer is an answer. Hot anger flares inside you.

You scramble up your bed, going to your knees to get somewhat more of a height than laying down. “Motherfucker, you did that first! You placed that spider on my bed! A spider, Riley!” You jab a finger into his chest, feeling the hot and hard muscle there.

“Yeah? And who started this whole thing, huh?” He asks in his timbre of a voice, the sound doing something devious to you right now. He snatches your hand that was jabbing him, gripping it with his own. You gasp lowly at the feel of his skin on yours. What the hell? You’re supposed to be mad at him. Focus.

“I told you it was an accident! How many times do I have to say, huh? When are you ever going to get it through your thick fucking skull that I didn’t mean to switch my shampoo for yours? It’s not like it made you bald!” You don’t know that - you’re sure it didn’t, but you have no idea what his hair even looks like under his mask.

“You have no idea what it made me.” Ghost growls out lowly, jerking you a bit closer to him with the hand he’s captured. Your free hand hits his shoulder in attempt to get him to let go.

“Tell me then. Tell me what was so bad about using my shampoo one time that you just had to go out of your way to make my life miserable. Tell me.”

The two of you are practically panting. You’re vibrating with anger and…need. The tension between you is crackling, the energy in the room is suffocating. You’re too close to him, dangerously thinking about things you shouldn’t be. Especially about him. Your hand is still caught in his, your other clutching his shirt over his shoulder. When did you do that? You watch him tilt closer, dark eyes on yours.

“It made me hard.”

The reaction you give him isn’t something you expect. It sobers you. It pulls you out of whatever trance he has you in. This isn’t…fuck, this isn’t how you’re supposed to feel towards him. His words shouldn’t affect you like this. It shouldn’t make your core clench, it shouldn’t make you feel slick between your thighs, it shouldn’t make you so aware of how easy it would be right now to lift up his mask and kiss him. It makes you struggle in his hold, trying to get away from him. This can’t happen. You’re supposed to hate him.

Ghost grabs your other hand, keeping you still, gripping both of them in his own, against his chest. You’re squirming and he tugs you forward again to whisper in your ear, mask brushing against your sensitive and on fire skin.

“When I opened the shampoo bottle and, fuck. And smelled you? It made me so fucking hard I had to jerk myself off. It made me so mad that you did that to me. Made my cock ache and pulse. I wanted to find you and fuck you until you couldn’t walk.”

A whimper escapes you as you think about it, Ghost in the shower, naked and soaked with running water down his broad back. Cock in one hand, shampoo in the other. It’s perverted, it’s wrong, but God, it makes you hot. Your thighs clench together to relieve your ache. You try moving again but he isn’t letting you escape him. Not now.

“Wanna know something? I’m not even mad you stole my knife. I’m mad you went into my room. I could fucking smell that shampoo of yours even after you left. I can smell it now.” For emphasis he inhales deeply, a groan coming from deep in his chest that vibrates your hands that are pressed there.

“You’re crazy.” You hiss out lowly to him, tugging against his grip.

“Mm. Maybe. Wanna know something else?” He asks, his tone a bit teasing and he tips his head back a little to watch your reactions. It’s cute, watching you act like this isn’t getting you off.

“W-what?” You squeak, watching him as closely as he’s watching you.

“I’m hard right now. Have been since I snuck in here. Watching you squirm in your sleep, like you knew I was watching, begging me to touch you. You kicked off your covers right after I got in here. Like you were already getting hot for me.”

You shake your head, trying to get his words out of your brain. “No, I wasn’t. It was – it is hot in here.” Deny deny deny. That’s the only way you’ll get out of this. Maybe this is his payback, getting you hot and bothered only to leave you high and dry.

“Really?” His gaze dips down to the front of your shirt. “If it’s so hot, why are your nipples hard like you’re cold? You cold, baby? Or is it something else?”

He’s mocking you.

You grit your teeth in annoyance. “Fuck you. This is messed up, even for you. Is this you getting back at me? You win, okay. I’m done. Good job. Now get out.”

Ghost tilts his head, like he’s studying you in question. You hold his gaze in defiance, not letting him win the staring game at least. He breaks the hold he has on your hands but doesn’t move away from you. He tilts his chin downward as he looks at you through his lashes.

“I’m not joking. This isn’t me trying to get back at you. I’m telling you. I’m telling you that I’ve been obsessed with you ever since Price brought you in. That it makes me so angry and hot that a stupid little girl like you can debase me into this.”

A slap rings into the small space. The noise comes before you even register that you hit him, his masked face turned with the movement. A pained and pleasured noise comes from him before he looks back at you, something in his eyes ablaze.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you too, baby.”

When he says that, nothing holds you back anymore, your hand shooting out to grip the hard length in his pants. He chokes like he wasn’t expecting that, his head dropping to watch you palm him through his jeans. You’re not gentle, and you think he likes that. Likes that you’re touching him with angry abandon.

“Fuck, you really are hard.” You breathe out in wonder, squeezing him and rubbing him roughly. His hips buck into your hand. Your clit throbs painfully and you catch a noise in your throat.

“Gonna let me touch you now?” He asks letting out another pained noise. You nod in response, not bothering to voice it out. His hands waste no time in grabbing the front of your shirt. He isn’t taking it off, just lifting it up to see what’s underneath. He lets out a low curse, balling up the material at your neck with one hand. His fingers swipe across a nipple gently before he’s palming the weight of your breast in his hand, fingers spreading to catch all of you before squeezing hard. It makes you gasp and in response you meanly squeeze his cock back. A chuckle leaves him and he eases the hold he has on you.

He rolls a nipple through his fingers, plucking and pulling. His movements pull a low moan out of you, and he seems pleased, continuing the action. Impatiently, he tugs your shirt up and over you, leaving you just in your panties. Your hands don’t leave from him, feeling it throb under your fingers when he sits back to stare at you. Once he’s got his fill of looking, his rough and calloused hands trail up your sides, petting you heavily in anyway he can. Your head tilts a bit as he feels you up.

“You like me manhandling you, huh? Dirty girl.”

You glare up at him, letting go of his length in response. He doesn’t care, tipping you to lay on your back. The bed beneath you dips to catch your weight. Ghost’s hands trail over your thighs, up and down, catching on the waistband of your underwear. He pulls them down and you help him, glad he doesn’t comment on how your hips push up to help him slip them down. He’s taking you in again, looking up as long as he pleases, his hands trailing anywhere there’s skin. It’s overstimulating having his heavy hands paw at you. He’s hooking his hands under your knees, pushing your legs up and open, spreading you. A sharp breath intakes. Your slick is pooling, leaking, making you and the sheets messy.

“Ask me to eat you out.” He growls lowly, staring at your exposed cunt.

Your brow furrows, irritation coming to you in the fog of your arousal. “No.”

“No?” He counters, like he’s not surprised. He’s dropping to his knees, his hands still keeping your thighs spread. The angle from the bed and him on his knees is the perfect height, lining him up right to your spread cunt. He tugs his mask up, exposing the lower half of his face. You feel your pussy clench around nothing at the sight. Shit. He hovers over your pussy, attention unwavering. He spits on your aching clit. Shit. You might just ask.

“Look at you. You liked that. Don’t think I didn’t see that.” He spits on your sex again and you moan at the feeling of it. It shouldn’t be this hot to have him spit on you. His mouth opens, tongue dipping out, drool leaking from him onto your pussy.

“C’mon. C’mon. Ask. Look, I’m drooling for it baby. Don’t you want me to eat you out?” He laughs down at you, his breath and drool dripping onto your aching already sopping cunt. Your hips tilt up to try and catch his mouth. He keeps the distance between your clit and his mouth, tongue still spilling all over you.

Letting out a frustrated noise, you meekly ask, “Can you?”

“Can I what? Huh?” The tip of his tongue barely brushes against your clit and your hips flinch with the brief contact, grinding against nothing.

“Can you eat me out.” You grind out, hands ready to grab his head and shove him into your needy cunt.

He tsks, “What’s the magic word? Ask nicely.” He brushes against your clit again as he speaks. You let out a noise close to agony.

“Please, Riley. Please eat me out. Can you, please?” It’s desperate, the way you ask, your hands clenching the bed sheets beneath you. You don’t care how it sounds, how fucked out you sound, whiny and needy.

“Good girl.” He breathes out, tongue sliding into your slick from the bottom to the top. His tongue dips into your fluttering entrance up to your throbbing clit. He’s taking his time tasting you, making you grind against his face. “That’s it,” he groans against your cunt, the words vibrating through you, “grind that pussy on my face.”

You cry out, hands now clinging to his head, nails digging into his mask. You hope you’re hurting him somehow through the fabric. You’re pissed he’s making you feel this good, how good it feels to grind your sopping cunt on his tongue, lips, and chin. His hands are holding you down, letting you grind but not letting you squirm away from his mouth. Fuck, he’s going to make you cum, the way he’s devouring your pussy. Your hips tilt up and down, stuttering in the movements, your panting getting choppier, legs shaking. You feel him groan against you, knowing how close you are, continuing with his sucking, licking, tasting. He’s slurping up your pussy, latching onto your clit painfully as you cry out, back arching up as your cunt contracts painfully around nothing. Ghost doesn’t stop, licking up your arousal, your cum, everything that he can take. Letting out a satisfied noise he releases you from his mouth before you become too overstimulated. His face is wet as he stares up at your heaving form. He quickly reaches out and slaps your sensitive pussy. You squeal, legs closing tightly as you scramble away from him.

“What the fuck?!”

The question is ignored as he smiles darkly at you, standing to his full height. “Knew you’d be messy.” He groans, a bit to himself as he strokes himself through his pants. Your eyes track the movements, thighs squeezing together again.

“Fuck you,” you spit the words out at him, shooting daggers.

“You want to? Okay baby, all you had to do was say so. You didn’t have to keep playing your little games. I would’ve let you whenever you wanted.” He laughs at the look you give him, unzipping the front of his pants. Your response dies as you watch the motion. He pulls his cock out, stroking it lightly as you watch. He’s letting you take him in. Letting you think about the size and girth of him. Your gaze shoots back up to him, ready to tell him no. Hell no. That thing is not getting anywhere near you. It’ll break you in half. A smirk splays on his lips, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He doesn’t wait for you to voice your concerns, he’s dipping to the bed, placing his body over yours, caging you in with his weight.

“Let me kiss you.” He mutters down, his eyes catching yours before dipping to your parted and panting mouth.

You answer him with taking his bottom lip in between your teeth. You bite him meanly, wanting to get a reaction out of him. He laughs breathlessly, jutting his cock against your wet pussy. It makes you moan, releasing the biting hold you had on him. It lets him press his mouth against yours, sucking your lips against him. You can taste yourself on his mouth and you whine, hands running up his broad and muscled back to his face. You tilt his head, deepening the kiss. When his tongue hits yours, your hips buck up against his cock, grinding his length against you. He answers with a moan into your mouth, sucking on your tongue. You feel dizzy at the taste and feel of him.

He pulls back from your lips slightly, rolling his hips, letting you grind against his length, soaking it with yourself. “Taste so fucking good.” His head dips to your throat, his tongue blazing a hot trail up to your jaw. His mouth is nipping, tasting, pulling sounds out of you that are pathetic as you press your clit against his throbbing length. The weight of him is on you, the heat of him, it’s making you lose your mind. If you haven’t already.

“Every time you get on my fucking nerves, I think of this. Making you squirm and cry for me.”

“Shut up.” You moan out, hips tilting up at his words. You’re trying to catch the tip of him now, ready for him to fill you up. He’s not letting you, knowing exactly what you’re trying to do. Trying to get the tip of him in you so he’ll fuck you. He’s going to make you work harder for it.

“Why? You get wetter every time I say something.” He laughs dryly, “See? You just fucking keep creaming on my cock. Dirty messy girl. You want me to fuck you. Is that it? Want my cock to stretch you out?”

Your nails dig into his back through his shirt, and he groans, cock jumping between the two of you, making you both moan at the feel of it.

