#barrack party

[nightolmaster]

These were from early 2024 of Posca Art Test using circle wood pieces.

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

Dolly Parton's 9 to 5 except its Rex and Cody singing it at Chancellor Palpatine

Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl, except its Kix singing it at Jesse

Bon Jovi's You Give Love a Bad Name, but it's Fives screaming singing at Fox

Kenny Loggins' Footloose, except its just Hardcase singing it at the top of his lungs while dancing in the barracks at 3am until A) he gets stunned by Rex or B) everyone including Rex joins in

feel free to add ur own

[keykidpilipili]

Thinking about ff14 ocs' diets and man I think Gridanian peeps probably have pretty low lactose tolerance.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ LIKE THE WAY I FUCK ('CAUSE I GET ROUGH) — an undercover mission with your superiors leads to compromised positions (in more ways than one)

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + könig

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, canon-divergence, age difference, slight power imbalance, jealous/possessive behaviour, discussions of violence, tags to be added

// NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT //

Turns out, undercover missions involve a lot more make-up, perfume and dresses than you'd anticipated.

Being a seasoned task force operator, it's been months, if not years since you've been to a party outside of your barracks. Let alone one of this calibre; CEOs, billionaires on Forbes Top 50, politicians.

It's off-putting. 

All of it; it's stressful, and it feels as though your skin's crawling, having so much skin on display, so many eyes on you at once. You feel as though you’re an animal at a zoo, being inspected by families with their snotty-nosed kids.

"Sit-rep, Diamond?"

Swallowing around a dry mouth, you reply to your lieutenant's request through your earpiece, tone low and careful. "All as planned, Lt."

Ghost hums a low sound in reply, and your shoulders loosen slightly from their tense position.

You knew that your superior was already inside, having arrived ten minutes earlier. A small, selfish part of you wished that you'd have arrived with him, if only to see how he cleaned up.

Ghost? In a suit? It's like one of your deepest, most dirty of desires come to life.

Such thoughts that you'd never let leave your lips -- thoughts too likely to wreck your entire career and any opportunity to keep your relationship with the man.

"König?" Is Ghost's next question, although it's just the other man's name alone.

Right.

König.

The other superior featured in your dreams. Thoughts. Wank-material?

Whatever they are, they're becoming all too common, all too realistic, and all too risky.

"Successful entry," König replies, heavily accented voice low and quiet -- he's amongst people.

Your limo comes to a stop outside of the decorated museum, and a suited man opens your door with gloved hands. His upper lip is covered in a well-groomed pencil moustache, and you have to stifle a chuckle. Soap would’ve appreciated it.

With a small smile, you incline your head towards him, lifting up the fabric of your skirt so it doesn't brush against the gravel. It’s so… impractical, and you really can’t help but respect those that dress up like this on a regular basis. Looking down at your outfit, you let out a low breath.

When Gaz and Soap had burst into your room with shit-eating grins and a garment bag, you had just known that your dress was going to be... extravagant at best, and downright sinful at worst.

You were correct, of course.

So, here you are, walking down the red carpet into the building, cameras flashing and paparazzi screaming, in this... dress.

Silky black, strapless, and with crossing lines of fabric across your bare back. Chiffon skirts fall behind you, with a slit rising all the way up to where your thigh meets your hip bone. A gun hides beneath, strapped around your inner thigh, paired with your right, adorning a delicate yet hefty knife.

You look... not at all like a Sergeant on Task Force 141.

You look like a celebrity, one just out of her fans' reach. It's a surreal experience, and the mere thought of your two superiors (crushes) seeing you like this... It's frightening. Maddening. And, maybe, a tad bit exhilarating.

Gaz had insisted on doing your make-up -- having so many sisters made him a fully-fledged artist, apparently. And an artist he was, talented with the brushes of eyeshadow and flicks of eyeliner against your skin.

Soap, for his part, had begged for you to let him do your hair -- but considering his only experience was his mohawk, you were less than lenient. With a huff, he’d let you go to Laswell’s wife with the request, as long as he picked out your jewellery.

And now, hours later, your heels click against the stone tile as you enter the museum.

Soft lighting cascades all of the guests in gentle hues of yellow, laughter and polite mingling surrounding you as you enter the main ballroom, skirts brushing against your legs.

Chandeliers above glisten, a live-band plays beautiful jazz, and servers walk around with trays of champagne and finger foods.

It's nothing like you've ever experienced.

This mission, somehow, terrifies you more than the weight of a sniper in your hand and an order to neutralise.

"Target, six o'clock," Ghost's voice carries through your comms as you take position near the corner of the room. There’s fewer people here, and it allows you a moment to breathe and recalibrate.

Your eyes dart to the direction your lieutenant has supplied, and you catch sight of your target immediately. "Got eyes," you murmur softly, smile on your face as you pretend to fix your hair.

"Affirmative," König answers then.

"I haven't seen you before."

Whipping around to the source of the words, you find yourself face to face with a man who you've seen the face of too many times to count.

"Apologies for startling you," he inclines his head respectfully. He's got a few inches on you -- although you find it hard to consider him tall when you're with your superiors more often than not. His skin is closely-shaved, his blonde hair gelled to the nines -- and a smarmy, trust-fund baby smirk to top it all off.

Extending his hand, he announces, "I'm Phillip. Phillip Graves."

...Graves.

The last name of your target -- the son of your target.

"I'm Louise," you say with a sweet smile, taking his hand and shaking it. Your undercover name was going to have to come into play sooner than you'd hoped. "It's a lovely atmosphere, isn't it?"

"Positive, Diamond?" Ghost's deep voice instantly responds to your subtle codeword.

"Not as lovely as you, I'm sure," Phillip flirts, and you pretend to bat your lashes and hide your face from him.

"Ah... thank you, Sir. You're quite dashing yourself," you meekly reply, giving him a soft smile. 

Men like this were so easily played, you found. Not at all like the military men you were surrounded with on such a constant basis. Not at all like…

You can hear both König and Ghost swear underneath their breaths. Releasing the hold on your bracelet -- the one with the built-in comms button -- you shyly bite at your lower lip.

Phillip’s eyes track the movement, and if not for the stakes of this mission, it'd be almost comical.

"May I have this dance?" He asks, offering his arm for you to take. He’s adorning an obviously wealthy suit, dark blue and silky – and it rubs you in all the wrong ways.

You can hear your heart pound in your ears -- this wasn't the way the mission was supposed to go. But, then again, you didn't get into Task Force 141 by expecting every mission to go as planned.

"I would love to, Sir," you smile, wrapping your hand around his arm, allowing him to escort you to the main dance floor.

Subtly folding your hands together around his arm, you're able to push down the button on your bracelet. "You want us to dance in the middle of everyone? I'm not the best of dance partners..."

Phillip chuckles, but through your inner ear piece, you can hear König report, "Got eyes, Diamant."

Chills run down your spine. Either from this situation or…

Or something else that you're not entirely supposed to -- or allowed to -- feel. Not for those two men, and certainly not for your superiors.

"I'll lead you, darlin’," Phillip leans down to whisper into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. They’re thin, and chapped against your own skin.

His hand moves to sit at your lower back, just above your ass, and the other moves down your arm to interlace your fingers with his. It's an intimate position, your front pressing against his as he starts to lead you with the beat.

Of course you knew how to dance; you wouldn't have been picked for this role if you couldn't. 

However, you deliberately misstep a few times, just to play into Phillip’s ego -- his desire for control and intelligence. 

"For such a beautiful girl, you sure aren't the smartest," he jests, and it takes everything within you not to just swing your fist and leave him twitching on the dance floor. You could, realistically speaking, but that would cost you all the mission. And you would not let yourself, nor König or Ghost, down.

Instead, you nervously flit your gaze from him, moving in closer to his chest. By his squeeze on your lower back, you know it's the right decision. "I... I'm doing my best, Sir."

You want to crawl out of your own skin at the way you’re feeding into his misogyny, how you’re downplaying your own strengths.

He huffs, a demeaning, cruel thing.

"I want to shoot 'im," you hear Ghost mutter, and you'd be a liar to say that those words in that tone don't make you clench your thighs together as you sway against Phillip.

"Make it a competition, ja?" König quips. There's... irritation -- anger, maybe -- behind his question. It's so unlike the gentle giant of a man, and that fact alone has your breath coming out in a short pant.

Phillip, of course, thinks it's him making you so flushed.

With a vindictive smirk, he spins you, completely throwing you off balance. Maybe a tad too dramatically, you find yourself falling into his arms, giggling a little bit.

...It's worth it to hear Ghost grumble under his breath through the comms.

This whole situation doesn't feel quite real, and you know that their attitudes are nearly definitely due to the stray in plans. That's fine. That's all it can possibly be. It’s all that you’ll allow it to be.

But your mind has never been kind, and your imagination has always had the habit of wandering.

"Let's go get some drinks, hm?" Phillip asks, his hand falling dangerously close to 'inappropriate hand placement' territory.

You shoot him a seductive smile, nodding as he pulls you to the open bar, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, leaving you glued to his side. It’s a possessive position, and you find yourself wishing it was either of your superiors holding you in such a way instead.

"Don't drink anything he offers you," Ghost warns. You almost have the mind to chew him out for not trusting you with something so obvious, but... There's something about such subtle 

protectiveness that only feeds your elementary style crush on the man.

"I would love to," you reply as Graves leads you to the bar, hand only moving lower with every step the two of you take. Fear trickles down your spine, your hands squeezing tightly together at your front.

"Say the word and we get you outta' there, Princess," Ghost quips, sharp and to the point.

With your hands already together, you manage to reply an agreement in Morse code -- quick, successive taps of the communications button.

"Good girl," König replies, just a touch breathy from the quietness of his words.

You manage not to trip on your feet, but it's a close thing.

a small snippet, because i feel really bad for my lack of posts!! life is so insane atm its like a satire.

[plutoswritingplanet]

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.3

a/n: so i lied about this being the last chapter, there's one more, i know im sorry....... also shout out to my friends, who were unbelievably helpful with the smut part because oh, there's smut here

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (yuuuh yuuuuuuh), Alcohol, like....a tiny bit of Humiliation.

Summary: The month-long courting comes to an end with a bang! As your engagement party commences, wine flows and darker feelings rise to the surface

Pt. 1, Pt.2 Pt.4 (finale)

In the darkness of the night, he still comes to you in your dreams, knife in hand, body taunt and ready to strike. Every single morning, you awake with a gasp, as visions of your tormentor plague you. In some, he slits your throat, reveling in the way red cascades down your nightgown. Other times, it's a quick and brutal stabbing, your insides twisting as you wake. 

But then, there are those rare nights where you rise from your bed, sweat clinging to your skin, as you fight with the pressure in your stomach, try to rid yourself of the images, before making yourself presentable for breakfast. 

Those dreams, nightmares, are the worst. 

White, elegant fingers, grabbing, pulling, pinching every surface of your exposed skin. Defined arms around you, squeezing your pliant body in an embrace that is as tender and romantic, as a snake suffocating its victim. Deceivingly soft lips, mapping a trail down your front, pulling back to reveal teeth, which make that same trail visible, hurting.

In those dreams, he paints you with black. Taints you, until you're molded into his perverse image, until there's no telling where he ends, and you begin. He makes you into a sculpture, in a way that an artist cuts away pieces of clay, slowly robbing you of all agency, until there's only what he wants to see. And you let him, with a trembling smile on your lips, hands twisted into the stained sheets of your bed. 

Ignoring him has become an art form as well.

Since your faithful tangle at the training barracks, you did everything in your power, to never appear in the same room as him, or at least, never alone. You became a shadow in your own home, a whisper of the person you used to be. Shame is a powerful thing, and you wore it like a wedding veil over your face. Paul would always help you, silently. Never asking outright what had happened between you and the Harkonnen, but somehow always knowing. Your brother, your salvation, breaks your heart everytime he grabs your hand, and leads you away from the predator in the room.

The date of your engagement party has been set a week into the future. The nervous bustling of the court only heightening your already wracked thoughts, as the inevitability of your situation begins to haul you to the ground. 

Your Mother took most of the preparations on her back, directing the servants, the kitchen, the musicians. She picked out a dress for you, some flowing abomination, which hung in your closet, reminding you every morning, that you will have to wear it with a smile. You hoped, there will be wine at the feast, hope that it will be sweet enough to dull your insides. 

As the date of the feast comes closer and closer, you begin to spend more time outside. 

The air is crisp and smells of seawater, and you can't help but inhale fully, every time. You want it seared into your brain, so whenever you're taken away from your home, you can run back to this memory, to the feel of grass under your fingers. 

- You'll catch a cold, if you keep sitting here.

Paul's voice brings you back from your dark thoughts, and you look up, from your spot in the grass. He stands a couple paces back, hands folded behind his back in a manner, that is reminding you of your Father more and more every day. 

- Do you want to join me? - you ask, your lips quirking up into a small smile - Or would you prefer to stand there like a pillar of salt?

Your brother shakes his head, before coming closer and plopping down next to you, his skinny legs stretched out in front of him. The both of you sit in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze ruffling your hair, the smell of ocean and the waves crashing into the cliffs. There are seagulls flying over your heads, and you feel the moisture from the grass seep into your clothing. 

A wistful sigh escapes you, before you can stop it, and you let yourself fall, laying flat on the hill. 

Paul looks down at you, undescribable sadness swimming in his eyes, and an instinct of sister awakes in you, a need to comfort, despite being a wreck yourself. So, you offer him a smile, a tired one, but a smile nonetheless. 

- Do you think we could take the horses for a ride today? - your brother asks with naive hope, his eyes turning to the sea.

- Mother won't allow me to go, she wants me to spend my pondering the proper behavior during the feast - try as you might, you can't hide the bitterness in your voice - Besides, I could fall off and hurt the merchandising. 

Paul's hand finds yours, and he squeezes your fingers tightly. It's hard not to break, in moments like these. When you're forced to remember, you'll most likely never see your family again. 

- If I could do something, anything... - you recognize that feverish note in your brother's voice, it's devoid of reason, impulsive, too much like you.

- But you can't, so you won't.

A frustrated sound escapes his mouth, and he turns back to the sea. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, eyelashes falling heavily on your cheeks. He looks like a Duke, you conclude, and that thought feels strangely comforting. No matter where you'll be shipped off, no matter what life has in store for you in the future, somehow, you know your brother will persevere. 

- Do you remember that time Gurney made us train on the beach? - you ask, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over you, as the clouds float in the sky above you - Cause of the... The balance. We had to try to balance in the sand.

Paul twists his head towards you, surprised at the turn of the conversation, before cracking a smile. 

- Yes, he slipped on the rocks, nearly broke his backbone - he starts to wave his hands around in a wonderful reenactment of your mentor's fall, before collapsing next to you in the grass.

Your laughter mingles with the sounds of the sea, as the both of you, the future of House Atriedes, share memories, scenes from the life you've lived together. The good and the bad. The horse races through plains and hills of Caladan, the many, many food fights. It's hard to tell, how much time you spend together, laying in the grass, but when you finally fall into silence, the air has become considerably more chilly. A sign, it's time to return to reality, to your duties. 

- You should've been me, and I you - Paul whispers suddenly, and you close your eyes in a pained expression. 

Perhaps it's true. Perhaps Lady Jessica made a mistake, and gave a Daughter where she should've given a Son. Now, it's no longer important. Your roles have been set in place, all you could do, is fulfill them. Somewhere back, in the direction of the Palace you can hear a voice calling your names. A reminder, that the world outside this grassy sanctuary exists, and can't wait any longer. 

You move to stand, Paul gathering himself up closely behind. Your clothes stick to your body, and you're shivering from the cold, but if you could spend just one more moment exactly like that, you would've taken that chance without question. 

An arm snakes around your elbow, and you lean onto your brother's shoulder, as you start to walk back, steps swaying like a pair of drunkards. Then, Paul tugs you closer, you can feel him tense suddenly, as he leans with a sullen expression on his pale face.

- I hate the way he looks at you - he confesses, waves upon waves of righteous Atriedes fury crashing in his voice.

You don't know how to respond to that, so you stay silent, giving his arm a reassuring tug.

That was the last conversation you've had with your brother.

*** While the House Atriedes is characterized by a rather mellow temper, there was one thing they took extremely seriously. And those, unfortunately for you, were engagement rituals. 

So, that's why you sit posed like a porcelain doll in a deep chair, next to your soon-to-be husband, at the foot of a long table, surrounded by music, and dancing, and food. There are ribbons hung from the high ceilings, and flickering lights float around them like little fireflies. You watch, as they dance above you, the ridiculous headdress placed on your hair digs into your skul. Color surrounds you, your own dress flowing like a waterfall, elegant, yet delicate. The pools of fabric gather around your legs, a chiffon monstrosity, that you know, is supposed to make you beautiful. 

And perhaps you would've felt beautiful, if this was any other occasion. A birthday feast, perhaps. Dare you say, and engagement party with someone you actually loved. 

Speaking of which, your betrothed sits beside you, sticking out like a sore thumb. He looks utterly bored, eyes following the celebrating masses, hand playing with a steak knife. Not enough blood for his tastes, you suppose. He's dressed in traditional Harkonnen attire, which you think, doesn't really look that much different from all the other outfits you've seen him in. Black, sleek, efficient. You must be a curious pair, a mass of colorful materials and a black-stone pillar. 

The wine, thankfully, is sweet. It warms your face, and turns your insides into a pleasant mush. You should've eaten more, but then again, it was a celebration of your imprisonment, and if you wanted to get drunk, you would. And you did get drunk. Quickly. 

The dress moves with you, as you slowly slide down the chair, one leg resting up on the seat. A frightfully unbecoming sight, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Another, clumsy drink from your cup, and you sigh deeply, blinking a couple of times to rid yourself of sudden dizziness. 

Your betrothed gives you a look, whether it's of warning or amusement, you're not sure. And you don't care. Your nose scrunches in the general direction of his smooth head, and you take another sip, just to spite him.

- Shut up - you grumble, a slurr entering your words.

- I haven't said a word - he counters, and this time you can see him smile.

- You're thinking, it's annoying.

Feyd Rautha has an unpleasant laugh. 

Sharp and low, and very rough around the edges. It's like listening to an old spaceship try to take off, and you're sure you don't want to hear him laugh ever again. That's it, your goal in this, frankly, fucked up marriage, will be to never make your husband laugh. Although, it's best not to think about it so loudly, he might be a hidden mind reader, and would most likely laugh in your face every day, just to torture you. 

God. You were going to regret every sip come tomorrow morning.

- You're wrapped like a present - Feyd Rautha leans down with a smirk playing on his full lips, and you have to crane your neck to look him straight in the face - Shall I unwrap you here, while your family watches?

Despite the light tone, you shiver under his gaze. Something in the way his body seems relaxed yet tense at the same time tells you, this shameless man would do it in a heartbeat, if you as much as inclined your head. 

- Gross - you groan, hand untangling itself from the amassing of chiffon to push back at his face.

It's the first time, you've touched him out of your own volition, and even in your drunken daze, you note the sudden glint in his eyes. Fingers grab at your wrist, keeping you in place, as he leans further into your touch, turning his head slightly. Wine mixes with sudden embarrassment, as his lips brush against the meat of your palm. Then, black teeth shine and your heart jumps to your throat, as he bites down on your skin, hard enough to make you jump. Tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your thumb, before giving your fingertip a tiny nibble.

You tear your hand away from him, pressing it into your chest with an appalled expression. There are indents just below your thumb in the shape of his teeth, and the confounding feelings you've been trying to stoke for almost a month now, come crashing down upon you.

He looks satisfied with himself, returning back to his seat, and his steak knife. The utensil reflects the flowing lights, and despite yourself you swallow thickly, turning back to your cup, which is quickly becoming empty.

God, it was getting incessantly hot in this cursed dining hall. 

Whether it was the wine, or the sudden wave of knee-bending arousal washing through you, you couldn't tell. (It was both, you were fully aware it was both) And you're uncomfortable, terribly so. You fidget in your seat, almost painfully aware of the heat, which has now spread further down. The fabric of the dress slides against your body, skin becoming far too sensitive, too hungry for touch. You try to relieve some of your torment, legs squeezing and rubbing together. Treacherous tongues of self-awareness rear its ugly heads, and you look up, and...

Of course he noticed. 

Feyd Rautha places his chin in his hand, and he observes you with a knowing look, which turns dark and terrifying as soon as your eyes meet.

- Careful, lest the court starts talking - he warns you, his voice somehow becoming deeper than before, and you take a shuddering breath.

Dagnerous, this is dangerous.

 You're seated far away from your family, from any consolation, and even if they were close enough to intervene, the masses of dancing people, the sound of their laughter... Your heart stops, a snake curling itself around your insides. Truly, if that beast of a man wanted to, he could make do of his threat from earlier, and take you where you sit. Haunted by that thought, both terrifying and arousing, you down the rest of your wine. 

It doesn't taste as good anymore. Hell, it threatens to come back up, until you force it to sit in your stomach. 

Duncan, you need to find Duncan, or you'll do something incredibly stupid. You'll do something incredibly stupid either way, but at least the regret will be less biting. So, pulling yourself up on trembling arms, you shuffle out of your chair, your betrothed's heated gaze following you on your way through the hall. 

People don't even look at you, too enraptured with free food and drinks, and the music, which flows loudly through the air. Good, in any other case, the Duke's Daughter, stumbling drunk through corridors, would certainly lift some eyebrows. Your feet carry you towards the training barracks, a familiar route you've followed many times. Indulging in sex with your Father's most trusted advisor was not the healthiest form of regulating emotions, but you needed something, and God knows, you'd rather die than get it from anyone else. From Him especially.

The choice is made for you, however, as a strong hand wraps itself around your arm, just above your elbow, yanking you backwards, behind a stone column. The world spins in front of your eyes, and for a second you worry the company of wine warming your insides is about to abandon you along with breakfast. 

- Do you truly thought, you could sneak away from me?

Finally, your eyes focus on Fey Rautha's face, almost demonic in the low light of the corridor. Shadows play on his expression, falling heavily over his eyes, and you try to wrench yourself from his grasp.

- What I do is none of your business - you slurr out, wringing your arm every which way, his fingers digging painfully into your flesh - Let go of me.

The Harkonnen presses himself closer to you, trapping your body between the stone and himself. His nose nearly crushes itself into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, taking a disturbing long whiff. You can feel his chest vibrate against your own, as he groans deep within his throat. It sobers you up in record speed, and you start to thrash in his hold. He subdues your outburst, as if he was made for it, before dragging his nose up, towards your hair. You snarl like a wild animal.

- Let me go. 

His body moves on its own accord, tearing itself away from you in an instant, legs tripping over themselves, to put distance between your bodies. He looks up at you, muscles tense and an expression of shock painted across his pale face. 

The ability to use the Voice was something you rarely took part in. Training sessions with your Mother went well, as expected of a woman, but you still had a lot of work ahead of you. You blink forcefully, steadying yourself against the wall behind you. Then, you notice the borderline murderous look on your soon-to-be husband's face.

- Witch - he spits out, baring his blackened teeth at you.

- I am the Daughter of Duke Atriedes - your voice carries a note of righteous pride, despite dread climbing up your spine - And you will treat me with respect, wedded or not.

He straightens himself with petrifying speed, and as he takes a step towards you, actions overtake reflection. Your hand winds back, and you bring a resounding slap across his sharp cheekbone. While your palm blooms with pain, he seems to barely react, closing the distance between the two of you after a tense beat. Before you have a chance to react again, his hands grab at your face, and his lips crash against yours in a punishing kiss.

Teeth clink together and the momentum of the kiss makes your head collide with the stone pillar behind you. He's fingers dig into your cheeks and your jaw, as he devours you completely, bringing down all your defences in one swoop. You kiss him back, almost immediately, opening your mouth to let him in, to meet his tongue halfway. It's almost grotesque, how much you hate and love this at the same time, the buzzing of the wine mixing with the sound of your racing heart, with the sound of his unabashed sounds of pleasure. 

Hands flail at your sides, as you grab all you can take, pulling him even closer by the thick fabric of his tunic. 

His hands however, know exactly what they want, and as he lets go of your face, they both sink down. Fingers hook into the neckline of your dress, and he tears it down, your entire body swaying with the force of his movement. Your breasts are freed for only just a moment, cold air hitting them in a way that would be uncomfortable, if they weren't immediately covered by your betrothed's large palm. He palms at your chest, as if he wants to crush it, and you bite back a whine, which threatens to spill from your abused lips. 

- Don't - he growls a warning, unoccupied hand tangling itself within your hair - Sing.

And you do. As his mouth descends upon your neglected breast, where he alternates between licks and bites that make your back fly off the wall. Once again you don't know what to do with your hands, finding them entirely useless in the Harkonnen's overpowering grasp. One, grabs at his shoulder, undecided on whether to push him off, or pull him in closer. The other one scratches four lines into his skull, as he sucks on the sensitive skin under your ribs. 

Finally, he detaches from you completely, standing straight and regarding you with a look so intensely ravenous, it shakes you to your core. Your exposed chest rises and falls in tandem with your heaving breaths, and you shiver, as cold air hits your skin. His gaze drinks in your dissheveled hair, the way your lips are puffy and red. A beautiful sight for his blackened eyes. 

- I know who you went looking for - he starts, stalking towards you once again - Can't have that, can I?

You debate feigning confusion, outrage at such accusation, which hasn't really been uttered yet. But, as Feyd Rautha stops just short of the bottom hem of your dress, you suddenly find yourself unable to speak. Instead, as a last ditched effort to rid yourself of him, your hand extends, a half-hazard attempt at liberation. He swats it away, as one would a mere fly, before sinking to his knees in front of you. 

- Lift up your dress, Viper - his voice is like thunder in your ears, and you bite your lips at the sight of his eyes, dark and surprisingly eager.

Hands move clumsily in an effort to gather all those translucent layers. You nearly trip over yourself, earning a rather nasty chuckle from below. As soon, as your legs are visible, he dives between the chiffon, his head dissapearing from sight. You can feel his lips, traveling up the expanse of your calf, giving a light bite under your knee. 

Anticipation siezes your gut, and you grab onto the wall, as if that would save you. His hands grab your leg, skin incredibly warm to the touch for someone who looks so cold, and then, with forceful tugs, he starts to manouver you. 

You let out an unbecoming squeak, as he yanks your leg over his shoulder. Strong hands keep you in place, and he reaches out around the upper part of your thigh to all but tear your undergarments off of your core. The force of this action makes you jump in place on your one available leg, just to hold your balance, and for a second you consider swatting at him. 

That thought leaves you almost immediately after it appears, as an onslaugh of kitten licks unleashes downward. A vague, head like shape moves under your dress, the chiffon floating from place to place like a hypnotizing river. The wine must've heightened your senses to an alarming degree, because as soon as Feyd Rautha begins his ministrations, you're a mess. 

It's honestly humiliating, the way you fight for any purchase on the wall behind you, as he begins to lick in earnes, parting your legs further with one hand, while the other wraps securely around your used leg. While there, he cops a feel of your behind, fingers biting into the soft flesh, and you lock your lower lip between your teeth so hard, you can taste blood on your tongue.

As if he's developed some new telepathic talents, his hand leaves your ass, in favor of winding up, and slapping it harshly. The action makes your jump in place once again, a sound stuck between outrage and glee fleeing your throat, before you have the chance to stop it. Right, "sing", you remind yourself, and immediately feel him change his tactics. 

Your bundle of nerves opens new possibilities of torment, and as his lips close around the bud, you can't help the whine, escaping through your lips. The music is loud, you remind yourself. They won't hear, no one will hear. His hand pushes your dangling leg further up your shoulder, and your back arches from the stone. You will be sore as all hell after this is done, but for now, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters, except the way your betrothed eats you out, like a man who's been starved for decades.