“Yeah. Mark me up. Make me bleed.” His voice is low and growly. He leaves your embrace to shuck his shirt off, coming back down to press you against the mattress. He catches your throat in his teeth, biting and sucking. Crying out, your nails drag down his bare back. Bastard. He hurt you on purpose, so you’d do exactly what he wanted you to. He eases the bite with his tongue, swirling and tasting.

“I h-hate you,” you hiccup, rolling your pussy against him, “just fuck me already.”

Ghost makes a noncommittal ‘hmm’ in the back of his throat as he trails kisses on your collarbones. He’s never nice and gentle for too long, delivering a mean bite without soothing the pain afterwards. You make a keening noise and thump a hand on his shoulder in frustration. He finds that pretty funny, huffing a breathless laugh against your skin as he continues is his assault, obviously in no hurry. He licks a slow and warm line across your breasts. Angry at his carelessness, at his lazy touching and licking, you lean up and catch his collarbone in your mouth. Your teeth sink down harshly.

“Fuck.” He growls out, cock thrusting against you as the taste of blood coats your lips. Of course, he’d get off on the pain. Of course, he’d think it’s the hottest thing in the world, pissing you off –

You release him with a cry, his heavy cock pressing into you now. Your heels catch underneath you, ready to scramble out from underneath him. You see the mark you made on him, the press of your teeth on his skin, the crescents already bruised. He catches you, gripping your hips as he lets out a slew of curse words as he keeps moving forward into you, mingling with your pained noises. It’s thick. So painfully thick, your wetness doing nothing to prepare you for how big his damn dick is. You pant and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to adjust to his size. Your hands scramble up to his biceps, your body trying to take him, push him away or keep him still, you’re not sure. Ghost knocks your feet out from beneath you, grabbing the back of your knees to press them up close to your chest. He’s crushing you and you let out a short angry noise as he presses closer, catching your lips with his. He sucks a kiss, dodging your still biting teeth. He keeps pressing you until he’s got you in a mating press, cock bottoming your vision fades for a moment, you let out a long and anguished noise.

He isn’t moving, he’s so still besides his panting above you, cock twitching in you. His hands flex around the hold he has on your legs, his weight pinning you down completely. He’s deep, deeper than anyone has been, filling you up more than you ever thought possible. You nod at him frantically as you moan, thinking that’ll get him to start moving, but he merely laughs down at you.

“Bratty little thing. You just needed a cock filling you up, huh? Poor girl. Oh.” He chuckles sardonically, “I can feel how much you like me talking to you. Keep clenching around me like that baby and I’m going to start thinking you’re a dirty little slut.”

“Fuck. Oh, fuck you.” You hiss out through your bared teeth, nails pressing into his forearms. Even with him still pissing you off, your pussy is clinging to him, keeping him deep and twitching around him as you feel him throb. Ghost doesn’t move his hips. One of his big hands press down the back of your thigh, leaving a fired path in its wake, stopping when his thumb comes around and press hard against your clit. He keeps the pad of his thumb dormant but presses like he’s hitting a button. Your hips twitch, not able to move or grind against him in the way he has you pinned. The pressure he’s keep makes you whine, a little in pain and beyond frustrated. All he’s done is teased you. Taking a deep breath, you gather yourself before casting your gaze on him.

“Y’know what I think? I think you don’t know how to fuck me right. I think you’re a coward, Ghost, waiting until I was asleep to come in here and have your way with me. I think you got a big thick dick and don’t know how to use it.” You sneer at him, keeping yourself dreadfully still under his cock. You don’t want to move in fear of his reaction.

He freezes, staring down at you. You can’t read him at all. He doesn’t need the mask to hide his emotions or feelings. He’s a master at this, you can tell. That spike of fear from earlier comes back. The one where he scared you in the kitchen with his presence alone. He leans slowly into you, hovering his face right above yours. His eyes are burning. He’s still, he’s so still, until his thumb starts to rub tight pressing circles around your clit. You catch a cry in your mouth, just barely, the noise turning into a higher pitched whine.

“Nice try, sweetheart. Just for that, you’ll come around my big thick dick,” he mocks your tone and words, “without me even moving. You can beg, but it’s not going to happen.”

The words he delivers darkly to you and the circles he’s pressing has you tossing your head back, hips rocking, trying to get away from the feeling. The leg that isn’t caught up in his hand kicks out, trying to catch anything solid. He’s laughing again, the noise is going to haunt you in your sleep for the rest of your life. You’re right there, you’re right there, pussy clutching around his cock painfully. A noise comes from your throat, your head tilting back up as your entire body seizes upwards, right there, you’re right there.

Ghost rips his hand away from you.

“I don’t think you deserve to come on my cock.”

You let out a pained cry, body slumping back into the bed, heart rate erratic. You were so close, cunt about to milk the shit out of the length inside you. You brave a look up at the man and immediately regret it. He’s scary like this, with you at his mercy. You watch his thumb go back to your clit. Your breath catches and he continues like he never stopped. Your body picks up right back the edge, and you mewl out, ready for him to make you let go. Let go. Let go. Right there.

He stops.

Crying out in frustration again, you slap a hand onto his chest in anger. This time he doesn’t find it funny. He lets go of your leg, gripping both hands in a single one of his. The notion of that strikes something in you. His hands are big enough to hold the two of yours. Why did you ever think you could get a one up on this man? Your hips are still tilted up, his cock keeping your lower half pinned to your mattress. You can squirm a bit better, and squirm you do. You freeze, though, when his free hand is moving back to clit, his thumb yet again torturing you. He keeps at it. Bringing you right to the edge only to back away. Right there. He stops. Right there. He stops.

Time ends up blurring together. You can barely keep your eyes open. You have no idea if it’s been five minutes or fifty. Your pussy is leaking, it’s aching painfully, your clit is so sensitive, Ghosts merely has to brush his thumb against it to bring you to the edge. He has to stop touching you for longer periods of time in between so you don’t cum immediately. He’s since let your hands ago, liking the way you clutch at him, the way you try to touch yourself so that he can knock your hands away, the way you shakily brush your fingers over his chest. He’s lost the rest of his clothes besides his soft balaclava, you’re not sure when. You no longer have the energy or brain to be mean. You tried pinching him, slapping him, biting him, anything to get him to let you cum. He has to be in pain with you, feeling how your pussy weeps and clenches around him. Your pleasure isn’t the only thing he’s denying. He’s denying his, just to see you unravel into something else under him.

Unravel you do.

By the millionth -it’s got to be the millionth- time he brushes your clit and denies you, you feel hot tears spill down your cheeks. Anger had long left you, but it’s here again. You’ll do it. You’ll beg.

“Stop! Simon, please! Please fuck, I swear to God, please. Fuck me and fuck me right, please –”

That’s as far as you get before he’s surging his hips into yours, patience worn thin. It’s all he needed to hear. Needed to hear how desperate and whiny you’d get for him, beg him to give it to you the way you need. He doesn’t care if it was delivered with anger, doesn’t care that he had to torture you to get it out. You begged him. Begged him to fuck you. You’re giving him high pitched and breathy uh uh uh’s with his erratic thrusts, music to his fucking ears.

You choke on a broken mewl, pussy flaring hot as you cum hard. You cum like you’ve never before. You feel like you leave your body as you seize up, cunt milking around Simon’s cock. He lets out a curse as he feels you, fucking you through it. Your back arches, and you’re still cumming, you’re still clutching him against you, your body worried that at any moment he’s going to stop. The orgasm rips through you like it’s destroying and rewriting every molecule in your body. A rasp leaves you by the end of it, overstimulated as Ghost keeps going. No. Oh no, he's not going to stop.

Your hands scramble to his hips, like that’ll stop him from fucking and bucking into you with oblivion. “Si—” You manage to choke out, tears spilling from your eyes again.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you? Thought you begged for it?” He laughs, a bit winded, hands digging into your skin. God, he’s so mean, he knows it. Loves looking at how destroyed he makes you feel. He presses down into you, chest against yours as he fucks you. He bites your ear before whispering into it. “I want to ruin you. I want you to feel how ruined you’ve made me after all this time, how every time you snapped back at me, how – fuck- how every time you did shit to piss me off, every time you tried to make a joke out of me. How it’s made me feel. Feel what the fuck you’ve done to me.”

He turns your head to pull you into a kiss, a sloppy and wet kiss that leaves you breathless. With his words and spit of hate, the kiss feels gentle. It feels devastating in way you know nothing will ever compare to this kiss. Nothing will ever compare to the way he’s ruining you from the inside out, his arms wrapping around you to keep him close, the groans and moans he’s giving you as your nails dig into his skin, as your teeth mark him. You’re feeling what you’ve done to him. A broken sound leaves you as you feel yourself close again, his cock hitting just the right spot in you. It’s heavy a dragging through you, making you sob against his mouth. You’re going to feel him for days. Maybe even next week.

All you can think of is him. His cock sinking in deep, barely coming out to press harder into you. The way he tastes as you kiss him, feeling his hands grip anywhere he can touch you while he fucks you open. He’s curling into you, fucking so so deep that you swear you can see stars. He’s consuming you, ruining you just like he said. It’s brutal, but it’s sweet, his kiss subduing you into something placid, somewhere intimate. It’s messy and wet, it’s him. It’s always been him. The thought picks you up and carries you to the throes of your orgasm, hot plasma coursing your veins as your hip pick up and stutter down onto him.

“I’m gonna, ohhhh, I’m gonna—” you hiccup out, arms around his neck to keep him close. You’re licking his lips as you moan, legs coming around his waist to lock around there too.

“Fuck. Fuck. Give it to me. Give it to me, pretty girl.” He’s growling so lowly you hardly hear him as your eyes cross.

You shake your head, frantically trying to hold sane before you leave your body in another debilitating orgasm, “Come in me, Simon, please. Please. I need to feel it. Let me feel what I’ve done to you. I need it I need it.” You’re babbling, a bit nonsensical, clutching onto him so he doesn’t leave you. He’s not going to leave you. He’d never leave you.

Simon drops his head with a moan akin to a whimper before sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The pain sends you the edge, his cock surging into you with urgency. It’s so hot, filling you up, as he continues to fuck his cum deep into you. It drags it out for both of you, your bodies not willing to just give up the feeling. He’s pressed so deep into you; you feel like you’re never getting him out. His hips coming to a stuttering stop, his cock still throbbing as the last waves of it roll through you.

You’re both covered in sweat, cum, spit, and who knows else what, but it feels good. It feels good having him collapse on top of you, having his weight on you like a comforting blanket. Your hands trail lazily across his shoulder blades, feeling the irritated and raised ridges of the marks your nails sliced through him. He practically purrs, nuzzling his face into your neck, inhaling you in.

“I still hate you.” You whisper to him, but your hands can’t get enough of him, feeling him up. Your mouth can’t get enough of him as you plant kisses anywhere you can reach. You feel him smile into your neck.

“I hate you too, baby.”

#this took. for.ever.#there's a reason why my user name on other platforms is hatespit #because it is so hot.#sorry not sorry #enjoy!!! ily guys so much seriously!#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod mwii #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader

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cuubism · 6 months

Text

some canon-verse trans Hob for the lovely @five-and-dimes who recently got top surgery! 🥳🥰 congratulations, I'm truly so happy for you, my friend. please accept this humble offering

“So, it actually started on a dare,” Hob says, on the day he tells Dream the story of him. Or of this part of him, anyway.

Normally, Hob gets a bit guarded the first time he tells someone he’s trans. It’s hard to predict with absolute certainty how people will react, especially ones he’s just become romantically involved with. He’s had it go poorly, to say the least, in the past.

He doesn’t feel that way with Dream. It’s not because there’s so much trust between them—they’re still new, after all. No, it’s something about Dream himself. For all his prickly and standoffish nature, being close to him feels like sinking into a warm lake, into a dark sleep where secrets and hidden wishes float up like glowing reeds to the surface. Deep, personal feelings feel safe with Dream; he cradles them in his hands and soothes them. Or that’s how it feels, when Hob is touching him.