- Oh shit - you curse, hands flailing uselessly - Oh fuck!

All of a sudden, everything stops, and your building peak subsides into a dissatisfactory simmer. Feyd Rautha's head emerges from under the fabric, a terrible, shit-eating grin on his wet lips.

- Such language? - he teases, tongue darting out to lap at your arousal - So unbecoming of a-...

- Fucking don't stop! - there's panic in your movements, as you grab the back of his head, and shove him right under your dress again.

The laughter should be unsettling for you, but he returns to his post with twice as much motivation, and however more strength, and before you know it, your orgasm sneaks upon you. A sudden tightness in your core is all the warning you get, before the coil snaps, and your entire body starts to spasm in pleasure. 

It's good. Incredibly so. You'd risk saying it's the most intense you've ever came, but never out loud, never to him. That shameful secret was between you and whatever God that was listening. Stars erupt behind your eyelids, your breathing stopping for just a moment. 

And then you go deliciously limp, legs giving out completely. 

To his credit, the Harkonnen catches you before you hit the floor, the arm curling around your leg proving to be an unmeasurable support. His head emerges from under the dress once again, and he lets you slide down the wall, until you're seated. He sways on the balls of his feet, still towering you, even as he crouches. 

You swallow, throat slightly raw from all the noise you've done moments ago, and he follows the movements of your neck muscles with greedy eyes. Still greedy, after taking so much. Truly, he was a Harkonnen. And before you can stop yourself, a thought materializes in your brain, a treacherous little information, which would shake you to the core, if your muscles weren't currently made of taffy.

He blushes pink. Your betrothed blushes pink, from the exercise of making you cum on his tongue alone. God, what a precious sight.

He must've noticed the serene smile playing upon your lips, and his nature to ruin comes to light. His hand reaches back, and you freeze in your spot, as you recognize that damned golden steak knife. The blade shines in the dimly lit corridor, making your breathing faster, questions swimming behind your eyes. You don't really want to fight him in this state, but you fucking will, if he tries anything. 

- An engagement present, for you, Viper. - he rasps, licking his reddened lips in an obscene display, which doesn't repulse you quite as much as it should. 

- I have nothing to give in return - your voice is stern, and your betrothed flashes you an evil grin.

Then, he presents you the tip of the knife, golden utensil hanging between his slender fingers, and you look up at him, not understanding what is expected of you. Placing one knee on the floor, Feyd Rautha lowers himself to your eye level, for the hundredth of times surprising you with the sheer grace in his movements. 

- Kiss - he whispers, into the space between the both of you.

Your eyes fall to the knife, then, to him and you take a long, deep breath. Pride, your biggest flaw, takes a deadly hit, as the man twists the knife in his fingers, looking at you expectedly. You hate him, truly and deeply, and it must be showing on your face, because he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, as soon as your eyes meet. 

Swallowing your pride, you keep his gaze, leaning towards the blade. Your lips press delicately against the cool metal and the Harkonnen flashes you a nasty, self-satisfied smirk, before slipping the knife up his sleeve and standing up. 

- I'll see you back at the feast - he gives you a small bow, and you press your lips tightly together.

- Fuck you.

- After the wedding, my Viper.

And with that, he turns around.

 You're left there, on the floor, your dignity in shambles, the exertion catching up to you all at once, as if his presence alone was the only thing keeping you from feeling pain. A stupid thought, you chastize yourself, before slowly pulling yourself from the cold tiles. 

It takes you a couple of shameful minutes, trying to put yourself back together again. The ridiculous headdress, which has slipped all the way down from your hair, will probably never look the same, as when your Mother has styled it, but you can't find it in yourself to care. 

The music still plays, as you enter the hall, and thankfully, no one notices your arrival. No one but your betrothed, who raises his drinking cup in your direction, as if nothing had happened. His face is annoying, you conclude, and turn away, your aching legs taking you towards the center of the room, where people danced and sang in celebration of your engagement. What a lovely sight, what a lovely couple. Opposites attract, right?

Bitter, aching and humiliated, you throw yourself into the crowd, let it sway you from place to place, as you dance away this whole wretched week. The whole month-long courting rituals, which were just a bullshit attempt at torture. 

It's said, that when Death comes to take your soul, you're allowed one more dance before the eternal void. 

So you dance. 

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Maybe Corio goes to District 12 to find Lucy Gray, but ends up falling for someone else at the Hob the night he sees her again for the first time. He gets into a fight when someone is being touchy and pushy with her and Corio gets him off her and the guy punches him and they fight and yeah

Should I do a part 2 where she sees Coryo again later and he has a cut on his face or his hands from the fight?

Warnings: violence, men being inappropriate

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It was his first night coming to the Hob. Coriolanus didn’t have high expectations for the night, having accepted to come only because Sejanus had begged him to. Apparently, it was the place to go after work for a drink, and some dancing. According to the guys in the barracks, it was the place to find ladies too.

Maybe he’ll see Lucy Gray?

Dressed in his blue uniform, Coryo followed Sejanus inside the bar. The music was loud and the place was filled with people. His blue eyes scanned the room, searching for a petite brunette with a funky dress, but he couldn’t see her. 

‘’I’ll get us drinks,’’ Sejanus said, tapping his friend on the shoulder as he pointed to the bar. 

Despite the party ambiance, Coriolanus was bored out of his mind. The beer wasn’t that great — not that he had anything to compare it to — and the music was too jazzy. He leaned back against the wall, nodding at whatever Sejanus was saying, then a familiar voice filled the room. Coryo raised his eyes on the stage, and there she was — Lucy Gray Baird. A glimpse of a smile curled on his lips.

She saw him too, her eyes full of surprise as she smiled and continued her performance with the Covey. 

They moved to another song, more people joining the middle of the room to dance. Coriolanus wasn’t interested in dancing, so he stayed back as he sipped his drink and tried to think of a way to approach Lucy Gray without making a fool of himself. After all, she was the reason he bought his way to District 12. 

Just as he was deep in thought, someone bumped into his shoulder, interrupting his contemplation. 

‘’Oh, sorry,’’ you apologized, your voice barely audible over the lively chatter and music as you tightened your grip on the tray holding the beers so they wouldn’t fall and shatter on the cement floor.

Coryo, still caught in the magic of the performance, dismissed the incident with a reassuring smile. ‘’It’s fine,’’ he replied, his eyes briefly meeting yours. 

You moved past him and handed his comrades their beers, but his eyes followed you, a newfound interest sparking his attention. He stared you down, taking in every little detail from the heart shaped curve of your top lip to the way your apron was cinching your waist and showing off your figure. Coriolanus had never seen someone as beautiful — and there were a lot of beautiful women at the Capitol. 

Through the night, Coriolanus caught himself sneaking glances at you. He wanted to go up to you and introduce himself, but no one cared that his surname was ‘Snow’ in District 12. 

Sejanus nudged his friend with his elbow and grabbed his empty glass. ‘’I’m gonna get another beer. I’ll be right back.’’ 

While Sejanus was gone, Coryo tried looking for you in the crowd, ignoring the smiles Lucy Gray was making at him. He had his eye set on someone else now. Finally, he spotted you on the side of the stage, cleaning tables. You were stacking empty glasses on your tray and diligently wiping away beer rings when a man in a white button-up and a grey vest approached you. Coriolanus’s attention heightened, watching the man. He was standing very close, a bit too close for a customer. Was he your boyfriend? He hoped not. 

The answer was clear when the man began speaking close to your face and put a hand on the small of your back, which you were quick to gently push away, not taking his advances toward you. A frown formed between Coryo’s eyebrows. He couldn't hear the words exchanged, but the look on your face spoke volumes. The man's inappropriate touches left you visibly uncomfortable. You grabbed the tray and tried to evade him, but he grabbed your arm and caged you between the table and the wall as his other hand ghosted up your thigh. 

Sejanus returned with his beer, but Coriolanus didn't notice him; his gaze remained fixed on you and the sickening situation happening before his eyes. The thought of someone treating Tigris in a similar manner fueled a simmering anger within him. Determined to intervene, he pushed through the crowd.

WIthout second thinking, Coryo grabbed the guy by his shoulder, pulling him away from you, and threw his best punch — once, twice, thrice. Each strike landed with precision, and the man crumpled to the floor, blood seeping from his mouth and nose. The scuffle had attracted a few onlookers, their expressions ranging from horror to confusion and shock at the violence unfollowing in the bar.

Coriolanus would have kept going had Sejanus not dragged him away.

—

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[saiidahyunie]

loyalty, royalty, and death by exile

im nayeon x reader || fluff, smut, angst

synopsis: your brother's lover nayeon had already fallen for you behind his back, until she couldn't be yours to love anymore.

wc: 5.2k

warnings: smut, cursing, pining

a/n: school started again for me (naurrrrrr), but be aware for the lack of uploads. :0

—

“haven’t you heard the news?” your fellow guardmate changbin shoves your shoulder, snapping you out of your daydreaming, slapping the middle of his chest plate that makes him falter back from the surprise contact. 

“no, what did i miss?” 

“apparently your brother is in a relationship with the crown jewel of the im dynasty.” 

changbin taps your back, nicking his head for you to follow in the corridors of the castle, following along as the noises of a common area in one of the bigger rooms—the exchange of laughs and cheers once you two reach the room. hanni, one of the other guards, opens the door for you two to enter briskly without anyone noticing. 

“where were you guys?” hanni asks, signaling you to straighten your shoulder pads as changbin scrunches his nose at you, hiding a snicker as the door behind you three shuts behind. 

“apparently y/n needed some fresh air for a bit, she’s been complaining about the armor being uncomfortable.” 

“another yap from either of you two, and i’ll challenge both of you to a swordfight in the training quarters.” 

you finally move around to the edge of the room, your brother felix now in your line of sight, with his brand new love interest right beside him. you’ve only heard from word of mouth, specifically from felix himself since he asked you about relationship advice. 

despite bursting out laughing while shaking your head, your brother’s ears flaring red like there was steam coming out of them, you gave him the typical advice of charming his crush and not to do anything stupid. 

to your surprise, after one gathering at a nightly party outside in the garden, he was able to get past that hurdle with ease, his new girlfriend getting more and more interested as time went on. 

“y/n!” 

you hear felix call out to you while on your way to the horse’s barracks, his girlfriend right behind with her hand in his, a beaming smile across her face once they finally reach you. 

“you need something felix?” you ask, wiping your helmet with a finger.

“nothing, i just figured that i should thank you for your help. in return, i’d like you to meet princess im nayeon.”

“my lady, please tell me my brother here didn’t approach you with his charming deep voice.” 

nayeon laughs, clearly elated to see that you were a very easy person with a sense of humor.

“he did, but don’t worry he did a lot more work to impress me.” nayeon replies, hand clasping hers in a firm handshake, meeting eye to eye of the pretty princess that your brother had managed to rope in. 

“i hope i wasn’t interrupting something between you two, was i felix?” you ask, standing across from them with your helmet in your arm now.

“not at all, i was just taking her out to the lake just now, but we just caught you on the way.” he replies, rubbing his shoulder to ease the awkward aura. 

nayeon looks towards you, eyes trailing at your features on your face, the little strands of hair peering over your forehead, eyes steel cold but piercing with life, how meticulously structured and molded like felix’s face—nothing short in terms of visuals in your family. it was easy to say that nayeon was interested in you from the start. 

“well i don’t want to be holding up you two for too long so i’ll see you guys at dinner.” you say, a soft smile on your lips as you excused yourself from the couple. 

a quick back and forth of goodbyes and you three start to walk away to your respected activities, little did felix know was that you and nayeon would look back at each other as the distance between you two grew larger. 

—

in the several months that nayeon had walked into your life, courtesy of your brother, you found yourself indulging with nayeon more and more with the gatherings that you were assigned to oversee. 

“you don’t have to be in guard mode all the time y/n. you need to let loose sometimes like the rest of us.”

“with all due respect princess, it’s my duty to ensure the protection for you and everyone’s safety at these events.”

nayeon tsks with her mouth, leaning over to you purposefully, spilling her drink over your shoe, making you gasp out loudly over the crowds noise. 

“princes- nayeon what the fuck?!”

she laughs, hysterically.

“it’s always nice for you to have this so called responsibility to protect me, but you’re no fun if you’re just gonna stand there all tainted clad in armor. you want to drink and indulge with the rest of us don’t ya?”

“i’d give you an earful for staining my armor, but i'll save that for another time the next time i see you.”

nayeon grabs you by the hand, leading you away from your post in the garden, to a gate that leads to one of the outer concourses of the castle, an area that would be secluded for you two to get away at.

“if you want to have fun, let me get to know you more.” nayeon says, opening the gate that shows a visible trail—-away from the crowd with the woman that you’ve been interacted with that’s your brothers love interest. 

“i’ll follow you along, princess.” you say happily, extending out your hand to hers, holding her dress as you two walk down the path together. 

—

those meetings with her happen so and so often, it was basically bound to be a regular thing regardless the second you guys are in close proximity to each other. felix would be puzzled because of how you two would return together before he would see nayeon off into the night. he would ask you every now and then but most of the time you assured him that nothing bad was happening with her. 

on winter one night just like the other nights before, you’ve grown to like nayeon. you stand there idly, while the gentle specks of snow sprinkle over your guard uniform, eyes fixed on the sight of her walking down the grand staircase, arm in arm with your brother, her fiance, face radiant with a bright glow that nearly causes you to double over in gazing. 

beautiful, you wonder. she’s always been so beautiful. a small part in your mind knew it was wrong to pine after the potential connection to the nation’s throne like this, especially since you had some sort of status but the title of a disgraced member of the bloodline, who should be blessed to be in the graces of her presence. 

nayeon was different. there was no denying that. you saw the way her brow furrowed in question when both of your fathers and your brother preached that the war was the only way to achieve peace, or the way she’d beg you to accompany her as she snuck out to get away from the talks of politics. 

“we could get caught by doing this.” you whisper, helping nayeon get on the horse. 

“isn’t this supposed to be fun to you? to live with a little danger once in a while?” nayeon reoplies, wrapping her arms around your waist as you ride straight to the horizon. 

you would feel nayeon’s eyes searching for you every meeting, the way her face would be mirroring different expressions of your parents speaking to each other, causing you to snort out loud leading to getting scolded by everyone in the room. 

there was no denying your jealousy for your brother, felix, it was only natural that he would be the one to court her into a marriage while you just stood back and watched the whole thing unfold. you were fond of nayeon when you first met her, she was sweet, very open, and pretty. 

you thought about the possibility of them extending the family in the future once marriage talks were all done and set, promises of a life that you could never give her. 

on one evening, it took every bone in your body to hold back watching various people argue over nayeon’s hand, and worried that she will agree to one. a selfish call was decided when you asked her to come with you quickly, blabbering that you needed to show her something that was important to you. 

“everything okay?” nayeon asked, as you led her up the steps to a closed off balcony in the castle. 

“yeah, i just wanted to show you something.” you answer, trying to hide the jealousy running through your veins. 

fumbling around the pockets and grabbing the key that you stole from the fellow gatekeeper who was a very nice person, you opened the door to the balcony that your parents had forbidden anyone from stepping foot on or seeing. 

nayeon gasped in amazement, face glowing by the moonlight and speechless to find the words that could describe the surprise you just unveiled to her. 

she then notices the vine riddled with roses near the edge, tending to the impressive collection as you followed her, plucking one out and placing it in her arms. 

“a gift for you, princess.” 

“thank you, my guard.” 

you two would spend hours on the balcony, looking down at the various plants and talk about old memories about people they knew. nayeon then turns your body to face you, the silence filling the air with the faint sound of crickets as she looks at you fiddling with a rose in your hands. 

“y/n, is there something that you wanted to tell me?” she asks, voice peeping through a slight hope. 

“uhh.” you begin. yes, i wanted to pull you away from the meeting to tell you that i am deeply and insanely in love with you. i want to take you away from this boring hell hole of a castle and give you a world at your heart’s desires, even if it were to kill me. “nothing, just the secret balcony that no one is allowed to come up to.” you boringly say. 

“ah, okay.” is all that nayeon says, and you walk her back down, head pounding with regret. 

you remember the different nights spent together before your brother proposed to nayeon, the night at the local bar, watching the group of people dance with the mixture of many instrumental tunes. it was all so goofy to think about, making silly expressions, spinning around mindlessly to the banjo and drums playing. you noticed how nayeon’s eyes were glowing with bliss. she hardly smiles like that, you think to yourself. 

“i’m jealous of you y/n.” she says to you one night, as you two quickly walk up the hill, the rain being merciless in pouring. 

“why? what makes you say that?” you enquire, noticing an empty shed outside the castle, dragging her inside. 

you notice her shoulders shivering, her silky brown hair sticking to her face, and her cheeks hinted with red from the cold. she had a scarf wrapped around her dress that wasn’t a viable layer to keep her warm and without a second thought, you slipped off your guard jacket and draped it around her shoulders. 

nayeon looks at you with fluttering lashes, eyes full of something that you just didn’t know or notice. 

“about your question from earlier.” she starts, tightening your jacket around her body. “i’ve always been jealous of how you could just live for yourself, not being forced to follow the ridiculous rules that are expected for a royal member.” 

you pause, unsure of what to say after. 

“you have the right to live for yourself.” you say, after a brief moment of silence. nayeon’s laugh fills your ears, before taking a step closer to you.

“you’re funny, you know that?” nayeon whispers to you, leaving you confused. “maybe i could live for myself, refuse the royal livelihood and marry whoever i want.” eyes flickering to you as she says the last couple of words. 

the last sentence stabs your heart, like losing a joust without the armor. you knew that your time was ticking with her, and she’d eventually marry your brother felix. you and her would still see each other, but the heavenly restriction would only just keep you two apart. it wasn’t over just yet, but you wanted this to last a little bit longer. 

nayeon tiptoes a bit, glancing at your eyes before trailing down to your soft lips. you catch yourself leaning in closer, feeling the strong urge to meet them, to show how badly you loved her, and how you may just be part of the royal guard, but you would kill to be with her, and run away to some place where she could be truly happy. 

reality comes calling and you stop, pulling away to point at the window next to you two,

“the rain stopped.” you say, heart beating rapidly but also melting away with regret, again. 

“oh.” is all that’s heard from nayeon’s mouth, and they walk back to the castle in silence, neither of you willing to address the thick fog of confusion and tension hanging within the air.

you drag yourself back to the present with a few blinks as you stood there, on guard, waiting to hear to what the major announcement was. 

“my fellow subjects!” you hear your father exclaim out, everyone in the hall came to a standstill including nayeon and her family, and you suddenly realize that the marriage wasn’t announced to the public yet. 

“in a momentous celebration to commemorate our victory in the war, my prince will marry the lovely princess nayeon of the im dynasty!” 

a white screech pierces your ears, drowning out the cheers as the whole world around you just crumbled. heart heavy and your legs turn into jelly. this has to be a trick right? your eyes try to meet with nayeon’s but she was frozen with the reminder, still as a painting, and your head spins. 

the people were cheering and hugging each other, as you keep the order in the hall, your father’s words still pounding in your ears. 

—

later that night, you stand outside nayeon’s door, questioning yourself if this was the right move to see her or not. your mind had a protocol to follow, but all of that was in the back of your mind since you only knew one thing—you had to see her. 

so you knock twice, before you hear the gentle voice on the other side of the door prompting you to come in, and you enter, walking straight to sit on the edge of her bed. right beside her, as always. 

“princess nayeon.” you say, sitting next to her like a dog with its owner, eyes locked on her and only her. 

“just nayeon y/n, i have to keep reminding you every day.” she jokes, tapping your shoulder, making you tense but you gather your thoughts. 

“we already knew, but this pretty much makes this official doesn’t it, marrying my brother felix?” you ask, voice slightly breaking from an emotion that you still couldn’t fathom to understand. 

“i don’t have a choice. but if this is their step towards celebrating peace, then i can’t do much about it.” nayeon mumbles, leaning forward on the bed, face crestfallen. 

she looks so sad, you think to yourself, and your heart was breaking for her. the guard role and title didn’t matter to you since you genuinely wanted to comfort her, taking nayeon into your arms, promising her that she would always be safe with you, saying that you’ll love her for lifetimes and many different universes. 

you open your mouth, like a grunt escaping your lips, causing nayeon to look up at you. you clear your throat soon after, and you catch yourself staring at her for a few minutes. it was all so usual for you to do, and you stand up to walk to the window, still having no words. 

“what is it y/n?” nayeon asks, face beet red.

“nayeon.” you whisper, kneeling in front of her at the bed again, placing your arms on both sides of her legs. “i know this is wrong for me to say this, but you have every right to punish me for the words i’m about to say to you, but princess, i am madly and deeply in love with you.” 

nayeon’s mouth drops, and you look away, excusing yourself to leave, the regret from your words no longer there but this was against everything you took an oath for as her in the name of the elite guard. nayeon places a hand on your arm, causing you to kneel in front of her again. 

“what do you mean by that? for how long?” nayeon asks, unable to decide which question was more pressing to you. 

“since i met you for the first time and laid eyes on you. i feel like we’ve been in this situation before in another time that i can’t explain.” you try to explain, knowing that the words probably wouldn’t make sense but you had to give your reason in your love for her. “i’m so happy that it’s you that i love. the world feels a little lighter whenever we look at each other, calming my nerves that’s turning inside me, and i don’t want anything more for us to hide away from the world and be in love together, alone.” 

nayeon tilts your head up with her long, soft fingers, and notices the way you still refuse to make eye contact with her. 

“y/n.” she whispers, leaning her face closer, causing your forehead to touch with hers, “look at me.” 

always astute to follow orders, and you look at her, nayeon leans in, placing a soft kiss on your lips. this broke the drawbridge within you, wrapping your arms around her, shifting the position so that you were above, the kiss becoming more and more desperate by the second since the both of you knew that time was running out. 

your lips move down to her neck, placing small pecks all over the area, your warm breath lingering over her collarbones. you reach to her chest, and the vein in your neck twitches from a simple look at her breasts, causing your body to overcome with oozing lust.

holding yourself back, you sit up, lips swollen and red, trying to collect your breath as you look down at nayeon’s messy hair, lips like yours, desire pulling you in for more. 

placing your hands between her face, “i love you so much.” you mumble in between the kiss, causing nayeon to giggle against you.

“i have too, you idiot. i’ve been waiting for you to notice for so long.” she says, and you could legitimately die from that moment she said that to you. 

“let me rephrase, i’ve wanted you for so long.” you whisper, lips grazing her chest.

“why don’t you show me how much you’ve always wanted me.” 

nayeon’s fingers laced with yours, taking extra care as you showered every part of her body with soft, loving kisses as soft moans are falling out of nayeon’s mouth. 

“i have,” you mutter between kisses again, “never done this before.” you say breathlessly, nayeon scratching your hair out of affection.

“this is also my first.” she laughs out, and tugs at your collar. “get this off, now.” 

the next few minutes are filled with stripping, and you guide nayeon to lay on her back again, the soft moonlight breaking through the curtains illuminating her nude body. you gasp in rapture, unable to control yourself any longer. 

you gently slide nayeon’s legs open, tracing patterns with your lips on her inner thighs, eyes locked on ther face, the want to give her nothing but pleasure, the only objective in your mind right now.

tracing your finger along her wet folds, she gasps when you insert a finger inside of her, causing nayeon to moan and throw her head back against the pillow. you slow your pace with another finger, rubbing her clit in between the motion, eyes filled with a loving haze. your cunt was throbbing at the sound of her moans filling up the room, you just wanted to make her feel good. 

“i need-” nayeon says suddenly, “your mouth, please.” 

you happily oblige, latching your lips to her pussy, causing her to groan out louder as she grasps the back of your head. humming into her leaking core, you insert your fingers inside of her, legs twitching at the new stimulus clouding her mind as she’s lost in the pleasurable contact from you. 

“you’re mine only.” you whisper out before diving back into her pussy, tongue slicing through the center as you feel nayeon’s back arching off from the mattress. she was going to cum sooner thatn you think, the rhythm of your mouth doubling back in pace. you shoot yourself off from her pussy, kissing her cheek as you continue to pump your fingers inside of her. 

“to think that you’d marry my brother, he won’t love you the way that i do.” 

you mutter those hot words into her mouth, pinching her clit as well as pressing past her g-spot causing nayeon to finally come undone, holding her for dear life soon after she’s recovered, almost worried that they’ll be ripped away from each other, mumbling declarations of love over and over again in the ungodly hours of the night. 

—

the next few weeks that passed were exchanges of stolen kisses and escapes to the outer field and courtyards, much like teenagers with the way they expressed their newly blossomed love. 

you and nayeon weren’t complete fools though, and neither of you wanted to address the preparing marriage. nayeon just pretended that it didn’t exist in her mind, whereas the thought of it crossing your head drew out a sense of jealousy for your brother. 

on one night, after another round of love, nayeon sucking the core out of you, her head is found on your chest, twiddling her fingers across your breasts and the bud of your exposed nipple, quietly listening to your beating heart. 

your fingers were laced in her hair, ears filled by the gentle breaths breezing through your nostrils. 

“you should run away with me.” you propose suddenly, sitting up with nayeon’s hand with yours. “i may not offer much, but i promise to give you everything that you want and need.” 

“i don’t need anything but you, and i’m fine exactly right where i am.” nayeon mumbles, making your throw a dumb smile across your lips. 

—

you pace around your living quarters with a surge of excitement. in just a few hours, you’ll leave this godforsaken place, hand in hand with nayeon as you embark on a new life of freedom over the chained life of royalty. 

as you walked to her bedroom in your family’s castle, hands tightly holdling a small box in your pocket, you hear your name being called that makes you stop in your tracks, turning around to see your father and brother walking towards you, face wearing an unusual smile. 

“y/n.” your father says, opening a door that was a few steps down from nayeon’s. “we need to have a talk about something important, come.” 

you nod, following orders without bearing a question past your lips. 

the door closes and your brother takes his place next to your seated father, you standing across from them—a confrontation that could only spell disaster. 

“felix here has been telling me that you’ve been fooling around with his fiance.” he starts off saying, face looking cross with a harsh tone welded to the words. 

“with all due respect sir,” your father knew that he hated the formality that you put up whenever talking to him, “i wasn’t fooling around. i love nayeon, sincerely.” 

“not for long you are.” your father scoffs out, your brother looking down with a bleak smirk on his face. 

“what is the meaning of this?” you ask, standing your ground, fists loaded. 

“it’s quite simple for you isn’t it y/n?” felix says, almost mocking your attitude. “you love nayeon so much that you’d do anything for her?” 

“without question.” 

“then we order you to do something for us.” your father says again, leaning closer. “you tell nayeon that you don’t love her, and she gets married to your brother. she’ll be able to live a life of wealth and grandeur, and you’ll be cut off from the family entirely.” 

“and if i refuse?” 

“she’ll die on the degree of treason. not you though, since the judgment for you would be living the reset of your life knowing that your actions led to the demise of the person you loved dearly. remember, i have eyes and ears spread across this kingdom. you and nayeon will never live in peace.” 

you wanted to scream, defy against your father and brother, bolt to nayeon’s room and get out of the place you despised so much. but you were smart about this, how else did you get into the family’s elite guard in the first place. your father would be able to find you both and you couldn’t do anything to get nayeon hurt because of you.

“okay.” you finally say, surrendering to your dad’s power. “i’ll accept your terms.” 

“good, felix take y/n on your way out will ya?” your father replies, satisfied with the decision. as felix grabs you by the shoulders, ushering your way out and down the steps. 

you and felix stayed silent as the both of you made your way to the dining commons, fighting back tears from the events that just happened about twenty minutes ago still fresh in your mind. 

“you know, nayeon asked me for my permission about you.” felix says out of nowhere, making you stop in your tracks, facing him at the surprise confession. 

"what?"