Personification of dreams, indeed.

“A dare?” Dream echoes.

“Sort of," Hob says. "Got frustrated with people saying women should or shouldn’t do this or that or the other thing, so I decided if they felt so strongly about it I’d just be a man. Moved somewhere no one knew me, dressed differently, got stronger, practiced the sword—and that was that. No one seemed to care much, once you were at war. So long as you could swing a sword and not get yourself killed.”

“A choice, then,” Dream says. He’s listening very intently, hands folded on his knees, untouched tea on the coffee table before him.

“At first. Was only after I’d been living that way for a few decades—before and after we met—that I realized while there might be a handful of women out there living as men for the freedom of it, that they didn’t all like it. Given the choice they’d rather just be women in a more equal world. You know?”

Dream hums in understanding.

“But I didn’t want to go back,” Hob continues. “I felt like... who I'd become was the truth of me all along.”

“Identity, while not wholly immutable, is resilient against adversity and circumstance,” says Dream. “You found what your heart wanted you to be, if in a circuitous manner.”

“You seem very unbothered by it,” Hob observes, sipping his tea.

Dream frowns. “Why would I be bothered by it?”

“Dunno.” Apparently he can’t fully shake that this’ll put a wedge in us feeling. “People sometimes are. Feel deceived, or something like that. So they say.”

“If they are deceived, it is by their own assumptions,” Dream says, with disdain. “You should be as you dream yourself, Hob. No more nor less. Put aside these petty physical trappings.”

“I do actually have to live in these ‘physical trappings’ even if you don’t, you silly thing.” He can’t help laughing. “Besides, I rather like being some kind of living creature in the world, rather than what? A ghost? Best I can do is make this body as close to how it should be as possible.”

Hob’s come to like his body, for the most part, in the form that he’s made it. He didn’t always. But he needs a body of some kind to be alive, and he likes being alive. So what he couldn’t change, he made peace with.

Besides, they have hormone treatments nowadays. Brilliant stuff. Makes it so much better.

“Anyway, now you know. I wanted you to. Since we’re together.” It’s still a marvel. Together.

“Thank you,” says Dream, with evident sincerity. “It is a privilege to be gifted your secrets.”

“Not really a secret, but I get what you mean.” He takes Dream’s hand, just to touch him, and admits, “Telling it to you is like… I don’t know. Feels like when I was younger and first admitted out loud, ‘I’m a man. I want to stay like this.’”

It hasn’t been a proper secret in a very long time. But giving it to Dream is like the freedom of releasing a held breath, even so.

“I am the harbor and cradle of dreams,” Dream says in reply. He traces his fingers over Hob’s. Does Dream’s strange form just spring from the ether? Hob wonders. Or does he have to choose it? The way Hob chose his? “Dreams of being and becoming… these are most precious for they grow from tough soil. I can only protect them, I cannot create them. You must do that. And I expect that were I to find you in the Dreaming, there would be a fantastic garden there, indeed.”

Dream himself is the most fantastical thing. “Well, darling, just know your work is appreciated.”

Dream’s lips tip up in a tiny smile. When he meets Hob’s gaze again, his eyes have gone dark and starry. He folds Hob into a hug, and—

oh, it’s like being hugged by the universe itself.

Hob feels the light breeze of a warm dark night, when he’d lain by the dying fire in a war camp in the French countryside, and looked up at a million stars and first whispered to himself what if this is really who I am? Dream is that breeze and those stars. The dying embers that had lit him as he’d run his hands over his body and felt it differently than he ever had before, and been terrified because what would it mean?—but also thrilled and alive. Dream is the night wrapping around him in that moment, the night that was listening to his dreams no matter how quietly he admitted them, Dream is that and more and the voice in his heart telling him it would be okay.

A younger, more uncertain Hob would have needed this. Hob now is older, and he already knows who he is and what he wants, but he falls into Dream’s embrace all the same. A tear slips from his eye, and Dream kisses his cheek, wiping the tear away with his tongue before leaning their heads together.

“I could craft you any body you wanted in the Dreaming,” he says lowly. “However I think the one you have made with your own hands is more remarkable.”

Oh, God, he’s going to tear up again. “Dream, you are the most beautiful, wonderful thing.”

Dream hums in pleasure at the words, and lets Hob hold him close, lets him cradle his head to his chest, a dream kept close to his heart. One that he knew as soon as he saw it walk into the White Horse. Sooner even than he truly knew himself.

Then Dream looks up at him with a hopeful expression. “With these truths revealed, are we able to be intimate?”

Hob laughs so hard he has to tip his head back against the couch. “Wow. One track mind with you, isn’t it? I spill my heart and that’s what I get?”

Dream grumbles, tucking his face in against Hob’s neck to press his lips to Hob’s throat. “I find myself impatient of late.”

“Knew all along you were only with me for my body.” He’s grinning, though. Can’t stop.

“Well. Considering it is such a lovely one.” He plucks at Hob’s shirt buttons. Lecherous little nightmare.

It feels fucking good, though, to be desired.

“C’mere, then,” he says, and drags Dream into his lap.

Dream settles there with a purr, starts playing with Hob’s hair, but says, “I would not truly derail this moment, nor distract from your feelings if you do not wish it.”

“Oh, I wish it. You’ve no idea how much I want you right now. You’re like a prize.” He cradles Dream’s beloved face between his hands. “Stick around for long enough and you’ll get the most incredible Dream at the end of it.”

“Or at the beginning,” Dream says, and Hob’s heart swells so much to hear him voice that that he has to kiss him.

When he does, Dream makes a low, pleased sound, settling deeper in his lap. Yes, this moment, this life, is certainly the prize for all of those years hanging onto those dreams:

the dream of his lover

and the one of himself.

#1389 hob: while you were busy with the gender binary i studied the blade #trans hob #dreamling #my writing #i think after this hob gets to ask his burning questions about how gender works for the endless and dream is just like [meme of marge #simpson holding a potato but it says 'trans and nonbinary people (except desire)'] 'i just think they're neat.#unrelatedly i did have to choose my gender--' and hob's just like 😐.........#[dream a known king of self awareness]#this is like sending someone a casserole when they get home from the hospital except the casserole is gay fanfic XD #a different kind of sustenance...#hope it's okay!! 🥺

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 7 months

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hi!! just read both of your wrecker works and rineicbeijcwjkdjs LOVED THEM!! wrecker’s my fav of tbb and i really feel like he needs more love😭 i'm gonna be checking out some of your other works later lol

anyways i saw that you were taking requests, so i went through your prompt list and saw two that caught my eye. they're 24. “You need to wake up because I can't do this without you.” and 18. “I almost lost you.”

i was wondering if you could write something with those prompts for wrecker please? like tbb + reader were able to rescue omega, crosshair, and tech (i am believer in tech surviving season 2 finale), but the reader got seriously injured during the rescue and is now in a coma. wrecker would be the one to say the prompts and it would be angsty like wrecker thinking the reader might die. but please let this end happily.

other than those details i trust your writing skills and process for anything! take your time writing, there's absolutely no rush!! and again your writing is soooo awesome!!😊😊

Well hello there!

I'm so glad you enjoyed those fics, and thank you for popping this request in - so sorry it's taken me so long to write it! I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope it hits the spot 😁

I guess it's also technically canon divergent now S3 is out, haha 😅

Through the Darkness

No one said rescuing the rest of the Batch from Mount Tantiss would be easy - you just didn't expect it to go like this.

Pairing: Wrecker x F!reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: canon typical violence, reader in a coma for a bit, little bit of angst, but also dashes of hope, happily ever after.

Translations: sarad - flower

Hemlock has his hands on you, his blaster pressed to your temple. The sounds of fighting cease. Dead TK Troopers litter the floor. Wrecker and his siblings freeze, slowly lowering their weapons.

Your back is pressed to Hemlock’s chest, and there isn’t a clean shot at him.

“Anyone moves and your dear liaison will pay the price,” Hemlock states.

Rage flows through Wrecker. You were in danger, too far for him to grab and shield, and he had no idea what to do. He glances at his siblings – Omega curled against Hunter’s side with weariness painted on her face, Tech leaning heavily against Echo for support as his body protests the prolonged time standing. Crosshair had peeled off from the group earlier, searching for what or who none of them was sure. They were all back together again. A family again. He wasn’t about to let Hemlock take you from them.

Shakes start in your thighs, slowly creeping up your body until your arms and hands tremble, too. You’ve been in dangerous situations before, had your life threatened before - but you’re certain Hemlock would do it. The man is crazy and will stop at nothing to get his hands on your family. The sound of his verbal back and forth with Hunter is like white noise.

The slightest movement in the rafters above catches your attention, and your eyes dart up. Battered and bruised, Crosshair has found a vantage point and a rifle. Those hawkish eyes meet yours, and a silent conversation is shared. You do the maths. There’s only one way out of this. Thank the Maker you still trust him, even after everything.

You give an almost imperceivable nod, knowing he’ll catch it. You flick your gaze to the others, taking one last look, just in case. Echo, who’d joined you all near the end of the war and had so seamlessly slipped into the fold of your family. Tech, worse for wear after his fall on Eriadu, but with that same solid determination in his eyes. Hunter, the man who’d welcomed you into the squad all those years ago, listened when you shared your thoughts and didn’t make a fuss when you broke terrible news to them about the next mission. Omega, trying to hide her fear through bravery – so much for a young girl with such a pure heart to endure. And Wrecker, the imposing force of a man who’d always put himself between you and danger, who reached for you at every opportunity and consoled you when things had gotten too much – the man you’d quietly loved for some time.

With a shaky breath, you close your eyes, placing all your faith in Crosshair. The quiet sniper who’d at first sneered at you and flicked toothpicks in your face before he’d thawed out and helped perfect your aim, taught you how to use his rifle, and what to look out for when scouting.

The sound of his shot reverberates around the hanger, and milliseconds later, searing pain tears through your shoulder, pulling a piercing cry from your lips. Legs giving out, you crumple, welcoming the cold durasteel you hit.

You don’t know if they all made it out, but you pray they did.

Wrecker hasn’t moved in weeks, refusing to leave you alone. The memory of you being shot won’t leave him; the sound of your agony is stuck on repeat. You’d been in bacta for what felt like forever, the shiny skin on your shoulder a testament to its healing power, but it wasn’t enough to wake you from the coma you’d slipped into. Pabu’s only Doctor had insisted on removing you from the tank once your physical wounds had healed, transferring you to a standard medical bed.

Crosshair’s shot had torn through your shoulder, but the angle had been perfect. Wrecker hadn’t expected any less from his little brother. The bolt had exited you and entered Hemlock, hitting him straight in the chest. A kill shot. That hadn’t killed you. Or so Wrecker hoped. Even if you woke, your shoulder would likely ache for the rest of your life, and your arm would not be as strong as before.

The sound of the door opening pulls Wrecker’s gaze from your prone form and across the small room in Pabu’s clinic. Crosshair slides through the crack in the door, thin lips pressed together, brow pinched. He visits often, guilt in his eyes every time he looks you over. You might’ve okayed the shot, but it still tore at the sniper’s soul to have hurt you.

“Nothing?” Crosshair rasps, sticking close to the door as he glances between you and his brother. He’d never admit it, but fear was starting to settle in his gut. If you didn’t wake…

“Nothin’.” Wrecker confirms, shoulders slumped. “Been talkin’ to her. Doc said she might be able to hear us. Not that it’s doin’ much good.” He sighs, gaze shifting back to you. “Told her we all got out okay. That you and Tech and the kid are alright. Don’t want her worryin’.”

Crosshair makes a slight noise, acknowledging his brother’s words as his gaze lingers on your prone form.

“You stayin’ a bit?” Wrecker asks, using one foot to push out the spare chair at his side – the rest of their siblings often visited, too.