“i’ve seen the way she looks at you, her and i have known each other since we were little. but when she saw you that day, her eyes looked so different compared to when she’s with me.” 

you fight back tears that were about to spill from your eyes, biting your inner cheek, knowing that this was all too late to salvage anything from this point. 

“i was never in the right position for her anyway.” you say, “we both know that i was never fit to be royal material, that’s why i joined the elite guard.” 

“i’m sorry y/n. i really am.” felix replies, “maybe if things were different with how everything is, all of this wouldn’t have happened.”

“felix, it’s fine.” 

“i just wish we had a different scenario for the both of us.” he says to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, not willing to meet his eyes. “you’ll find someone like you, eventually.” 

you clench your jaw at the last sentence, frothing internally from the comment your brother just uttered, fist ready to break the nearby pillar next to you. 

—

a day later after the confrontation with your father, you walk towards nayeon’s room once again, mind numb as the words rang in your head. the only way to protect nayeon was to destroy her, and you let out a bitter laugh at the cruel joke your mind just constructed upon yourself. 

“y/n!” nayeon gasps, rushing towards you and engulfing you in a tight hug. you look down at the princess who had a blissful face. were things supposed to end like this? to rip her heart to shreds? the one you fought so hard to win? 

you stood still, like a stone, face stern with a mixture of emotions swimming underneath. nayeon notices this unusual behavior, and places a hand on your chest.

“my love, are you okay?” she asks you, and you take a sigh before taking a step back, waving her hand off your chest, confusing her. 

“i think, i have to confess something to you.” you state, trying not to meet eyes with hers. 

“what are you talking about?” 

“all of this,” you say, waving your finger between you two, “everything that i said and did, it was never meaningful or real.” you almost choke on the words you forced yourself to utter out. 

“so you’re saying is–” nayeon cuts herself off, voice breaking before even finishing the sentence. 

“fuck, i’m trying to say that i never loved you, okay?! this wasn’t all supposed to happen in the first place. all of it.” you regret the words as soon as they leave your lips.

nayeon’s eyes widened, biting her lip, fighting the urge to cry in front of the people she didn’t trust. you clasp your arm, doing everything in your willpower to not comfort her. 

“of course, that’s how it is then is it?” she laughs out bitterly, sitting on the edge of her bed, face full of hurt. “all of this was just to mess with the esteemed princess and ruin everything good that’s happened in her life for the past weeks. this just proves everything that i feared about you.” 

you stood there, not letting the resolve break you in front of nayeon. 

“nay-” 

“get the fuck out.” nayeon yells urgently, and you turn away in a flash, door slamming behind you as you stumble on the steps once alone. 

—

weddings, they’re the worst. 

you stand there at the beginning of the ceremony besides the bridesmaids, the only girl there wearing a suit, hands clasped together as you watch nayeon walk down the aisle, hugging her father before facing your brother, her new husband to be. 

she looked so ethereal to look at, and you were fighting your inner conscience, wishing that you were in felix’s place instead, hearing the exchange of vows—the agreement of a lifetime of love and security with her. instead, here you are, on the sidelines, nothing but a mere member of the audience, trading your love for the promise of keeping her safe. 

you wanted to object, defy the presentation and speak your truth, taking nayeon down the aisle and away from everything that you spoke in your bedside talk with her. now, you just watched as felix and nayeon share a kiss, and they both walk down—arm in arm with her new husband and she offers a fake smile to everyone, you always knew that her eyes would always light up when she was smiling with genuine intent, and avoids looking at you. 

the reception was at the nearby hall next to the chapel, holding the box in your hands in a secluded corner away from the crowd. your father calls you over, seeing your mother and felix stand beside him, pressing your lips knowing the gravity of the situation from this point on. 

you move past the three across from you, your father signaling the guards waiting at the doors to be shut  once you were outside, closing you off from the family and nayeon from your life forever. 

[sprout-fics]

October has a Friday the 13…

Scary movie night with Fix and Ghost?

Scream (Simon Ghost Riley x Reader)

(This is so late my deepest apologies. Coming in at the very last moment with a Halloween special)

Rating: M Wordcount: 2.2k Tags: Domesticity, Established relationship, Bickering, Cuddling, Sleeping together, Pranks, Practical Jokes, Sexual tension Warnings: Death by garage door, Blood mention A/N: Written for my OC Fix, but can be read as a standalone

“No, no, no don’t go in the house with the serial killer you stupid girl-”

The TV flickers brightly in the dark room you and Ghost are relaxing in. Luminance dances off the walls and your wide eyes as you sit transfixed at the grisly scene about to occur on the screen. Your legs are propped up on Simon’s lap, where he sprawls comfortably with his legs wide and an arm thrown over the back of the couch. His other hand rests on your thigh with warm familiarity, a simple touch that somehow conveys so much.

It’s a quiet evening, one spent in mutual company in the flat you’ve both recently come to call home. While originally his, he’d gradually acquired to your presence here, allowing you to move in your few belongings from the barracks into the previously sparse space. When you’d arrived he’d had a bed, a nightstand, a couch and TV in the living room, and little else. 

“Typical male space.” You told him at the time, and Ghost had the gall to look offended.

Since then, the flat has become fuller with the addition of new furniture and decorations. A vanity for the bedroom, a table with chairs for the kitchen, an easy chair and coffee table for the living room, all trimmings you had convinced him of. Now, the flat is cozy, homey, warm with the lingering sensation of somewhere lived and loved. 

Tonight, glowing lanterns hang from the front porch, brightly smiling pumpkins enticing trick or treaters up to the front step to ask for candy. You’d been delighted at the prospect of handing out sweets, though Simon had been ambiguous about the affair. Understandably so, for his hulking size and skull balaclava were sure to make a poor impression on the children that huddled on your front step.

He’s silent as he watches the movie, ignoring your quiet commentary as you bunch a blanket in your grip. You can tell that your lieutenant has either seen this movie before, or is so immune to scary movies in general that this doesn’t phase him. It makes sense for him. You’ve hardly ever seen him scared. Even in the face of certain death Ghost has always stared back, as if daring the cold, skeletal reach of the grim reaper to try and take him.

You, however, remain tightly coiled in anticipation at the scene before you. The colors of the TV dance off your wide eyes as you watch the young trim blonde on the screen enter the garage without a care in the world. She bounces down the steps easily, cleavage clearly on display and not noticing the dark figure that lurks behind her.

You suck in a sharp breath, and Simon casts you a sidelong glance. You think he may be smiling under his mask, but you’re not entirely sure. You wouldn’t put it past him if he was entirely amused at your fright. Even so, he squeezes your thigh for just a moment before releasing it, a tiny, wordless gesture of reassurance. 

“Bet he’ll go for her throat.” He intones dryly. “More blood that way.”

You tear your gaze from the TV long enough to frown at him, and he tilts his head to meet your gaze, eyes glinting with mischief.

You open your mouth to retort, but not before the killer on the screen stabs forward into the girls back. The party music within the house pulses loud enough to cover her cries, and as she stumbles away from the man in the ghost mask she sobs and begs for mercy. You watch as she fumbles with the controls to the garage door uselessly, before ultimately trying to wiggle out through the dog door. 

“No- oh my god, no the garage door!” You gasp, watching in horror as the murderer presses on the button to wrench the garage door up bit by bit. “Oh no!”

You cover your eyes with your hands, but even so manage to peek through your fingers and squeak as the girl’s screams cut out- her body is crushed between the door and the ceiling. A terrible, grisly end.

“Unexpected.” Simon offers flatly, and then huffs a laugh as he turns to you. “Pet, you hunt terrorists for a living. This shouldn’t scare you.”

“It’s different!” You declare, face warming. “I’ve never seen a terrorist crushed by a garage door.”

Simon pauses, nods at that with a little shrug. “Point taken.”

A knock on the front door, followed by a chorus of children’s voices. You spring eagerly from the couch, nudging your boyfriend’s foot pointedly as you sidle towards the front door to coo over the trick or treaters gathered outside. 

“Oh look at you all! I love your costumes! Here, take as much as you want, there’s plenty.”

Simon considers for a moment, and decides to follow you, standing still in the hallway, just at the corner of darkness. The kids digging their hands into the candy bowl pause at the looming, skull faced figure lurking in the shadowy corridor. You follow their gazes towards Ghost, who hovers ominously staring at the kids in costumes. 

“Can you not?” You hiss as they begin to pull away, but it’s too late. The kids flee from your front step back to their parents, squealing at Simon’s terrifying presence.

“Sorry for my boyfriend!” You call after them. “He’s just an idiot.”

You hear Simon chuckle behind you, as if gladly accepting the fact purely for his own amusement. 

“Of all the nights-” You sigh in mild annoyance as you close the door with a click. “This is the night when you decide to commit to the serial killer aesthetic.”

Simon hums a low, rumbling sound that catches deep in his chest. He steps forward to encircle his muscular, veiny forearms around your hips, dragging you flush to him. You squirm, but a hand dips to grasp at the swell of your asscheek, forcing a surprised squeak up your throat.

“Gonna kill ya.” He tells you as you struggle not to smile.

“Jokes on you.” You reply breathily, hands snaking up to his chest to splay flat against the muscles there. “I’m the final girl.”

When Ghost abruptly hoists you up into his arms, you feign a shriek of terror. 

“Help, please, he’s going to kill me!” You laugh as you’re carried off to the bedroom, the movie forgotten as it flickers brightly in the den.

—-

You’re not sure what wakes you up.

You’re used to sleeping in foxholes, safehouses, aboard helicopters and inside rocking trucks. Your history of long, grueling days with no rest and midnight stakeouts have made it so you can fall asleep just about anywhere. Yet the training of a soldier doesn’t fade even off duty, and you know as soon as your eyes open that there is something that is amiss.

“Simon…?” You slur drowsily, reaching a hand out to the other side of the bed to feel for his massive form that should be curled beside you, breathing low and deep as he slumbers.

Empty. Cold.

That startles you into something closer to wakefulness, eyes blinking in the darkness as you raise your head to look for your boyfriend. Yet the room is empty, silent, and even the noise of the house down the street with its Halloween party has now quieted into nothing.

A clatter of something down the hall, and you jolt, instincts coming fully online. Alarm has your heart race higher in your chest, breath quickening as the flat goes eerily silent once more. You shiver as you pull aside the blankets, skin chilled by the frigid air. As quiet as you can, you rise to face the bedroom door, left mysteriously ajar.

“Simon?” You echo again, a little louder, feeling uncertainty squirm in your stomach.

The vision of the killer from the movie floats into your thoughts unbidden, of the darkly clad, knife wielding maniac hunting down innocent victims and bleeding them dry as they cry out in vain for aid. You will it away with a small shake, forcing yourself to dispel your fearful delusions. Simon probably just went to the bathroom and accidentally knocked something off the counter, is trying to stay quiet so you go back to sleep.

Even so, something cold and tense seizes your limbs, and you chew on your lip at the undeniable sensation of something wrong.

You’ll just check to see if he’s alright.

You pad over towards the door on quiet feet, unable to stifle the tense sensation of awareness that prickles at the back of your senses. When your hand closes around the doorknob, you feel goosebumps erupt across your skin- chilled by the strange shadows that seem to lurk in the corners of your room. Gently prying it open, you carefully peek just beyond the threshold down the darkened hallway.

You almost don’t see it at first, the massive shadow that moves in the darkness. There’s no light from the bathroom, and it isn’t until the figure moves only slightly that your stomach drops down through the floor.

“Simon…?”

The thing freezes, turns, and it's only then that you see the thing in its grip.

A knife.

Terror rushed up through your lungs in a gasping breath of air. You’re frozen to the spot, unable to move, petrified by this intruder who has forced his way into your home. You need to move, to lock the door, to try and call for Ghost, but just like those teenagers in the movie you can’t seem to force yourself from where you stand.

The stranger turns slowly, inch by inch, even slower than your heartbeat, until at last he faces you.

A white mask, dark, voidless eyes, a misshapen mouth stuck in an eternal scream.

Terror slinks into your veins like dark tar, gripping at your lungs as they fill with a scream that can’t quite escape you. It clogs your throat in a wheeze even as you try to cry out, the masked menace fully facing you-

And charging.

You do scream then, ears ringing with the sound of your own voice, reeling backwards away from the door. Logic kicks in, and you scramble back to try and close it, chest heaving with uneven, gasping breaths. You slam it shut just in time, closing it so hard that the masked figure collides with the wooden sharply, stumbles backwards with a familiar curse.

“Fuckin’ Hell.”

You pause.

Then you wrench the door open.

Your boyfriend sits on the ground, cradling his face, now absent from his cheap, plastic mask. A low, rumbling groan escapes his throat as he rubs sorely at his nose, the toy knife in his hand tossed to the ground beside him.

It takes an almost embarrassing amount of time before your mind catches up. When it does, the full indignation and embarrassment at having been caught off guard flushes through you in a hot wash of anger.

“You’re an asshole.” You hiss at him, feeling your face warm. “That wasn’t funny.”

Simon doesn’t look at you, still cradling his nose. He does, however, give a small huff, unable to hide his amusement at your reaction.

“Think you broke my nose.” He tells you flatly, and instantly your anger tempers as you flick on the hallway light, kneeling down to inspect him. Sure enough, when you pull up his mask to reveal his nose there’s a small drip of red that bleeds from one of his nostrils.

“Serves you right.” You declare with an unempathetic look. “For running straight into the door.”

“Good reaction time.” He returns, and without his mask you can plainly see the corner of his lips uptick with a smile.

“Not a good way to test it.”

“Point taken.”

You sigh at him, sitting back on your haunches and making to wipe your bloodied fingers somewhere on your pajama pants. Before you can, Simon reaches out to grab them, dragging them forward to his lips. You stifle a shudder as his tongue flicks out, encircling the digits to suck the blood off.

“That’s fucked up.” You tell him, wrinkling your nose. Ghost merely hums around your fingers, and if you didn’t know better you’d almost think it was a moan. “What are you now, a vampire?”