Hesitating, Crosshair lets out a small sigh as he moves across the room, lowering himself silently into the chair. He hadn’t stayed before, preferring to flit in for any news before disappearing. It hurt too much to see you this way, knowing he’d caused it. That and he was still working through everything that had happened during his time with the Empire, trying to fix his relationships with his siblings. But Wrecker needed him, so he’d stay.

You’d always hated the dark.

The shadows surround you, pressing in from all sides. Yet amidst the inky darkness, you find yourself standing in a solitary spot of light, its glow offering a semblance of warmth amidst the chill of the void. The lights kept appearing, and you’d learned quickly that when a new one glistened on the horizon, you had to run for it before the light you were already standing in disappeared.

You’d lost track of how many lights you’d chased so far.

Each one varied in intensity – sometimes brilliant beacons, other times mere flickers barely piercing the gloom. Yet, regardless of their brightness, they all held a magnetic pull, drawing you forward with an unyielding force. And each time you reached one, a brief respite washed over you, a fleeting moment before the next journey into the unknown began.

Scanning the horizon, you spot another light starting to beckon, its faint glow a promise of safety. With a heavy heart, you know what you need to do.

Taking a deep breath, you burst into a sprint. Each step forward is a battle against the darkness, its tendrils reaching out like icy fingers, eager to drag you into its embrace. Goosebumps prickle your arms, heart pounding as fear gnaws at your insides, but a stubborn determination fuels your movements. You can’t afford to falter, to succumb to the darkness, not after everything.

Worry lingers at the edge of your consciousness, a constant reminder of uncertainty. What lay beyond the lights? Will you ever find your way back to the world you once knew? The questions taunt you, echoing in your mind relentlessly the longer you spend here.

Yet, a glimmer of hope remains amidst the fear and uncertainty. Though the darkness threatens to overwhelm you, there must be a reason for the light. There has to be something causing it. Blessing you with it. Giving you these small moments of respite and keeping you in one piece.

You keep going. One foot in front of the other.

A shove yanks Wrecker out of sleep, and the big man jolts awake with a small yelp.

Crosshair snickers, leaning back in his seat, drawing his hand back towards his chest. “Sleeping on the job, vod.” He can’t help but jibe, his smirk melting into a frown at the sound of Wrecker’s stomach growling. “When’s the last time you ate?” He asks. He hadn’t wanted to wake him, seeing him finally getting some rest, but the sun was high in the sky now, and Crosshair knew it wouldn’t be long until Omega and Hunter swung by.

Blinking, Wrecker’s mind takes a moment to catch up with the fact he’s awake. “Urm, yesterday? Maybe?” He guesses, not really sure. The days were starting to blend together.

With a huff, Crosshair stands, long legs unfolding. “Will get you something. Can’t wither away before she wakes.” He mutters, grateful for the opportunity to leave and not have to sit any longer in silence with his feelings – he’d done enough of that for the day.

With a slight nod of appreciation, Wrecker watches as Crosshair heads out the door, hearing the gentle click of it shutting behind him. Hand wiping over his face, Wrecker shifts in the chair, stretching a little. But he can’t avoid the inevitable forever, and although it pains him, he looks you over for what feels like the millionth time.

Despite his imposing stature, he feels powerless.

He hadn’t been able to protect you - the woman he loves. He’s loved you since the moment he first met you in the hanger of a Venator, as you’d been assigned to him and his brothers as their liaison. You’d offered them a smile that had rendered him speechless, and his booming laughter had then filled the hanger when you’d quipped back at Crosshair as he'd sneered about them not needing a babysitter.

You kept them on their toes and blended in so seamlessly with their chaotic lives.

Without an audience, Wrecker clears his throat, leaning forward in his seat to gently take your tiny hand in his much larger one. “I hope ya can hear me, sarad.” He starts, voice mellow. “Been a few weeks now since we got ’em back.” He’s not sure how much you’re aware of, if the passing of time is something you’re experiencing. “Cross was just here. Finally sat for a bit. Think he feels guilty.” Wrecker pauses, brows furrowing, face pinching. “I feel guilty. Should have protected ya, kept ya close.” Wrecker’s voice cracks a little, emotion seeping through.

“We’re all here, though. Ain’t leavin’ ya, no matter what. Can’t wait for ya to wake up and tell us all how much trouble we’re in.” He chuckles softly, a hint of sadness in the sound. “Just...ya need to wake up ’cause I can’t do this without you.” He admits, a well of emotion pressing down on his chest.

Wrecker’s words hang heavy in the air, the weight of his emotions palpable even in the silence of the clinic. He wishes he could shake this feeling of helplessness and do more than just sit by your side, waiting for a sign of life. But for now, all he can offer is his unwavering presence and a steady stream of conversation, hoping against hope that somewhere within your subconscious, you can hear him.

Keep going. You need to keep going.

The darkness claws at you, desperate to slow you down and draw you into its embrace. But the light grows closer with every step you take, with every thud of your heart as you race forward. Amidst your footsteps echoing in the void is the faintest whisper of something familiar.

No.

Not something.

Someone.

“Wreck!” You cry out into the darkness, feet faltering for a second as you recognise the deep voice. The darkness tries to take advantage of your momentary hiccup, but with a yelp, you pick up your pace. The hope that lingers in your heart explodes. As you draw closer to the light, Wrecker’s voice comes into focus. “Ain’t leavin’ ya, no matter what.”

With renewed determination, you push yourself harder, every muscle in your body screaming for rest, but you refuse to give in. The light grows brighter, its warmth now palpable against your skin.

And then, just as you’re on the verge of stepping into the light, a sudden force knocks you off balance, sending you sprawling onto the cold, hard ground. Panic grips your chest as you scramble, desperate to continue your pursuit.

But the darkness has other plans, closing in around you like a suffocating blanket, obscuring the light. Amidst the coldness creeping through your body, you cling to the memory of Wrecker’s voice, a lifeline in the darkness.

Body straining, you crawl forward, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, determination burning bright within you. You don’t belong in the darkness. You belong in the light. With them. With him.

Straining, you reach out an arm, trembling fingers skimming the edge of the light as Wrecker’s voice comes through loud and clear. “…ya need to wake up ’cause I can’t do this without you.”

The darkness recoils.

With a final surge of strength, you propel yourself forward, breaking free from the suffocating grip of the void. The light envelops you, wrapping you in its warm embrace as the shadows recede into the distance, getting further and further away. Relief floods through you, tears of joy mingling with sweat on your cheeks.

Head tilting back, you look up at the light, a bubble of laughter escaping as you bask in the glow. Eyes fluttering shut, you savour the moment. Yet this time, when you open your eyes, there’s no darkness or blinding light anymore.

You blink. Once. Twice. The soft hum of medical equipment fills the air. And there, beside you, is Wrecker, head bowed, the weight of his hand wrapped around yours.

Everything seems to freeze except the frantic thudding of your heart. “Wreck…” You whisper, your voice hoarse from disuse as you dare to hope you’re back. Really back.

Wrecker’s head jolts up at the rasped sound of his name, his good eye widening as he meets your gaze, your name falling from his lips as his features crumple, a heaving sob of relief escaping him.

You slowly sit up, wincing at the ache that shoots through your shoulder. It’s still tender, but the pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming flood of emotions that wash over you at the sight of Wrecker’s tear-streaked face.

You reach out, cupping his cheek in your hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you in reality. “I’m here.” You murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him.

Wrecker’s grip tightens around your hand as if afraid you might slip away again if he lets go. He leans into your touch, his words catching in his throat momentarily before he stands, leaning over the bed to envelop you in an embrace, protective yet gentle, conscious of your shoulder. “You’re back.” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “Thought I almost lost ya.”

Weak but grateful, you return his embrace, feeling the warmth of his presence washing over you, grounding you in reality. A lump forms in your throat at the thought of him worrying about you, thinking he would lose you. “Not going anywhere, big guy.” You reassure him, sniffling as you try to keep a lid on your emotions. “The others?” You ask cautiously, dread curling in your gut.

“All made it,” Wrecker confirms, arms slowly uncurling from around you as he sits back in his chair, hand scooping up yours so he can maintain some contact.

Your dread is swept away and replaced immediately by relief; this time, you don’t bother holding back your sobs.

“No cryin’, pretty girl. Please.” Wrecker’s heart aches at the sight, his free hand moving to cup your face and wipe away the tears.

You smile through your tears, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. Wrecker’s touch is like a lifeline. “Sorry.” You manage to choke out between sobs, trying to reign in your feelings. “Just...so relieved.”

Wrecker offers you a tender smile. “No need to apologise, sarad,” he murmurs softly, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. A bolt of courage has him leaning forward to gently kiss your forehead.

As Wrecker’s lips meet your forehead, warmth seeps through you, chasing away the last remnants of the dark coldness. He pulls back a little, his gaze meeting yours, and the air feels electric. Without a word, you lean forward, closing the distance between you as your lips finally meet his in a soft, tentative kiss.

And you realize that amidst the chaos and darkness, love has always been the guiding light, leading you back to where you belong.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf @isaidonyourknees

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circeius-invidioso · 6 months

Text

I do not get why the Red Corsairs are not a popular choice.

Like.

Like here is the elevator pitch for the warband and then we can come to some justified conclusion.

What isn't there to love?

You want me to turn into an infomencial and make a top 3 reasons why the Red Corsairs are great?

Cause I can.

And I will.

The Diverse Working Enviroment

Here in the Red Corsairs we might have started as Ultramarines but the barrier for entry is on the floor. So anyone can join.

You are Night Lord with a bad rep and no ship.

Buckle up we got you covered.

You are a Fallen and have 20 Dark Angels all up in yo business? Trying to shoot down the boss babe you are?

Fear not, or in our case. Know no Fear. We are strapped and don't get clapped.

You are a traitor that likes their Legion but sadly you got in our way?

Tough luck buddy, you will join or die and your geene seed will join our cause. Nothing personal battle brother. Just business as usual.

Everyone is welcome as long as they follow Huron's guidelines and don't aggitate the topless sweaty Khorne worshipping Ultramarines in the basement.

Sustainability

Unlike the corrupt Imperium of man and the corpse Emperor our leader is powered by miracles (which is trully a miracle how he survived but that on the next section), and we use 0 psyckers to power our crap.

Our carbon footprint is also minimum as we use salvaged goods and don't indulge in toxic industries that destroy worlds.

The Red Corsair base of operation is in the Eye of Terror and from there we expand our scope. A place greatly known for its constant shifts, and horrible conditions but the tan our serfs have are spectacullar from all that cosmic radiation.

Finally we are commited to recycling. As in we take from our victims benefactors and put those stolen goods to some great use. Nothing goes to waste, neither mortal, nor static object. If something is not nailed on the floor we will take it.

In fact we might take the floor too and the nails used to set it in place.

Nothing goes to waste!

Unmatched Leadership

Last, but certainly not least.

The man.

The myth.

The Legend.

Huron Blackheart.

Aka Lufgt Huron.

Aka what would happen if we gave a compressed Guilliman a daemonic familiar and left him to ferment in a warp storm.

Not only the name is so edgy you might cut yourself by saying it out loud. But also it's complex enough that if you say it quickly three times without twisting your tongue theres is a chance furniture might start levitating.

The man has put his Ultramarine brain to use and amased enough influence and power to put the Black Legion to shame.

Huron went from 0 to 100 in no time, he is a self made Warmaster. With no daddy issues or troubles in the world, he goes into battle blasting Alestorm in the voxxcasters.

He does not care.

He probably wears this when he wants to relax.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

He has a biker gang specifically organized to hunt down those who have betrayed him.

They slap those things on their armors not for the usual biker reason

(which fun fact the meaning is, 99% of the bikers are law-abiding, where the 1% are not. That's where the 1% comes from. The more you know 🌈)

no they wear that 1% because that's how high are your chances of escaping from them are.

Is that a bit extreme?

Yes.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

The dude once gathered his buddies and decided...

to you know. Have a casual outing. Nothing too serious, it was a sunday afteral.