Simon stills, tilts his head to look at you in the darkness with keen, glinting eyes. 

You know that look. 

“Ah- no.” You tell him, unimpressed. “Not until I fix your nose.”

He seems to agree to that with a small nod, but presses closer all the same, licking his lips free of his own blood. 

“After.” He declares, voice low and suggestive, and you can’t help the small shudder that runs through you, trying and failing to frown at him. He can see the humor in your expression though, because a dark chuckle rumbles in his chest as he leans over you, forcing you to fall back onto your elbows. He looms over you dangerously, slides a knee up between your legs and hums in approval at the small, breathless sound you give him in return. You hear the rasping excitement of his voice as he dips his mouth down to the shell of your ear and whispers there:

“Killer gets the final girl.”

Full Series: Snowblind

[hihhasotherfixations]

Kinktober Day 2: A/B/O - Price x Reader

Kinktober masterlist

CW: I wrote it gn, however, in my mind, all omegas have uteri. In other words, man, woman or gn, omegas have a cooch in order to make babeh. Sooo, it’s gn but with afab anatomy :3. Attempted assault (aka unwanted claiming – though not by Price), a/b/o dynamics, claiming, mating marks, unprotected p in v, possessiveness, praise, knotting, scenting

Word Count: 5602

This was supposed to be a drabble/short fic. Oops. Please keep in mind I won’t be writing long fics like this very much cause doing that every day is impossible, hence me posting this a day late and also at 4am :’)

But I hope you enjoy!! Cause I did have fun writing it UwU

Walking across the tarmac of base, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, a skittish feeling rising in your gut.

For the last few minutes, you’d felt as if you were being followed, your instincts going haywire, making you extra conscious of the scents in the air. And you had to, for you were an omega. 

With a world made up of 63% beta’s and 24% alphas, the omegas were usually left out or singled out. And it was dangerous.

Throughout history, omegas had been plentiful. There was an omega for every alpha, multiple even. But as time went on, it became less and less desirable to be an omega, causing for selective breeding- and mated pairs to be made. Where there once was an omega for every alpha, slowly it became a beta for every alpha – and with the influx of beta’s, alphas’ numbers too dwindled, leaving the world in the state that it was today.

And while the percentages had changed, instincts hadn’t.

Glancing over your shoulder, you finally saw it: a body ducking behind a wall too slow.

It was no secret that the military was a breeding ground for alphas, the high status individuals drawn to the hierarchy and power-filled environment. That however, left omegas like you.

Even with modern day medicine and modifications, instinct was something that was impossible to suppress, and the low amount of omegas left in the population caused for those instincts to go haywire in alphas.

Any unclaimed omega was at risk. It is why suppressants had been invented, to ensure the safety, choice and free will of all parties involved.

Hiding your scent with the suppressants and making you as invisible as a beta, you were supposed to go under the radar. And you had been. In your entire career in the military, everyone had thought you were a beta. There was only one person in your team who knew – your captain, Price.  But he never treated you differently for it.

Walking on, you repeated those words; ‘only Price knows, only Price knows’ like a mantra – but no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you were just paranoid, the man kept following you, causing your anxiety to raise.

Turning the corner to cut between buildings and get to the barracks quicker, you’d barely taken a step before your shoulder was grabbed and your body turned.

Harshly, you were pushed to the wall, your eyes wide as you looked at the black-haired, well-built man in front of you, his pupils dilated as he took you in - you were so deeply stuck in your head that you hadn’t heard him run up.

“Knew I smelt it.” He spoke lowly while his hands squeezed at your shoulders, confusing you while his form eclipsed yours. Before you could even open your mouth to ask what he meant, he leaned down to press his nose into the side of your neck where he sniffed, groaning in response.

Feeling that, your breath hitched, overwhelmed by the amount of pheromones he gave off, your nose clogging up and making you whimper on instinct.

That seemed to satisfy the man however, a low humming coming from him. “Unclaimed and walking around so shamelessly?” He grinned, pulling his face back as he instead placed a hand on your throat, keeping you under his thumb and pinned to the wall.

Your hands were on his chest, your breathing heavy and panicked. “Get off-“ You growled when he leaned back in, your right hand grabbing onto his face as you pushed his chin up, making the alpha growl in disdain.

“Stop that-“ He hissed the order, squeezing your throat which had your muscles freezing as his fingers pushed into your sensitive scent glands. It broke your focus long enough for him to grab your wrists and trap your arms together by your side, freeing himself up while his other hand stayed on your throat; commandeering. “Be a good omega and listen.” He huffed while nearly depriving you of all oxygen, your breaths small and weak.

Your mind however was spinning. He called you an omega. He was clearly acting on instinct and smelling you. But there was no way he should be able to.

With your arms pinned and your oxygen fleeting, you did the last thing your frantic mind could: slamming your knee up into his crotch before you swept his feet out from under him, causing the two of you to topple to the gravel together.

Slamming down side by side with a grunt, you struggled to pull your arms free but the man – to his credit – was quick, finding his feet fast enough to get on his knees and roll you underneath him, pinning you once more. His eyes fiery and angry, he re-gripped your neck, baring his teeth.

“You-!” Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as he was suddenly grabbed by the back of his uniform and thrown off of you.

“What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, soldier?!”

Immediately, your eyes widened at the familiar voice, looking up to see captain Price standing between you and the alpha he just yanked off of you.

His feet firmly planted in a wide stance, Price’s hat cast a shadow over his face while he stood there, glaring at the one in front of him.

“C-Captain.” The guy mumbled from where he was laying in the gravel, seeming thrown off for a moment before he scrambled up, tugging his shirt back into place with misguided confidence. “This isn’t what it looks like, there was no need to interfere.”

Those words however, seemed to light a fire in Price as he stepped forward and grabbed the raven by his collar. “Oh really? Cause it looked a whole lot like you assaulting my soldier.” He hissed, pulling the man close towards his face.

Getting to your feet, your heart was still thudding in your chest as you looked at the two men. Their anger filled the scent in the air, neither seeming to want to back off as the sergeant – as you now saw on his chest – glared back at Price just as vehemently.

“I am entirely within my right to pursue an omega.” He growled, grabbing Price’s wrist to attempt to pry his hand off his shirt, but Price held fast, his head tilting.

“But that’s not what this was, is it?” He chuckled darkly. “Courting looks very different, mate. And I’m not going to allow you to lay a hand on my soldier, my omega.” He growled right back, a possessiveness in his voice and scent that quickly had the other alpha questioning his chances.

Even among base, Price was well known for his status. Not only as captain but also because he came from a long line of alphas, kept ‘pure’ by not mixing with betas.

Though it had been something Price had lamented to you about – giving back for you sharing your secret with him – now it served its purpose, causing the sergeant to take a step back.

Price allowed it, letting go of the man’s shirt with an authoritative shove, still keeping himself positioned so that the other alpha couldn’t even see you behind the captain’s broad shoulders. “Scram before I have you written up for forcibly marking.” Price spat, his voice low and filled with danger as he glared.

Stumbling back from the shove, the sergeant stayed for just a moment longer while he clenched his fists, looking at Price before he accepted his loss, scurrying away and back around the corner, out of sight.

The moment his immediate scent left the area, Price un-tensed, sighing out before he turned to face you, a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay?”

Standing before the man, your breathing was still shallow, your hand cradling your throat as the reality of what happened settled in. In panic, your eyes shot up to his blue ones. “Price, I- I don’t know what happened, how he knew- I-“

Before you could continue, Price stepped up and pulled you into a hug, his breath stuttering a little as he did, though he held you all the same.

“It’s okay, just breathe.” He mumbled, cradling the back of your head. “This is on me, not you.”

“What?” You asked, pulling back to look at him, your eyes a little foggy as you tried to keep your panic down. “You came to my rescue in time, you’re not to blame.”

“No, that’s not…” Letting out a breath, Price stepped back, turning his head away to take a breath, trying to contain himself as your scent filled his nostrils, only seeming to get worse by the moment. “Come with me, I’ll explain.”

Confused, you nodded, taking a little step back and Price started walking, the sun beginning to set behind you.

His pace was firm while he kept glancing around, obviously still riled up from the confrontation earlier. And while you walked in silence with him, your mind was anything but.

Despite it however, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice any of your thoughts, simply following while you pushed your hands down on the scent glands on either side of your neck, hoping to stop spreading around your true nature.

Before long, you reached the 141’s barracks, walking inside and straight to Price’s office, to which he opened the door and let you walk in first, stepping inside after you where he closed and locked the door.

“What’s going on?” You managed to get out, still keeping your hands over your glands now that you were in a locked area with Price. Though you trusted him explicitly and knew he wouldn’t act on his instincts, you knew it was hard for him to fight against it. So to help his discomfort, you kept your hands firmly locked around your neck.

At your question, Price let out a deep sigh as his hand slipped off the doorknob. “You’ve been off your suppressants.” He eventually said, raising his head as he walked past you to his desk, making you frown in confusion.

“No, I’m not.” You spoke back. “I’m taking them. Every day.”

At your words however, Price shook his head no and opened a drawer low down his desk, bent over as he rummaged through it. “Those aren’t your suppressants.” He said as he found what he was searching for and smacked a pill bottle onto his desk for you to see. “I accidentally gave you the wrong one.”

Confused, you glanced at Price who had a guilty and frustrated look on his face before you glanced down at the pill bottle and walked up to his desk, pulling the container towards yourself.

Written on it in small lettering, there it stood.

‘Omega Scent Suppressants Recipient: Y/N L/N’

Snapping your head up, Price stood there, rubbing his forehead while his eyes were clenched shut. “I accidentally switched my migraine pills and your suppressants.” He spoke, sounding truly frustrated with himself. “I got the shipment for both on the same day and somehow mixed them up.”

“Oh…” You whispered and Price sighed, sitting down in his chair.

“It’s why I’ve been sick the last three days. I took what I thought was a pill for a migraine last Wednesday but it was your suppressant. It royally fucked me over physically. And it kinda still is. I wanted to take another migraine pill just earlier and that’s when I noticed.” Price explained, taking off his hat and rubbing his temple slightly before he raised his head and guiltily looked at you. “Which also means you’ve not taken your suppressants in a week.”

Realisation setting in, you gingerly sat down in the chair across from the captain, stunned. “So… their effect is wearing off and-“ “And the entire base can smell you’re an omega because of my cock-up.” Price nodded. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. There’s no excuse, I should have been more careful.”

As his words sank in, you then looked up, shaking your head. “No, captain, this isn’t all on you.” You spoke, reaching out to grab his hands which he had clasped together on the desk. While this whole situation was fucked and dangerous, you weren’t about to let him eat himself alive – which you knew he would- and most likely had been doing. “You looked at those bottles twice to take a pill. I’ve been staring at mine every day and haven’t noticed. Don’t blame yourself for not noticing sooner because I never noticed at all.” You spoke, the smallest of smiles on your face and Price frowned.

“You’re taking this too lightly.” His voice was firm as he said that. “Even if you start your suppressants again now, it’ll take a day or two to take effect. By then, even if you hide away in your room, your scent will spread – if that bloody bastard hasn’t already squealed to his friends-“

Just at the mention of the other alpha, Price’s hackles raised again and you jumped in, holding his hands with both of yours now, pulling them a little closer to yourself. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s… not optimal but it would have to come out eventually. If I start with the suppressants again, maybe people will know I’m an omega, yes, but they won’t be driven mad by instincts. I’ll be fine.” You smiled but Price frowned in distaste, his muttonchops curling downward.

“I wish the world worked that way, love. I know alphas. And especially alphas in the army. As long as you’re unclaimed, they will behave like feral dogs, ripping each other to shreds just to get to you. You’re no longer safe. Especially the coming days.”

At his words, the blood drained from your face. “I can block my scent, it’ll be fine.” You said quietly, and Price just shook his head no with a sad smile.

“You’re going into heat soon. I can smell it on you.” Saying that, almost as if saying it out loud made it real for him as well, he pulled his hands back, gripping the edge of his desk as he blew out a breath. “God. You don’t know how hard it is for me to just sit here right now.”

At that, you looked up at him, feeling incredibly small of a sudden. “Then what can I do?”

“Either get claimed by someone you want, or go on an indefinite leave.” Price spoke. There was no room for argument, no room for any other possible options and tears filled your eyes.

“Leave?”

Sighing, Price got up from his desk and rounded it, turning your chair and crouching before you, taking your hands in his. “That’s not what I want. You’re my soldier. And a bloody good one too. But as my soldier, it is my job to look after you and keep you as safe as I can. This is the only way I can.” He spoke, his voice quiet, nearly a whisper at the end.

“Don’t make me leave.” You begged softly, feeling so defeated.

“I know. I know.” Price mumbled, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You’ll always be my soldier.” He assured, a little smile on his face. “And when you find…” Uncharacteristically, he stuttered in his speech, trailing off, almost as if it was hard to get out. “-And when you find a good mate,” He eventually managed to say, “you can come be my soldier again.”

Those words however struck a chord within you, his words from earlier playing in your mind. “Your soldier.” You repeated in a whisper, your eyes landing on his. “Your omega.”

As you spoke that phrase, a blush flamed to life on Price’s face, unable to be hidden even by his beard. “I- That was a spur of the moment thing. It shouldn’t have slipped out, I’m sorry.”

“Slipped out?” You ask softly, a small bead of hope beginning to settle in your chest. “Are you saying those words are normally in your mind?”

Sitting before you, Price swallowed, his breath a little laboured. “God, don’t do this to me.” He almost pleaded, the gravel in his voice increasing as his body unconsciously began to lean closer, his chest almost touching your knees. “I won’t be able to hold myself back.”

“Answer the question, captain.” You whispered and Price rattled out a breath, your scent starting to overwhelm him, causing his body to respond in kind, giving off his own receptive pheromones.

“Yes, they are on my mind.” He growled, getting up from his crouch as he instead loomed over you, placing his hands on either side of the backrest of your chair, caging you in. “Every damn day.”

For the umpteenth time today, your heart started hammering in your chest, yet for once, it wasn’t out of fear or anxiety. “Captain…” You whispered, seeing your own hopes and wants play out right in front of you.

“Leave, Y/N, before I can’t hold myself back anymore.” He whispered while his hand came up to cup your chin, his face leaning in next to yours as he closed his eyes, taking in your addicting scent. “Fuck-“ He huffed, having to physically restrain himself from nuzzling into you. “Go. Now.” He ordered yet you stubbornly stayed put.

“Is this something you want, captain?” You whispered, your own eyes closed as well as you took in the waves of want and need cascading from him. “Not just your instincts?”

At your words, he let out a short chuckle, turning his head to push his brow into your temple, the pure image of barely contained need.

“I’ve been wanting to court you since you first arrived at this base.” He growled, his lips now so close to your ear it nearly reverberated through your body. “You don’t know what you do to me. Please go. Please. I can’t pull away.” Price pleaded, a mix of want and despair.

“Price, I don’t want to.” You whispered back, his eyes opening at that.

“What?”

Carefully, you pulled away and turned your head to look at him. “I’ve already chosen who I want to be claimed by.”

At that, the man almost seemed to falter, re-gripping the backrest of the chair to keep himself standing properly as he looked at you, trying to steel the excitement rippling through him as he processed the meaning of your words. You wanted him. “Are you sure? This is a lifetime commitment.” He mumbled and at that, you couldn’t help but smile, the omega inside you almost floundering at the care he displayed.

Throughout all your time you’d known him, Price had been a pillar of safety and support. No matter what, he’d been there for you, and you’d fallen a long time ago.

This man was the only one you’d entrusted with your secret and the only man you could see yourself being with. And because of it, you said the next words without hesitation.

“Please, I want you. Always have.”

As if a flame alighted in Price with your agreement, his lips slammed into yours. Reaching down, he lifted you up faster than you could have expected as his hands grabbed onto your thighs, hoisting you up and supporting you against his body.

Squeaking in surprise, you wrapped your arms around his neck for stability, holding onto him while you kissed back, your eyes closing. The coarse hairs of his beard scratched against your skin while he moved his lips, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

Even as he started walking, Price didn’t break the kiss, his scent becoming overpowering in the most delicious way while he walked out of his office and down the hallways to his room, his hands starting to squeeze and fondle the meat of your thighs.

In record time he had reached the door, kicking it open before rolling inside, using your body to slam it shut as he pinned you against the wooden frame, finally breaking the kiss fully, giving the both of you time to breathe.

“Fuck, I’ve waited so long to do that.” Price whispered, leaning down and pressing his nose against your neck, groaning as your scent fully enveloped him. “My omega…”

At his words, a flutter coursed through you, happier than you could believe to hear him say that – actually say that.

“Please claim me, alpha.” You returned in kind as you begged, causing a shiver to rack down Price’s spine, his pupils blown with lust as he nipped at your neck before he pulled back to look at you.

“Gladly.”

With that, he pulled back from the door after locking it, swiftly walking to his bed where he lowered you down, carefully placing you on your back before he allowed himself to get on as well, climbing over you.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” He whispered, finally able to openly stare at you as he took in how well your uniform clung sat on your body.

Laying beneath Price, your chest was heaving as you took him in. His hat was nowhere to be seen, forgotten in his office while he trapped you beneath him. The muscles of his arm bulged underneath his shirt, his chest moving with every breath as he shifted, moving to slot himself between your legs.

“I’m going to ask this one last time, love.” He spoke in a low tone, leaning down as he pressed a kiss by your chin before moving up to the corner of your mouth, kissing there as well. “Are you sure this is what you want? No going back.” He murmured, one of his hands landing on your waist, rubbing back and forth.

“I want this.” You said immediately, reaching your hands down to grab onto his belt, pulling him closer to you. “I want you, John.” You whispered and Price groaned, placing his hand on your cheek.

“You’ll have me.” He mumbled before kissing you, starting to untuck your shirt from your camo pants with his hand still on your waist, his palm immediately darting underneath the fabric the moment it could.

His hand was warm and rough, sending shivers up your spine as he traced your ribs up, stopping just short of your chest.

Humming in delight at the feeling of his hand, you began to undo his belt, the clinking sounding through the room besides your shared heavy breathing. Price didn’t seem to mind as he hiked your shirt up further, seeming just as eager as you were as he broke the kiss and smiled down at you.

“Look at you, already so good for me.” He hummed with a smirk.

Sitting back on his haunches, he reached over his head and grabbed his shirt at the back, yanking it off of himself before throwing it to the side, revealing his bare torso. Dark hair was scattered all over his chest, running down in a v-shape towards his stomach where it ran down until it disappeared into his happy trail, obscured still by his boxers – visible now that you had opened up his pants.

You were unashamedly staring and it was clear Price enjoyed it.

Staying put for another few seconds to let you stare, Price then leaned forward to hover over you again, his dog tags swinging by your neck now that they were no longer tucked under his clothes. “Show me.” He whispered, tugging at your shirt and you bit your lip, nodding as you obeyed the command.

Reaching down, your torso was bare in no time, making Price groan appreciatively. Grabbing hold of your waist, it was dwarfed by his large hands while he leaned down, starting to kiss from your stomach up to your neck, making sure to nip and suck at your nipples before he moved further up, starting to rub his cheek past yours before he leaned even further rubbing the side of his neck to yours as he scented you.

Your scent glands, extra sensitive due to the oncoming claim, caused you to shudder as he rubbed his own into yours. Slowly, what had been so distinctly alpha and omega in the air now mixed into one as Price then moved onto the other side of your neck and scented you there as well, a groan in the back of his throat as his hips bucked into yours.

Just feeling his erection - straining against his clothing - caused a whimper to pull from you as you quickly faded into the submissive mentality that came with a claiming; your instincts taking over.

“Fuck, please, I need you.” You whimpered, almost feeling as if you’d gone into heat just from how needy you were becoming, your underwear stained with your own arousal, making it uncomfortable to stay in.

“I know, I’m here.” Price soothed, equally riled up though he managed to hide it better, putting you as priority while he began unbuckling your pants, quickly discarding it together with his own, leaving you both in nothing but underwear.

Seeing the wet stain on the fabric, Price growled low in his throat as he placed his hands on your inner thighs and spread your legs, giving himself a better view while he rubbed his thumb over the spot.

The scent of your arousal filled  the air, joining with your combined pheromones and that was enough to do the alpha in, his patience faltering as he reached out and ripped through your underwear, tearing the fabric before he threw it away – useless now.

Transfixed, he stared at your glistening folds, his erection straining against his own underwear as he now used both thumbs to spread you open, getting a good look at every part of you. “Fuck, such a perfect pussy.” He spoke almost under his breath, as if it wasn’t meant to be said out loud. Yet you heard all the same, making you whine as you bucked your hips towards him, almost inviting him to take you.

Something Price wasn’t going to pass up.

Quickly discarding his own underwear, Price panted as he grabbed hold of his cock. Pumping himself a few times, you could see he was leaking precum, his tip an angry red while he positioned himself back between your legs, the tip pressed to your folds.

“I’m going to claim you. My mate, my omega. Do you understand?” He spoke, his voice a low gravel and you nodded desperately, making Price groan as he leaned forward and buried his face into the side of your neck, his eyes closed. “Are you ready?” He whispered and you hummed, spreading your legs even wider.

With that final consent, Price then began pushing his cock into you.

Sliding inside inch by inch, you gasped for breath while the alpha stretched you out, taking his time as he moved bit by bit, his hips stuttering whenever he did, as if he was still firmly holding himself back.

Yet none of that was on your mind, as all you could think about was to feel him inside you. Without warning, your legs wrapped around his waist before you locked them together and pulled, forcing Price fully inside of you, causing a groan to leave him as your wet heat enveloped him entirely.

Immediately, the faux-heat that had began to develop inside you rocketed the pleasure to eleven. Just the feeling of him entering you had your toes curling as you gasped, borderline on the brink of orgasm already.

Caught off guard by your action, the alpha then steeled himself, firmly planting his hands on your hips. Given how wet you were, Price slowly began to thrust, unable to wait while he leaned in and kissed you, his beard scraping deliciously against your skin while he began fucking you.

What started out slow quickly picked up in pace, neither of you willing to wait. While you let out little breaths every time he bottomed out, the captain grunted in pleasure while the sound of skin slapping on skin began to ring in the room.

“Fuck you feel so good. Exactly like I imagined.” Price huffed as he kissed around your throat, his right hand coming down to push into your clit.

Immediately, your back arched and you whined loudly, causing the man to keep rolling his thumb over the nub, your shallow breathing turning to little moans while he thrusted into you, your head feeling thick and foggy as you could barely comprehend the orgasm you were on the precipice of.

You didn’t even have time to be embarrassed. The two of you had barely started before you were already orgasming as he pushed down onto your clit one more time, making you moan as you arched your back, your walls beginning to clench and spasm around the alpha fucking into you, an appreciative groan echoing from his throat at the feeling. “Bloody hell, love.” He panted while you trembled.

Even as you rode out your orgasm, Price never stopped thrusting, a ring of white appearing around his cock from your cum now as he pushed right through.

“Fuck, John-“ You moaned, not even given time to recover or breathe as he started speeding up his thrusts.

“Keep going like this and I can’t hold out long.” Price groaned, grabbing the back of your knees before pushing up, pinning them to your chest as he put you in a mating press, his cock dragging in and out of your walls at a rapid pace, making your whimpers and moans increase.

Where there usually should have been overstimulation, now you only felt pleasure, the uncanny ability for an omega to turn the sensitivity of pleasure up yet remove overstimulation rearing its head. After all, the more aroused and pleasured, the more fertile, as well as to keep up with an alpha’s stamina in rut.

“John- Alpha-“ You cried, completely trapped under him as he put his full weight onto you, keeping you in a mating press for him, causing his thrusts to hit deeper than before, his tip hitting straight onto your g-spot with every single thrust.

His hips slapping into the back of your thighs, you were a panting, moaning and sweaty mess, barely able to hold onto your own mind as he fucked you straight towards another orgasm, his shaft squelching with each thrust, making you whine as slowly, the base of his cock started to swell.

Panting, Price began stretching you out further and further with each thrust as his knot began to grow, indicating his climax was near.

Every thrust became more shallow than the previous while his movements sped up, fucking into you now to chase his own release as his knot slowly became too big to fit as he pounded into you.

“God, I’m gonna make you mine.” Price panted, his eyes focused, dead set on your neck and you whimpered out a moan.

“Please, please, fuck, I need your knot!” You begged, pushing back into every one of his thrusts now, needing to feel the swell of his cock inside you, feel it plug you up to keep his cum in, fully marking you as his, inside and out.

“You want it, love?” Price panted, smiling as he kept thrusting, the bulbous knot at the base of his shaft teasing your entrance every time, beginning to push in before it met too much resistance and the alpha pulled back before thrusting again.

“Yes!” You whined, grabbing onto the chain of his dog tags to pull him down. “Please!” You cried and that was all it took.

Groaning loudly in pleasure, Price tightly grabbed hold of your hips and pulled, pushing his cock into you at the same time, forcing himself past the resistance of your tight entrance.

Instantly, the both of you moaned and Price started shallowly thrusting as much as his cock allowed, his release mere moments away as he continued to thrust.

“Fuck, fuck-!” The captain growled before darting forward and sinking his teeth into the point where your shoulder met your neck, slamming into you as deep as he could go at the same time, grinding his pelvis into yours while his knot swelled fully as he came.

Hot, white seed shot into you, painting your walls as his orgasm washed over him.

With his teeth embedded in your flesh, he marked you inside and out, pumping his hips as he filled you with release, his knot trapping every single drop inside of you as ropes of cum continued to spurt into you, filling you up in a sensation you’d never experienced before.

Moaning at the feeling, it hurtled you into another orgasm as you sharply arched your back, causing Price to bite down harder as he created the mating mark, making sure he wouldn’t slip even as you squirmed, the pain only intensifying your climax as your breath was knocked out of you, your walls attempting to clench around his knot but unable to, simply too stretched as they were.

Yet as Price’s high faded while he became fixed to you through his knot, you were still on cloud nine. With both your orgasms, the heat in your body faded, replaced by a pleasurable thrum that flickered in your belly.

The both of you were panting and sweaty, Price pulling away from your neck, a deep bite mark sitting right around your left scent gland.

His mark.

With his seed kept inside you by the plug of his knot, and the permanent mating mark around your scent gland, you knew you were now full and well Price’s omega.

[nightolmaster]

For my new YouTube Banner to show representation of my new direction content!

The main characters.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Sara Montiel (Vera Cruz, Serenade, Run of the Arrow)— She began her career in the 1940s and became the most internationally popular and highest paid star of Spanish cinema in the 1960s. She appeared in nearly fifty films and recorded around 500 songs in five different languages. She always tells how when she met Marlon Brando, she cooked fried eggs for him and he said they were the best eggs he had ever tasted. She confronted Franco himself first by rejecting his invitation to sing at his Christmas party, and then when she went to the barracks to ask that the police let the homosexuals that they had detained be let out. She defended them tooth and nail, and that's why they returned all the love by turning her into the icon of the gay community in Spain.

Marilyn Monroe (How to Marry a Millionaire, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Some Like It Hot)— Ngl I thought you all were lying about sexual attraction until I saw Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Sara Montiel:

Marilyn Monroe:

She's amazing!!! A classic bombshell, as well as a strong women who overcame so many obstacles. She also advocated for others, like Ella Fitzgerald.

That fucking saxophone that cuts in whenever she appears on screen in Some Like it Hot

I mean, it's Marilyn Monroe. She's adorable. She's gorgeous. She funny. She's the total package

She's the original American sex symbol, an iconic beautiful woman with eyes you could get lost in, legs for days, gorgeous hair, and a cute tummy. Her voice! Just listen to her voice!!!!!