So they decided on.

Kidnapping Guilliman.

Which they almost did if not for a Fallen of all people getting in the way.

But still.

The mad lad took Macragge's Honour and went on a joyride/ mini civil war.

Who in the galaxy can turn and say.

Yeah, I stole Macragge's Honour, almost captured my old Primarch. Told a daemon prince they are irrelevant on my way there. Anyway after crushing a fool who thought he could take my crown as king of the space pirates, I went to the home planet of the White Scars and kidnapped and tortured their Chapter Master. What did you do this week? 💅

Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?

You tell me I can be an immortal, gorgeous chaos Ultramarine goth boy going on pirate adventures across the galaxy?

Where do I sign up?

I don't need ink for a signature.

I will use my own blood.

#warhammer #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #wh40k #shitpost #red corsairs #chaos ultramarines #chaos space marines #games workshop #black library #huron is the chaos ultramarines representation we deserve

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buterccup · 2 years

Text

GEN Z READER IN TASK FORCE 141 HC + könig!! PT 2

A/N: You guys are so sweet!! Thank you for the support on the first part of Gen z! Reader series/ Daffodil series, it seriously means a lot! And since I saw someone ask for König I decided to add him too, our baby deserves some love too! And again if anyone has codename ideas please tell me because I am still considering changing Daffodil to something else!

Warnings: Dark humour, Suicide jokes, simping, swearing, mentions of parents leaving the reader, basically gen z stuff, usual CoD violence, wholesome family stuff,

Character(s): Soap, Gaz, John, Ghost, Price, könig x Gn! reader (Mention of Laswell and Graves)

Codename: Daffodil

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

It had been a couple months since you joined the task force and met your boys and they are happy you are with them, and despite being thick-skinned and having a very fucked humour you can get emotional at times.

One time you got upset over something and hugged the closes person to you.

It was Ghost.

And surprisingly he didn't mind, he understood that you were still young and needed comfort. So he gave you comfort that he never got properly when he was younger.

But once you told Ghost that you loved him which caught him off guard and made him stay away from you for a bit to process what you said.

Of course you told him you loved him through texts but hearing you say it was a whole other story.

The others get this treatment too.

Even if you're not upset you'll randomly say that you love them, which they find sweet but they all were caught off guard at first by the sudden burst of affection.

But they got used to it!

But there was one thing they weren't getting used to, your jokes.

Price swears he can feel himself get grey hair every time he hears one of your 'jokes'.

They even came up with a very...odd name for them: "Dil Humour"

When they first started saying the little inside joke you looked at them like they said something horrible.

"Excuse me?? Dil humour????"

"You know ill but instead of ill it's dil from Daffodil- No?.."

"Stop..."

To say the least you were not impressed and you were sure Price came up with it.

But you still loved them anyways.

Even with that ugly hat.

You swear he committed a war crime by just wearing it but he lets you wear it just to spite you. Aw.

You made a Spotify playlist for all your boys and continuously added songs to them until you're ready to share it with them.

One time Gaz caught you adding songs to Soap's playlist and tried to peek over your shoulder.

"What are you doing."

"Your mom"

"Never mind.."

And you may or may not have made one for König.

I mean who could blame you?!

When you first saw the man you were in the mess hall eating with your boys, sitting in between Ghost and Soap, minding your own business until you saw the newest love of your life.

You started to choke while slamming the table with a red ass face.

And you bet that Ghost was the first one to slam his hand onto your back while Soap sat wide-eyed at what just happened.

Before any of your boys could say anything you were looking around like a hawk and getting up to talk to König.

To say the least your boys were in shock and stayed that way until you came back minutes later with a huge smile on your face.

"I GOT A NEW BAE"

"Shh..." (🧼)

"I got a new bae!"

"Oh yeah?" (🧼)

"Fucking what." (💀)

(that one unas anus moment)

And after a while you started sending König so many heart locket gifs of him and a lot of bear memes.

You don't what it is about the guy but he is GIVING bear.

Anyways you love this man to pieces and will always try your best to control yourself and not say any suicide jokes around him.

But you can control yourself so much.

The first ever time König heard you threaten to shoot yourself his eyes widened.

The poor thing was worried for you since all he's ever seen of you was sunshine and memes.

He would just place his hands on your shoulders and make you look him in the eyes as he asks if you're okay and if you ever need to talk you can always go to him.

You sometimes go training with him too and you couldn't stop fawning over how strong he was in your head.

And speaking of training, you also go train with your boys too.

There was one time, Soap was doing push ups and he thought it would be fun to have you sit on his back.

And who were you to say no to that.

Although sometimes you go to the 141 group chat and send memes.

Gaz is always the first to respond.

Always.

Gaz: Where did you find this??

Foap: Daffo this isn't funny

Price: Kid

Gaz: Aren't you two supposed to be training

Price: Where are you both

Baby gril: Is that me?

Soap or whoever is training you always end up finding you when you send jokes like those and make you work extra hard during train with him which makes you cry internally.

Speaking AGAIN of your humour one time you were fighting off one of the enemies and he landed quite a hard punch on you, cutting your cheek in the progress, but once the boys showed up the guy was dead and most of his blood was on your hands. Literally and figuratively.

There was no way of telling which one of the boys came up to you first but they definitely kept asking about your cheek.

"Are you sure you're okay soldier?"

"Yeah I'm sure, my dad hit harder anyway-"

"Daffodil."

They weren't happy with what you said, especially Price

Your boys will never forget the day when they found out that you couldn't drive.

At first everything was a blur, it was during a mission and you all had to fall back, and you somehow got into the driver's seat while Price, Ghost and Soap were in the back while Gaz got in the passenger's seat.

Ghost would have a bullet in his arm while Price and Soap shouted at you to go.

You floored it.

The sudden action made Soap hit his head against the car wall while Gaz and Price were yelling at you to stop.

"YOU SHOULD'VE LEARNT THIS WHEN YOU WERE IN TRAINING."

" JUST GIVE ME THE WHEEL!"

"DEADASS MIGHT THROW UP"

"DAFFODIL-"

They vowed they would never let you drive again until someone teaches you.

You were just bored one day so you beelined your way to Gaz's room and slammed yourself onto his bed.

Of course Gaz was shocked once he saw you enter his room but soon got on with whatever he was doing.

And just like Price, he would never tell you to get out of his room unless it was super important and would just talk with you about random things and let you vent to him.

Somehow you always end up getting all sentimental and it's just really sweet in the end.

Soap sings in the shower.

And Lord have mercy if you hear him you will ALWAYS join in and vice versa.

You two are a power duo.

There was this one time you convinced Ghost and Price to go catfishing with you on a dating app with your phone.

Their names were Gina and Fraincesca and it was very chaotic.

One time one of the people that matched with them started texting your phone during a meeting with Laswell and Graves and since it was going nowhere you checked one of the messages to see a voice message and then-

"Hey baby gorl."

"I'm going to actually kill myself, I will shoot myself right now it's not funny, I have a letter under my bed guys Imma go-"

"Daffodil."

Soap and Gaz still won't let you live properly after that no matter how much Price and Laswell tell them to stop.

Meanwhile Ghost and Grave would just act like nothing happened.

But even after what happened and the relentless teasing Soap and Gaz would do they still cared.

Live, Love, Laugh guys.

Requests: Closed

(Part 3 coming soon and also a one-shot!)

Tag list:

@agspgrwasb

@hwrtsiren

@red-plaidedandcladed

@justmare

@bitchigoteverythingissues

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reyadawn · 3 months

Text

Magnetic

*image not mine, credit goes to Bryan/Jolly 😅*

Summary: Relationships of any kind can be filled with a multitude of emotions...especially when the lines of friends-with-benefits become blurred and they keep coming back for more than just physicality...

Pairings: Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x reader

Warnings: 🔞+, language, heavy smut (kissing, choking, hair pulling, degredation, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie)

Word Count: 🤷‍♀️

First Jolly fic so please bare with me and be kind 😅 Enjoy! 😉❤️

Inspired by Wage War's Magnetic. Have a listen below!

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18

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Jolly absenmindedly plucked at the strings of his guitar, the irritation and frustration on his face shrouded by the black baseball cap he wore. Biting his lower lip, he closed his eyes momentarily as he tried picturing the notes and music in his head but those thoughts immediately shifted to her instead. Flashes of her dark auburn hair. Dark, illustrious eyes. Curves in all the right places.

Jolly's fingers slipped on one of the strings and he flinched at the off key sound. Sighing heavily, he set his guitar down, running his hands over his face, as he reclined back in his chair.

A hand on Jolly's shoulder temporarily broke through his frustration as he swiveled in his chair. Noah's dark features came into view, also partly consealed in a baseball cap.

"You alright, man?", Noah asked, brows furrowed in concern. Jolly shook his head but didn't respond. Noah sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's her...isn't it?".

"I can't get her out of my head. She's fucking with me even being able to record properly. I mean...I'm missing songs that I know like the back of my hand...I don't know what the hell it is", Jolly replied, voice laced with irritation. Noah blinked once before tipping his head back and erupting into a full belly laugh, the tattoos on his neck coming into full view.

"Are you fucking for real, bro?", Jolly barked, scowling at his best friend. Once Noah got control of his laughter he stood, clapping a hand on Jolly's shoulder again.

"It's called 'love' for a reason, dude. I've been fortunate to only experience it once or twice in my life and trust me when I say, it consumes you and you do everything you can to keep it", Noah said, smiling sadly. Jolly shot his best friend a questioning look but didn't pry.

A faint vibrating sound had Jolly fishing from inside the pocket of his sweat pants, pulling his cell phone free.

Hey, handsome 😘. I'm in town for a few days. Wanna' meet up for a drink at Roman's? 🥃

Her text stayed on his homescreen, unanswered as he stared at her cryptic message. They always did this. She would come into town, they'd hook up, she would leave, taking bits and pieces of his heart with her. He tried distancing himself and touring certainly helped but only marginally. He'd get lost in the absence of her presence and would end up begging her to fly out or partake in a filthy FaceTime session. It just seemed like no matter how far he ran, he kept coming back.

Sighing, his fingers typed back a single word reply:

When?

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Reader's POV

I ran my finger tips lightly around the rim of my glass, the amber liquid that filled the inside now almost empty. I wasn't a huge drinker but tonight I needed some liquid courage as I crossed my legs underneath the dark navy sundress I wore. I chose flats and a jean jacket but skipped out on the panties. There wouldn't be a need for them anyway.

I heard the door to Roman's jingle and my eyes immediately found Jolly's. He smiled and I swear to God, I died on the fucking spot, as I pressed my thighs together under the table. I drank in the sight of him as he walked over, cutting through a small crowd of patrons by the bar. Long hair pulled half up into a bun, the rest cascading over his shoulders. A pair of black sunglasses hung from the collar of the white t-shirt he wore, hidden behind a shiny leather jacket and his long legs were encased in dark jeans along with black biker boots. Holy fucking shit.

Jolly finally approached the table, sliding his chair around next to mine until they were touching before plopping himself down and pulling me into a hug.

"Hello, karaste", he whispered and I swear my ovaries liquified. After all this time, it never ceased to amaze me at how quickly my body responded to him. Over time our friendship developed into something much more physical and it was dangerous. I knew that. Jolly traveled and toured all the time as his success in Bad Omens continued to flourish. That meant very little physical ineraction and our main means of commumication was dirty text messages and FaceTime sessions when they could be squuezed in. However, there were times we craved each other so much that I'd hop on a plane and fly to where he was, even if it was only for a night.

There was just one major obstacle that I could not seem to overcome...in truth, I didn't want to.

I was in love with him.

"Where did you go, love?", Jolly asked, running his fingers through my hair to move a few strands behind my ear. My heart raced at his touch, the adrenaline and anticipation running through my veins causing my body to tremble. I turned to him, our lips mere inches apart before looking away, squeezing my eyes shut. "Look at me", he added. His domineering tone had me snapping my head back to him, my thighs pressing together again as a wave of slick slowly gathered around my throbbing clit.

Jolly's eyes dropped to my lap, gaze narrowing before meeting my eyes again. He licked his lips and I swallowed nervously. He leaned over slightly, looking at somewhere behind my left shoulder and suddenly grabbed my hand to pull me after him. Our chairs scrapped the hardwood as Jolly tossed a $20 dollar bill on the table, yanking me after him towards the back of the bar and into a corner so dark, you'd never even know a lonely couch was there unless you were looking for it.

Jolly suddenly turned, caging my head between his hands, crashing his lips to mine. My brain instantly melted, electricity sizzling all over my body as my hands came up to fist the material of his t-shirt, the warmth of his body seeping into my own. The smell of his cologne had my already melted brain practically boiling. Jolly's lips slanted over mine, deepening the kiss as his tongue licked inside. I whimpered, not that anyone could hear. Jolly boke the kiss to gently run his lips and teeth down the coloumn of my throat, his finger tips running gently between my thighs under my dress. No doubt he'd find them wet with the slick that was oozing out of my throbbing cunt, my body preparing myself for him.

Jolly's fingers reached my sodden folds, slowly swipping his fingers through them to gently and lightly rub over my swollen clit. My legs were shaking, my entire body trembling so bad, I was afraid I would fall. Jolly moaned into my neck, the vibration dancing over my skin as he continued to softly rub my clit. I was going to come. Hard. The time spent apart, the anticipation of seeing him, my body so overly stimulated was too much for me to hold in. Lifting a leg, I wrapped it around his own just for something to anchor myself to.

"Jolly...", I moaned, my grip on his t-shirt and leg tightening. Jolly's free hand left my waist to clamp over my mouth as my orgasm finally broke free. My eyes rolled back and I screamed into his palm, my voice muffled. Again, not that anyone could have heard me where we were. Too dark and most patrons were farther out from us.

Jolly removed his hand from my mouth, my chest heaving to catch my breath and I almost dropped to my knees at seeing him suck my juices off his fingers. He backed up then, sitting on the couch and undoing the zipper of his jeans to pull his hardened cock from it's confines. My mouth watered at how long and thick he was.

"Come here, karaste, and sit on my cock. I need to feel you", Jolly said, curling his fingers at me in a come-hither motion. My legs were jell-o as I did what he asked, climbing onto his lap, legs straddling either side of his hips. I tried gently sliding down over the head of his cock so my sensitive and still dripping cunt could adjust but Jolly wasn't having it. Placing both hands on my hips, he pulled me down as he thrust upwards, impaling me on his cock. I tipped my head back, mouth open, about to scream, when he covered my cries with his hand again. It was too much. Way too much. The stretch and burn, the fullness and thickness had me coming instantly.

"Oh, fuck, baby....you come already? How fucking desperate", Jolly said, chuckling darkly. I raised mysef up and down over his cock, my release no doubt dampening his boxers and jeans. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, my fingers grabbing locks of his hair to hold myself upright.

I moaned behind his palm as he continued to thrust up into my body. Jolly suddenly removed his hand to grasp my chin and pull my lips to his while my cunt continued to squeeze around him.

"Jolly, please...help me, pleasepleaseplease", I begged. His hands gripped my hips, almost lifting me off his lap as he shuttled his cock in and out of my pussy at a bruising pace. I was done for. I wouldn't survive the orgasm that getting ready to let loose. In. Out. In. Out. Up. Down. Up. Down. Until he suddenly impaled me down on his pulsing cock, releasing spurt after spurt of hot come into my womb. His release triggered my own. My mouth opened on a silent scream as I all but shook in his hold. My brain completely shut off, cunt clamping down on his cock.

"Fuck, I love you", I whispered, trying to catch what little oxygen I had left when I felt Jolly stiffen beneath me. I opened my eyes, looking down at him in shock at the words that I had been holding in for months slipped out.

Jolly's expression was unreadable. Realizing I overstepped and ruined whatever 'this' was, I tried to remove myself from his hold. He shocked me by grabbing my head between his hands to connect my lips to his.

"Jag älskar dig, karaste", Jolly said against my lips. Tears filled my vision and ran down my cheeks in hot rivulets. I didn't know much in Sweedish...but I did know that.

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

Thank you for reading! 🥰

@concreteemo @concreteangel92 @lolitasangel @exitwoundsx @collidewiththesavannah @artificialstardust @amourtoken @alloraiona @bloodylullaby @bluestdai @darling-millicent-aubrey @doomhands-jr @iamamatus @kaliforniahigh @kissingrose @lilhobgobbler @lma1986 @like-a-omen @lovexsleepyhead @livingdeceasedgirl @philomenie @sacredthefran @thatchickwiththecamera @thisbicc @tikosblogg @xmads-omensx @yarasdead

#jolly karlsson #jolly karlsson fanfiction #bad omens #holy shit #excuse me while i throw myself off a cliff #jolly karlsson smut #Spotify

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gremlinmodetweeker · 4 days

Note

okay okay, it's a lil silly but hear me out konig + phantom of the opera au

man's got it all; need to cover his face, obsessive tendencies, and the need to be a secretive lil (big) weirdo *chef's kiss*

NO NO NO HOLD ON YOU'RE COOKIN. NOT SILLY AT ALL.

Now look here, I dunno if you know this, but I am a sucker for classic literature. One of my top three favourite books of all time is Frankenstein by Mary Shelly. That woman ate when she wrote that book and I will listen to nothing else. I also really want to write an essay about how Frankenstein is Mary Shelly discussing the inherent horror of motherhood in those times and how the lack of a mother figure shapes an individual. I think it's an extremely layered book, but I like to see the parenthood lens of the book.

Now now now, this is about Phantom of the Opera. I do know a bit about the original phantom, and I don't like to think König or reader dies in the end (just personally, I can't write a tragic ending. I really need a happy ending, not for the reader, but because I need a happy ending). So, let me introduce the idea that this is a version where the phantom wins.

This is one where the phantom was fucking right and actually, freak of nature as he is, maybe he had a point!!! Maybe, reader shouldn't be dating someone twice their age. Maybe, though König is a bit older for sure, he's actually not that old and a more appropriate age. Albeit, though now recovered, König still suffered a case of leprosy after being exposed during a war. He considers himself hideous, but maybe reader would be able to look past his sickness?

Now, is König appropriate as a lover? Probably not. He's obsessive, jealous, and a borderline stalker. He's determined to kill off the man who's trying to seduce her ('How dare you try and take my little songbird away from me!!!') and will do anything to keep reader to himself. However, he's also saving reader from a far worse fate with someone worse than him.

Reader is enchanted by Makarov of course, but König knows better and is determined to show her the light. He desperately wants to just talk to her and explain everything to her, but at this point he's committed to what he's doing and social anxiety makes him unable to just knock on her door and talk to her like a regular person.

Once again, like every incredible story in the English language, if you guys just talked everything would be fine but nobody knows how to be an adult.

Anyways, König loves reader dearly. Watching her perform makes his heart ache. His one saving grace is a beautiful voice he uses to enchant her. If his face is nothing but sickness, let him sing to his little songbird and help her connection to music. He'll do what he can to cling to any connections he has to her. He's desperate to hold her, and he'll do whatever he needs to to get to her.

IMPORTANT EDIT:

König with the phantom mask but he has two long red ribbons coming out the bottom of the eyes and the rest of his face is hidden under a dark hood. Consider it.

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javier-pena · 7 months

Text

in plain sight, chapter i

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader | Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re back home in Austin for the summer and you start dating Tommy Miller, a boy you know from high school, a boy you had a crush on when you were a teenager. All you’re looking for is an uncomplicated summer fling, just some fun, until you have to go back to college in the fall. What you didn’t know is that Tommy has an older brother. And that older brother can’t keep his eyes off you right from the start …

Notes: The story of how I came up with the idea for this fic is actually very silly, so I'll spare you the details, but I will say it had something to do with a certain movie from 1978. Anyway, I'm so so excited to finally be able to share the first chapter of this!! I can't remember the last time I was this excited about a story, so that's a good sign I'll manage some semi-regular updates. I want to thank Angela @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for answering some of my questions about Austin, and, of course, Dani @alexturner who said it'll be good for me to write a story like that 🤭

[Masterlist] [Chapter 2]

***

“Back for the summer, eh?” was the first thing Tommy said to you after the both of you hadn’t spoken in seven years.

You were standing in line at the ice cream truck, holding your niece’s hand who was jumping up and down, giddy with excitement. Tommy was driving past in his red pick-up truck, a car you’d seen around the neighborhood, unaware it was his. Hell, there wasn’t a lot of awareness where it came to Tommy Miller in the first place. You almost didn’t recognize him that early June day leaning out of the window of his truck, elbow propped up against the door, a bright smile on his face. The boy you remembered from high school, the boy you had a crush on all those years ago, looked so different. Scrawny, lanky, greasy hair, a face full of spots. Sometimes you scrolled through old photos, laughed at yourself because you had lain awake for nights, imagining how he would confess his love for you, ask you to run away with him. The man in the truck that sunny afternoon was just that … a man. His tight, stained shirt was clinging to his arms and chest, grown big with muscles over the years. His hair that used to fall into his eyes, obscuring half his face, had been cut short. His tight curls were hidden underneath a baseball cap that had the logo of a local brewery on it. His face was tan, a dark golden color; it made you do a double take, made your palm grow sweaty against your niece’s hand, embarrassed by his attention. Because surely, he had mistaken you for someone.

“Tommy?” you asked, stumbling forward a few steps when your niece yanked on your arm. “Tommy Miller?”

He laughed so hard his chest heaved. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Then he ran a hand across his sweaty brow, his dirty cheeks. “Don’t tell me I’ve aged that badly.”

Of course he asked you for your number that afternoon, and of course you gave it to him while your niece was busy with her ice cream. You scribbled it onto the palm of his hand, thinking it was a quirky, romantic gesture. It had nothing to do with the fact that you wanted to touch him. The heat of a Texan June afternoon smudged the pen so badly before he got home that evening he couldn’t decipher your number. Luckily, he knew where you lived and came by the next day with a bouquet of flowers to ask you out on a date – officially.

That date went well – more than well. He took you to the movies, to a steakhouse, to a new bar in town. He was so different from the boys you met at college; he had been to war, he had his own company that he was running with his brother, he wanted to know about you and didn’t use your time together to talk about himself and his grand plans for his professional future. You hadn’t laughed that much in a long time, hadn’t enjoyed a guy’s company that much in … well, if you were honest with yourself, you couldn’t remember ever having had that much fun with anyone. You didn’t want the night to end, and when Tommy dropped you off back home afterwards, he kissed you in his truck, then said, “Tomorrow’s my day off. Let me take you somewhere.”

You had skipped up the stairs to your parents’ porch while his truck had idled at the side of the road until you were safely inside.

What followed the next day left you hungry for more. Tommy took you hiking, then he took you to a small ranch outside Austin because you had mentioned you’d never been on a horse before, but would like to try. You stayed there until the sun had sunk beneath the horizon and a bonfire was blazing next to the barn. You drank beers and watched the stars come out. Then someone pulled out a guitar and Tommy asked you to dance. That night, you got home well past midnight, feeling like you’d been somewhere very far away.

You didn’t see Tommy for a week after that. He was busy at work. You were busy telling your friends from college about him. “Just a bit of fun for the summer,” you said. They either cheered you on, asking for the saucy details, or reacted with, “That’s so typical. Anywhere you go, men fall for you.” You didn’t let that bother you because it wasn’t true. Besides, if anyone was turning heads it was Tommy.

The next Friday, he picked you up later than usual and a broad grin spread across your face when you saw him. He had decided to grow a mustache after you’d admitted to him that you used to have a crush on this handsome teacher in college who happened to have a mustache. Tommy handled your laughter well, said, “Get in the truck, college girl,” and sped off toward an unknown destination. You felt excitement wash over you whenever you glanced over at him. Because you hadn’t been idle that week either. You were wearing a matching set of underwear, a deep red color, delicate, hiding only what was necessary. Because Tommy had admitted to you that he had a thing for women wearing nothing but high heels and lingerie. You hoped just one of those would do the trick too.

That night he took you to a small concert, just a guy with his guitar and a cream-colored cowboy hat up on a brightly lit stage. He sang about the open plains, proposing to his wife, about how women don’t want a man in a suit, they all want a cowboy. And he had a point, you thought, after Tommy dragged you off into a dark corner during a brief break and kissed you until you could hardly breathe. None of the boys at college had ever kissed you like that. For the rest of the night, Tommy was hovering by your side, finding excuses to touch you. And when the concert was over, he led you back to his truck, opened the door for you and said, “Listen, my brother is out of town this weekend. Would you like to come back to my place?”

You didn’t even make it to the bedroom. You made it to the couch in the living room where you sat pretending to be interested in polite conversation while your heart hammered against your ribcage and Tommy kept shifting, trying to hide a growing bulge in his pants. Your friends had warned you, “Don’t sleep with him before the 4th of July. The summer is still so long and he’ll lose interest.” Yeah, there was no way you’d be waiting for almost another month for this.

Tommy made the first move but only because you waited for him to make it. His hand was high up on your thigh when he leaned over you to kiss your neck, and you quickly pushed him back against the couch, straddling him, taking off your shirt. His appreciative gaze told you you had gotten it right. That he later took your panties off with his teeth was just the cherry on top.

He made you come four times that night, twice on the couch (first with his tongue, then with his cock buried deep inside of you), one time in his bed (you rode him until he pushed you off and took you from behind), and one time very softly (with his finger, just before you fell asleep). It was obvious the next morning – he wouldn’t lose interest in you and you would have the best summer of your life.

*******

A week later, you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you hear the doorbell ring. This is only your third weekend going out with Tommy, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t recognized the sound of his pick-up pulling up in front of your house. The memories from last weekend are still fresh on your mind and it makes you giddy with excitement to wonder about what he might have planned for tonight.

When you come downstairs, Tommy is sitting on the living room floor, cross-legged, while your niece is introducing him to all her toy horses. Your sister is leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, shooting you a knowing look. You ignore her. Because no matter how much fun you’re having, you’re lightyears away from thinking about Tommy as anything more than a summer fling.

“Ready?” you ask, and when he looks up at you there’s that hunger in his gaze. Self-consciously, you tug at the hem of your very short dress.

“You’re really going out in that?” your sister asks you, and you can hear the thinly veiled jealousy in her voice.

Tommy gets up, slings his arm around your waist, and places a soft kiss on your cheek. “I know I’m supposed to call you beautiful,” he mumbles into your hair, “but you look so fuckin’ hot, darlin’.”

Your face heats up at hearing that pet name. To hide how flustered you are, you tousle your niece’s hair and say, “Don’t wait up for me,” to your sister without looking at her.

The smell of Tommy’s truck engulfs you when you climb inside, and you relax against the seat. It’s funny, really, how a scent you were unfamiliar with just two weeks ago can make you feel so much at ease now. In the driver’s seat, Tommy rolls down the window and lights a cigarette before he looks back toward your house.

“Your sister, is she divorced?” he asks, fidgeting with the lighter.

“Why? You interested?” you tease.

He pulls a face. “She needs to loosen up. Maybe a good fuck would help with that.”

You playfully slap his arm. “You’re impossible,” you laugh. “My brother-in-law takes good care of her.”

He shoots you a doubtful glance, then starts the truck.

The suburbs of Austin are quiet this evening. People are staying inside to escape the lingering heat of the day or they are already in town. You hardly see anyone, hardly pass any other cars as Tommy drives slowly, an old country song playing on the radio.

“You were on my mind all week,” he finally admits, pretending to keep his eyes on the road, but you notice how he glances at you.

You touch your neck, surprised by how hot your skin feels. “Nothing bad I hope.”

He chuckles. “Depends on your definition of bad.”

You briefly close your eyes and let your memory take you back to last Friday, to the image of him kneeling before you while he spread you open on the couch, tongue buried deep inside of you.

“Well.” You clear your throat. “I’m not usually like …” You trail off, suddenly worried you gave him the wrong impression, your head buzzing with your friends’ advice on how to keep him interested in you.

“You don’t usually sleep with a guy after the third date?” Tommy inquires.

“I don’t usually come more than twice in one night.” You whisper the offensive word.

“That’s hardly your fault,” Tommy replies with a shrug. “Those college boys are dull.”

“Who says I’m sleeping with college boys?” you ask.

He glances at you, the words, “oh come on,” written all over his face. “You don’t seem like the type of girl who would go after their dads.”

That comment sparks something in you. “Who says I’m not going after their moms?”

He laughs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Now that’s a sight I’d love to see.”

“Do you think those college boys taught me all those things we did last week?”

Tommy clears his throat. “I think there’s a couple of things I’d like to teach you. Just as long as you promise not to use them on any college boys.”

A brief silence settles over you. Then, “Who taught you how to do all that, by the way?” you ask.

“All what?” Tommy teases.

“You know …” You shrug, but shift excitedly when he puts his warm hand on your naked thigh. His fingers are rough from his daily work, but his touch his so gentle that something melts inside of you.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

You sigh and glance up at the roof of the cabin. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re … what we did last week was the best sex of my life.”

Tommy squeezes your thigh. “There’s a wrong way to take this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head is what I’m saying.”

“It’s too late for that.” He pulls a grimace, brings the car to a stop in front of a red light. “Tell me more.”

“I’m not telling you anything until you tell me where you learned all that.”

“What? Eating pussy?”

“Oh my God.” Your face heats up because of him for the second time that evening. “Yes, that, but also … I’ve never been with a man who was so concerned about my … my pleasure.”

“I was in the Army,” Tommy answers.

“And they teach you that there?” You can’t quite tell if he’s being serious.

“If you’re on leave in some Godforsaken place, and there’s fifty other strappin’ young men you’ll learn fast enough how to please women. Or you’ll spend every night alone.”

You nod slowly. “Where are we going?”

“Oh no, missy, you’re not changing the subject.” Tommy’s hand climbs higher on your thigh; he’s almost touching the hem of your dress now.

You shrug. “You’re right; those college boys are boring. You’re … you know what you’re doing.”

“You’re just sayin’ that because you have no one to compare me to.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. “No, I’m saying that because it’s the truth.”

Tommy glances at you again. “I don’t like that laughter.”

“Jealous?”

“A bit, yeah,” he admits.

“Don’t be,” you tell him, your voice suddenly soft. “There’s no reason to.”

Tommy pulls off the main road then and onto a dark parking lot. You’re about to make a teasing remark when he turns the car and suddenly the glistening Austin skyline is sitting right there in front of you, like a mirage in the desert.

“Wow,” you breathe and sit up straight.

“Did I promise too much?” Tommy wants to know.

“You didn’t promise me anything,” you remind him.

Your gaze wanders to take in everything, the dark trees shielding you from the road, the city that sits right there as if it wants to tempt you to reach out and touch it, the nearby bridge where a car passes in your direction.

“Wait a minute,” you say slowly. “I know exactly where we are.”

“And where’s that?” Tommy asks, a barely concealed smile on his face.

“I’ve heard stories about you and this place.”

“What kind of stories?” Tommy grabs a can of beer from a cooler on the backseat and opens it with a sharp hiss. “Only good ones, I should hope.” He hands you the can and you take it, but pull a grimace at him at the same time.

“What?” he asks.

“You used to take girls here when we were in high school,” you answer after taking a sip from the beer. “Lots of girls.”

“A handful, at most,” Tommy corrects you.

“More like a handful at the same time,” you mumble.

Now it is Tommy’s turn to ask, “Jealous?”

You take another sip before you answer. “I was back then. I had the biggest crush on you.”

“I’m flattered.” It sounds as if he’s mocking you but the flush on his cheeks tells a different tale.

“You never noticed me, of course,” you go on.

“You were a bit young,” Tommy points out.

“And now I’m not?”

“Now you’re a well-traveled woman who’s back in her little town for summer.” You open your mouth but he goes on. “Now you can tell when a man is takin’ you for a ride and when he’s serious about you. Do you still have a crush on me then?”

You shrug. “A different kind, maybe. I definitely don’t fantasize about you confessing your love for me anymore. Or about us running away together.”

“Why not?” Tommy takes a big swig from the can. “I think you should start doin’ that again.”

“Or I could fantasize about other things, less innocent things.”

Tommy shifts and clears his throat. You can’t help but smile at how little it takes to shift the mood.

“Like what?” he asks, and the beer can cracks in his grip.

“Like how you held me down last week,” you answer, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Or how softly you touched me afterwards.”

“You don’t have to fantasize about those things. Give me somethin’ new.” The slightly commanding edge to his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well … when we were in high school, I used to wonder what it would be like to be taken here by you. What did you do with the girls you drove out here?”

In the distance, you can hear the sound of another car gliding across the bridge.

“Can’t you guess?”

“I was very innocent back then,” you remind him. “My thoughts never went past a small kiss on the lips.”

Tommy licks his. “Yeah, but now? What would you like me to do with a woman I take here?”

The tension has become unbearable and you giggle, searching to relieve it. It doesn’t work. Tommy’s hungry gaze wanders down to where your dress has ridden up your thighs and you inhale sharply.

“I still think a kiss would be nice,” you answer finally, your voice no longer steady at all. “But it doesn’t have to be all that innocent.”

Tommy puts one of his warm hands on your naked thigh, then leans in closer until he can hear your breath hitch. “Where would you like that kiss, darlin’?”

“How about you figure that out for yourself?” you tease him.

His lips are firm against yours, the pressure insistent until you open up for him. He tastes like the beer he just downed, the cigarette he just smoked. He also tastes like Tommy, and you relish how familiar you are with it after just two weeks. You sigh into the kiss, feeling all the tension leave your body. His teasing remarks and slight bravado are backed up by his skills, and you shudder remembering what else he can do with that tongue. You bite his lip to draw it out of him, but he only huffs and pulls back.

“Careful, darlin’,” he warns, his voice deeper now.

“What? Too wild for you?” you ask with a small laugh.

“Don’t get into somethin’ you can’t handle.” The tips of his fingers are under the hem of your dress now and you squirm, but he digs his nails into the soft skin. “See? I haven’t even touched you yet and it’s already too much for you.”

You raise your chin. “It’s not.”

“Have you ever fucked someone in a car?” Tommy asks, his hungry gaze fixed onto your face.

“No,” you reply slowly.

It’s not as if you didn’t know this was where the evening was going. It’s not as if you didn’t want it to go there. But now you’re here, you’re very aware of how exposed you are, even inside Tommy’s truck, and how many laws you would be breaking if you took this any further.

“Relax,” Tommy chuckles. His dark eyes are glistening in the lights of Austin. “You said it yourself: This isn’t my first time doin’ this. I’ve never been caught.”

“Oh, so I’m just another one of your conquests.”

“You can be anythin’ you want to be.” With that, he pushes his hand between your legs and places the tips of two of his fingers straight against your clit.

It’s as if your legs follow their own will when they spread open to give Tommy more room. He doesn’t need it, moving his fingers in a small circle, not breaking eye contact once. When he increases the pressure, one of your hands flies up to grab his shoulder, the other finds purchase against your seat.

“You like that, huh?” Tommy teases.

You nod, pushing your hips forward into his touch.

“Is it worth the risk?” His touch is lighter again, his fingers move slower.

Now it’s your turn to warn him with a, “Careful, Tommy.”

“Why?” His touch is feather-light now.

You move your hand that’s on his shoulder up to his jaw, cupping it. “You don’t want to turn me into a bad girl, do you?” You feel silly when you say it out loud like this, but his eyes light up.

“As I said, you can be anythin’ you want.” The tremor in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“How about we start by turning me into someone who gets fucked in a car?”

Suddenly, he turns his head, biting into the heel of your palm, making you squeal. When your laughter dies down, you notice how his fingers are moving faster again, accompanied by a wet sound.

“God,” Tommy groans. “Look at you. I’ve barely touched you.”

Something tells you that you should be embarrassed by how little it took for him to turn you on, but then he increases the pressure on your clit, and your eyes flutter shut with a moan.

“I can see you overthinkin’ this,” Tommy whispers, so close you can feel his warm breath on your neck and ear. “Don’t. You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

“Tommy …,” you groan, and you don’t quite know why. Do you want him to go faster? Slower? Do you want him to make you come?”

He doesn’t allow you a single second to find answers to those questions. “I love it when you say my name like that.”

You roll your hips into his touch, and his other hand grabs your thigh with a firm grasp. “Don’t. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You open your eyes to find his gaze fixed on your face, eagerly licking his lips. In that moment, you don’t remember ever wanting anyone as much as you want him. Out of curiosity, you try to roll your hips again, and he lands a soft slap against your pussy in retribution, one that makes you groan with pleasure.

“Do that again,” you pant.

He hesitates for the briefest of moments, then does as you ask, a little harder this time. You fold, your upper body bending toward your knees, your head fuzzy with pleasure.

“I need you … inside of … of me, Tommy, please,” you stammer. You feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up. He only rolls your clit between his fingers, making your hips jerk involuntarily. “Please, Tommy, please.”

“Shhh,” he makes, and kisses your temple. “Later, darlin’. I want to see you come in your panties first.”

You grab his shoulder, feeling yourself tumble toward the edge. His fingers are moving fast enough to drive you insane with pleasure but it’s not quite enough to get you there. And he must know that, judging by the smug look on his face.

“Please,” you whimper.

“What do you need?” he asks, his voice thick with arousal.

You risk a glance down between his legs, the obvious bulge in his jeans making you clench again. Then you press your hand against his moving between your legs, just so the pressure becomes a bit more …

Tommy slaps your hand away. “Harder, Tommy,” he says in a voice mocking yours. “Come on, say it.”

“Harder, Tommy,” you moan immediately.

And you’re rewarded with an orgasm so intense you see stars dance in front of your eyes. Your moans make your ears ring, and when Tommy doesn’t stop, they turn into desperate whimpers. It’s only when you grab his wrist that he stops and you try to catch your breath with a shuddering sob.

“Fuck,” you groan and close your eyes.

“Yeah,” Tommy agrees. “Can’t believe you really just came in your panties for me.”

You laugh, your voice breaking when you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful right after an orgasm, you know that?” Tommy goes on, and you want him to keep talking like that more than anything.

“Why?” you ask, then gasp, when he presses his fingers against your clit before removing his hand.

“You’re so perfect,” he answers without hesitation. “I guess I like seein’ you come undone.”

You straighten your dress and look at the glistening Austin skyline in front of you. “You bring out the worst in me, Tommy Miller.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s almost impossible to take the good out of the girl.”

You glance down at his bulge again, lick your lips at the thought that it’s just sitting there, waiting for you. “It’s much easier than you think,” you reply, then begin to unbuckle his belt.

His hips jerk in response. “Careful, darlin’.”

“What? Can’t handle it when the tables are turned?” you tease.

He shoots you a crooked smile. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“Oh, I intend to.” You grip his hard cock and pull it out of his jeans, relishing how his hips jerk again. Your mouth waters when you run your thumb over the glistening tip and hear Tommy inhale sharply. Your short, tight dress makes it hard for you to climb up onto the seat while still preserving some of your dignity, but one glance at Tommy tells you he couldn’t care less. His pupils are dilated and his mouth hangs slightly open while his chest rises and falls rapidly. All that just because you’re holding his cock in your hand. You stroke across the tip again, then move your hand down toward the base and lock your lips to his, capturing a deep groan. Tommy’s eyes flutter shut and you lower your head, closing your lips around his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, one hand immediately tangling in your hair.

You shift, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it’s hard, even if the bench of the pick-up is bigger than most car seats you’re used to. Tommy doesn’t care. He pushes himself deeper into your mouth and you swallow around him, his sharp taste overwhelming. It’s hot in the truck, and you can smell his sweat, smell your own arousal on his hand resting on his thigh. You pull off him until only his tip is still between your lips, then move down again, while he pushes, almost impatiently. Your neck strains uncomfortably, but you want to make this work. For him.

“Stop,” he says after his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag. “I want to be inside of you.”

You straighten your back and smile at him. Your lips feel swollen. “You are, Tommy.”

With his thumb, he swipes away saliva and pre-cum from your bottom lip. “Not like that.”

The way he looks at you, heated, yes, but also with an unguarded softness in his eyes, makes something flutter inside your chest. “What did you have in mind?” you ask.

He leans forward, his mouth so close to your ear his breath tickles your skin. The presumed forbiddenness of what he’s about to tell you makes you hold your breath. “I want you on top of me,” he whispers in your ear, voice low. “Use me however you want.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine and you nod, cheeks burning up. What have you done to deserve a man like him in your life?

You move to climb on top of him, but he stops you, his hand spread across your chest. “I think we’d be more comfortable on the backseat. Don’t you?”

You glance over the front seats at the dark space beyond and nod again. It’s also harder to spot you back there should someone decide to drive into the parking lot.

With practiced movements, Tommy tilts his seat, then climbs over it, briefly struggling with his loose jeans. You grin and follow him, body humming with pleasant anticipation. Tommy pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his shoes and jeans, but when you start to take off your dress, he stops you.

“No. Just your panties.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

You can’t really tell in the dim light but he looks flushed when he searches his trouser pockets for a condom.

When you finally lower yourself onto him, you can feel his chest vibrate with a deep groan under your palms. He jerks and shifts trying to adjust himself, but you hold him down and roll your hips from side to side until he nods. For a while, you both just sit there and look at each other, his hands stroking your sides, your fingers playing with the coarse hairs on his chest. To you, this is the definition of paradise.

You roll your hips in small, slow circles at first, so imperceptible it takes him a while to notice. But when he does, he jerks his hips upwards, urging you to go faster, so you press your knees into his sides.

“No,” you tell him, and when he opens his mouth to protest, you put a raised finger against his lips. “Let me take care of you.” For a second, you think he’ll reject you; but then he nods. “Good,” you say, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip before pulling your hand back. His chest and neck are a deep red now.

It’s not like you’re planning on torturing him forever. You roll your hips a little faster, and with every deliciously lewd sound he makes for you, a little faster still. Soon, your resolve crumbles, and you allow him to stroke your naked thighs, to squeeze your clothed breasts, even to play with your clit. The humid air in the truck clings to your skin, and to Tommy’s, and you’re transfixed by a bead of sweat making its way down his cheek. You capture it with a kiss, then throw back your head with a moan when he rolls your clit under his thumb just so.

That’s when you notice it – the other truck parked next to yours. Was it already there when Tommy pulled into the parking lot? Did it pull up afterwards and you just didn’t notice because you were occupied with other things at the time? Whatever the answer might be, it’s not important right now, not when you notice the other truck isn’t empty.

A man is staring at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. He looks older than Tommy, but not by much, maybe a few years. His face is framed by dark hair and a dark beard, very prominent on his upper lip, less so on his cheeks and chin. His eyes are dark too, hidden in the shadows of the driver’s cabin, but you can feel them on you, watching every twitch of your hips with intent. And he definitely isn’t alone.

You can’t see the person he’s with; she’s kneeling in front of him, hands and knees on the backseat, and he’s holding down her head with his outstretched arm. All you can see is that she has dark auburn hair that the man uses to hold her in place. The back of your own scalp prickles at that sight and you wish someone would hold onto you like that.

You should stop and tell Tommy about the stranger in the car next to yours who is fucking a woman you can’t see while watching you fuck a man he can’t see. Or you should move to the other side of the car where he won’t be able to see you. The least you should do is look away. But you don’t do any of these things. Later, when you’re alone, you’ll ask yourself why, but there is no answer other than not wanting to break the connection you feel to that stranger at this very moment. You’ll think it a weak excuse then, but right here, in Tommy’s truck, it feels like the most sensual experience of your life. You’re both fucking other people and yet it feels like you’re fucking each other.

Beneath you, Tommy groans deeply, and he twitches inside of you. “Keep goin’, darlin’,” he mumbles.

You don’t know if Tommy is watching you or if his eyes are closed, you don’t know if his mouth hangs open, you couldn’t name the shade of red coating his neck. Instead, you watch as the stranger bites his lip, watch as his eyes flutter shut after a particularly deep thrust, watch how he presses the woman’s head down further. You can almost hear his pants and growls, and in turn your breath comes in short bursts. Why doesn’t he look away? And why don’t you?

His thrusts come faster now, and it’s not as if you’re consciously changing your pace too, but suddenly you catch yourself matching the roll of your hips to his. You groan when you see the smirk on his face, and your upper body falls forward, forcing you to brace yourself against Tommy’s chest. Why did that stranger’s smirk set the base of your spine on fire and why did your small moment of weakness make his face darken with resolve?

When you look up again, he has his eyes closed, so you close yours too, and for an instant, just one brief moment, you imagine it’s him thrusting up into you. That vision is so powerful you half expect it to be him below you when you open your eyes again, but it’s Tommy, and he’s watching you.

“Feel so good,” he mumbles. “So, so good.”

A twinge of guilt gets mixed in with that already explosive cocktail of feelings brewing inside of you, and you’re not sure what to do about it. Are you crossing a line with this? You don’t know; you’ve never heard about anyone in a situation like this. All you know is that when you lift your head, the stranger’s gaze hits you like a bolt of lightning. You feel it tingle in your fingers, up and down your legs, on the tip of your nose, and at the back of your neck. But most importantly, you feel it deep in your core that clenches with desperation. He lifts his chin and rolls his shoulders, pushing his chest forward, like he’s showing off to you, and you can’t help it – you dig your nails into Tommy’s skin and he groans with pleasure.

The air in the truck is so heavy it is becoming hard to breathe. You only realize that when you would need it most desperately. Over there, in the other car, the man’s hips suddenly still and you watch as he throws back his head, as a deep, dark flush climbs up his chest and neck. You can almost feel it, how he empties himself into that woman he’s fucking, how he empties himself into you. And before you can fully grasp what is happening, you’re clenching around Tommy hard and fast, making him snap his hips up into you.

“Fuck, fuck! Fuck!” he swears, holding you in place with two hot hands on your sides.

Your orgasm is still making your entire body shake, but it also feels like it doesn’t belong to you at all. You’re praying for the stranger to look at you again, one final time, but he has disappeared. All you can see is his back from time to time, and the woman’s knees that look like they’re trembling, as he goes down on her. You can’t help the jealousy that is clawing at the inside of your stomach.

Tommy pulls you down and gives you a searing kiss. “You’re fuckin’ amazin’, you know that?” You giggle and bury your face against his neck, trying to shake off that strange feeling of desire and yearning. “I’m very sorry I doubted you,” Tommy goes on. “No college boy could’ve taught you that.”

“That good, huh?” you ask, running your hand through his curls.

“Good’s an understatement,” he mumbles.

Carefully, he lifts you off him and takes off the condom. You’re on the other side of the truck now and can barely see the top of the other one. That loss is strangely irritating.

“Take off your dress,” Tommy orders.

You look at him, at his flushed cheeks, at the drunk desire in his gaze. “Ready for round two already?” you tease.

He shakes his head. “No, but I won’t make you wait for me.”

His mouth is hot against your sensitive clit, and you roll your hips up against his tongue eagerly. Above you, the roof of the truck is cast in shadows. You stare up at the boring gray, eyes wide open, because as soon as you close them, you see the stranger, as clear as if he was still right in front of you. And you refuse to give him that kind of power over you.

***

in plain sight taglist: @shellshocklove

#tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x tess servopoulos #joel miller #tess servopoulos #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #in plain sight

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