She is considered one of THE sex symbols of the 1960s and one of the greatest actresses of all time! She HAS to be on this list!

no vintage movie woman is more iconically hot

People are most familiar with pictures of her in the white dress or the Happy Birthday Mr President one, but imo she is at her most beautiful and looks most comfortable when she is photographed by women like Eve Arnold

It’s Marilyn Monroe. If Aphrodite was an actual person, she’d be Marilyn. Do I really need to say more?

What can I say that hasn't been said? Marilyn's legacy is so much bigger than she was in life. She's a defining symbol of 50s and 60s Hollywood sex and it's obvious why. She was absolutely stunning and the camera loved her.

[callsignvenomcod]

a soft life

Prompt: Retired! Simon Riley. A slow life in a Manchester farm.

warning: mentions of PTSD, mentions of cartel related violence, mentions of violence, MDNI.

PS: Opening line is from the book "Jarhead" (2001) by Anthony Swofford.

______________________________________________________________

A story.

A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterwards he returns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he's finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son's diaper; his hands remember the rifle.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

For a long time, it was hard to convince himself he deserved to grow old. It might have been a given fact to some other people but not for those in the military, not for Ghost, at least; not after Tommy and Beth, or Las Almas or Johnny. It took him a lot of time to be grateful to be almost 40. For several reasons, he never saw himself living past 20.

And now he was opening up the crates of the chickens he kept in his very own farm, a piece of land he actually owned, without a mask on, very far away from the bullet sounds and a barrack, from the mud and the camo, away from everything and everyone, not sound in the horizon but the chickens and Riley, the border collie dog he got, barking at a three somewhere in the distance.

He retired the summer he turned 40, there was a ceremony and everything, with Laswell and Price and he got more chest candy that would eventually end up in a wooden chest, never to be seen again, under the bed. There wasn't a reason, he just had to. He was in his prime, physically, but his mind was made of glass lately, everything rubbed him the wrong way, couldn't even train recruits without snapping too hard at them, making them quit, yell at them too much, scare them too much, beat them up to a pulp too much.

Every man in the military had a story. A life before, a life after. And in the middle, sand, or mud, or just camo. A war that last years, a mission that lasts hours. Silence and nosie.

He, like other recruits, like other Sergeants, Lieutenants, Colonels, had shadows over them. It took months for him to stop looking over his shoulder while doing the big shop on a sunday, started going to those overnight groceries store to shop alone instead. The butcher's reminded him both of his adolescence and the carnage he had caused, flinched whenever he saw a mohawk kid walking down the street, looked twice sometimes only to find a stranger.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets, aye.

He turned in his paperwork and retired silently with lots of medals under his name, lots of dead men and probably women under his knife, missing friends, missing nerves and too scarred to be a model now. Ha.

Oh, and Y/N's wanted to get away at some point anyway.

Y/N. The last drink he never should have had, the cut that made him hide his face, and the party that made him feel his age. Pulp's words, not his. All it took was a few nights shopping at the Tesco she was working in as a cashier, late night shift, for them to become acquainted.

A year of mutual pinning, a single night in which Y/N placed the bourbon bottle and the batteries inside of the paper bag and looked up at Simon, change in hand (because he paid in cash always, no traces behind) and smiled at him. COVID had made it easier to transition from the skull balaclava to a medical mask and then to a bare face, so Simon looked at her behind the black medical mask and stared at her while she opened her mouth.

-Why do bees have sticky hair?

Simon blinked, looking down at her. -Pardon?

No line behind him. It was the first time the cashier talked to him other than "Goodnight" and "Drive safe", or "It will be 5.66, please". There was a faraway sound of some sort of 80's American pop music, something to pass time by. Simon had noticed her since the first time he came into this very same Tesco a few months ago, had noticed how she sang along whatever music was on, how her Tesco blue uniform looked too big on her, making her look insanely small and slinky. He noticed how she was always almost without a medical mask and whenever she used it, it was laced around her chin; he noticed short, clean nails, and a heart necklace over her chest, a pair of dazzling dove eyes, full hips, a belly.

He really noticed the full hips.

The girl fucking giggled and repeated. She must had a bit of Irish in her judging by the sound of her accent. Simon felt as awkward as a teenage boy in front of any girl ever -Why do bees have sticky hair?

The man shook his head, still confused, a quid in his hand.

-Because they use a honeycomb.

Ah, a woman after his own heart. Such a lame joke.

He snorted out a laugh.

It simply slipped and he memorized the name tag before grabbing his shopping bag and shaking his head, hearing her giggle behind him as he exited the store, and he came back two days later after convincing himself he needed two jars of red bean jam instead of the usual one.

Sometimes he could still hear the bullets.

And now she sleeps here; and Simon had stared at her sleeping form wondering how much time it would take for her to start hating his way of loving, of being, how many times he would go silent on the phone, a bad texter, a worst caller, how he hated crowded places and loud noises and most of their dates happened in her flat, when her roommate was out, staring silently at a film on TV, her friends thinking she's getting her brains fucked out by an experienced, older, lust thirst Vet when in reality, Ghost was gathering up the courage to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

And now she sleeps here.

In the crook of his neck, his thigh over his hip, wild hair all over the bed, sometimes inside his mouth because he stopped using a mask a while ago.

In the mornings, tangled in their bed, warm sheets, the soft breeze of Riley sleeping under the bed, her sweet sweat and vanilla scented skin under his, it took Simon a few seconds to realize he was sleeping in the company of someone; in the arms of a woman and in his own bed, a king size bed with soft white sheets that were washed and changed every 5 days, not a twin bed in a barrack, that his years of active service were over, not forgotten, as if, but that he could allow himself to become whatever he might end up becoming if the 141 didn't happened.

-Come here, boy. Come here, Riley. Yeah, yeah...- said Simon scrunching down to caress right behind Riley's ear, the dog sticking out his long tongue and barking of joy mixed with the hyper sense of his breed, the soldier being careful not to break the eggs he held in a small basket. Simon had found him a puppy a few months ago, seemed like years really, in a litter box with 6 of his brothers and sisters, a beat-up cardboard sign reading "For adoption." And Simon picked up the only one with a lazy ear. He knew deep down that Y/N would appreciate that and simply put him in the passenger seat of the black Bronco truck he owned and drove all the way back home. -You're up early, eh? You having breakkie with us?

He had fallen into a comfortable routine now. He would wake up, crawl over Y/N's sleeping figure, careful not to wake her with the crack of dawn, 5AM with the BBC on his headphones, a 6'2 shadow jogging through the hills of the outskirts of Manchester, for an hour only the dark of the road, the eventual baby blue of the sky, the warmth of the sun. Sometimes Riley was up for it, sometimes he stood behind cuddled up in their room. And upon his return he would work out in their driveway for another hour, noticing the growing presence of what the media now called a "Dad Bod" (Y/N's words, not him) and eventually hearing soft barefoot steps coming from the room.

There was tea for two before he had to head out, get some tasks done, and a soft kiss hanging from Y/NS plush lips, and he would always try to push it, try his luck. He would smile against it, whispering "Good morning..." with a lazy voice, hands on Y/N's full hips, kneading them, in need of them, and Simon would press up with hard on against her stomach, while deepening the kiss.

It never failed to make her wet. It never failed to make her forget the kettle on the fire for a minute and simply give into his kiss, his embrace; him, overall. Simon would pick her up, easily, laid her on the counter, and her robe would open for him, with or without his help, and she was always so wet for him, so ready to do it.

-Simon...- she will say. - Breakfast...

And he wasted no time into twisting her words, dropping to his knees as if he was in the presence of a saint, of a virgin, of the end of the world, staring at her glistening cunt first thing in the morning, looking up with the adoration she deserved; she would gulp and argue it was not what she meant but she would recoil and whimper when Simon stuck his tongue inside his cunt anyway, overlapping her folds, blissfully eating her out before the sun was completely out.

The dog kept barking all the way down to the house, past the barn and the driveway, the small stable with the one horse they had, the pen he was building to eventually own sheep, and Simon felt the cold breeze of the early morning seeping through his black knit sweater and his jean jacket, as he walked all the way across the grass fields and into his porch, the swinging chair Y/N liked to read in, in a need of a reparation.

-Right...- he whispered to himself seeing the hammer he left outside to remind himself to fix the damn chair, bloody hell. Riley's nose peeked through the front door, opening it with ease and technique allowing themselves in, and the cold of the outside world was quickly gone.

Simon stepped into a cozy home, with a color palette he would have never picked, all warm yellows and oranges, pinks and whites, and soft cushions, warm blankets, a picknick turntable in the coffee table; and music, soft music he didn't recognize coming from it, a spinning record on it with yellow and pink lyrics, a girl signing about a loved one, and another voice, a present one, horribly trying to sing along.

He snorted out a laugh when Riley started barking and the voice was interrupted abruptly.

-Simon?...- Radio silence. -Babe?

Oh, the sound of his name in her mouth.

He crossed his living room, stepping into the kitchen, holding four eggs in a small bowl, one from each hen they owned, and he stood in the door frame, just a tad taller than him, admiring the view. He had endured white missions in the Russian winter, literal months of the gruesome torture and gory tasks and they all suddenly made sense because there was a girl.

Ah, there was a girl, alright.

Today was English breakfast. No peas for him, no sausages for her. It was stereotypical but easy to make and no one was around to judge them anyway. Next house was a few miles down the road, and even the road was far away, the town was a 30-minute ride. It was their little bit of heaven. The man stepped in, handing her the basket like every other day and kissed her temple, as she grilled some tomatoes slice ups leaning back against him. His hands would find her hips again and she would yawn with intimacy, hair still a mess, thighs still sticky. -Teas on the table, love. It's gone get cold.

-Ah, it's alright...- he said, hugging her tightly, as she kept leaning on him. -Slow morning today, eh...

She had been there and stuck around whenever the PTSD started acting up. She was the one that loved him when he started going fucking mental; and stuck around when she found her burning up SAS gear, a lost look in his eyes as he did so. He would throw in a Ghost mask and watch it burn for a moment, before murmuring a shocked sob and reaching out into the flames to retrieve it. She stuck around while he drank too much bourbon sitting on the porch, skull mask on, his dogs' tags held so tightly his knuckles will go white with force. Y/N even stuck around when the nightmares came, and she would wake up to Ghost whimpering on his side of the bed, breaking a cold sweat, his jaw tight and her brows furrowed, screaming out "Johnny! Johnny!" before waking up in tears, in raged hot tears down his cheeks, short of breath, his head a full of bullet noises and sirens wailings, pictures of his team and the blood and the grease paint. A mess. A shaking shadow.

Every October 11, she will make sure to hold him a little tighter, kiss him a little softer, love him, if it was possible, a little louder.

And she was here now, cooking breakfast, no peas for him; now he was living a soft life, with tea every morning, and a dog named Riley, with soft hands that wondered around his chest whenever he thought about Soap too much, about Gaz and that helo. But she was here now, and she had no sausages today, as they sat down on their small chair in their small kitchen in their small farm. He was living a soft life, and he didn't think of himself as worthy of it, but he must have been done something good to have her cooking breakfast and sleeping in their bed and caressing their dog under the table.

Tomorrow, Ghost would ask her to come out to the porch to find her reading swing fixed and a wedding ring.

She's going to say yes.

He didn't heard the bullets anymore.

_____________________________________________________________

Hello! Venom here.

Thank you so much to anyone that's been liking my story.

Happy 2024!

[b1rds3ye]

Before the Mask

You eagerly return to the Federal Security Service’s base from a month long mission hoping to see Nikto again, but you’re told he’s not around. In the meantime, you find your interest piqued by a mysterious masked figure now wandering the barracks…

Pairing: Nikto x GN!Reader

Reader Aliases: Seeker

Word Count: 7.4k (I did NOT expect it to get this long so pls enjoy~)

Genre: Pre-Modern Warfare/Prequel, Fluff, Mystery (?), Reverse Comfort, Light Dose of Angst

Warning: Descriptions of injuries, swearing, mentions/portrayals of mental disorders, insults against physical experience, probably ooc Nikto, Reader is a lil oblivious

A/N: everyone being down bad for masked men Ghost and König but y’all forgot my man Nikto 😩 😩

“Congratulations to our dear comrade Seeker for their success and safe return!”

There were cheers all round as you entered the room. By the time you reached the main table, your back was sore with the slaps of congratulations and a job well done. The Russian Federal Security Service had sent you under the radar for a month long operation, and your comrades gifted you a surprise night of drinks and games upon your return. Even your fatigued body was energised by seeing familiar faces, and you had to give it to yourself, that last operation was probably the best you’ve ever performed. There was no better way to celebrate - surrounded by your allies… however it seemed one was missing.

“Where’s Nikto?” You questioned the troops surrounding you. It was an innocent inquiry, no one should be surprised, before your mission you were two peas in a pod. And yet the instant his name left your lips, the faces of your friends cracked for a split second before they forced their smiles to return. The area around you had gotten quieter. Your shoulders rose as you inwardly cringed. God, that’s embarrassing, you’re dampening the atmosphere to your own damn party.

“Brother Nikto is busy,” one replied. “He’s on field duty for the next few days-”

“Weeks,” another quickly corrected.

“Oh…” You frowned at their words, slumping back as you put your whole weight on the backing of your chair.

“He sends his regards, said he really wanted to come,” the troop added hurriedly.

“You worked hard the last month, Seeker. Do not push your mind now,” a sergeant tried to refill your drink upon seeing your dejected state, but it did little to quell the disappointment. Of course neither you nor Nikto could decline a mission, but you didn’t realise how much you were banking on being able to see Nikto again. Going undercover you interacted with no one but your direct superior. You missed him; he may be a little rough around the edges but he was steadfast and reliable. He may not have a face sculpted by Michelangelo but he had a rugged handsomeness that had made him a sight for your sore eyes. He wasn’t the most talkative but he had a drive and charisma that motivated you to keep fighting when he was in your sights. Oh well. For now, you’ll make the most of tonight and chase up Nikto later.

You took a massive gulp of your refilled drink, slamming it back on the tabletop half empty. You let your eyes scan across the room, only for it to land on a figure leaning against the opposite wall. The moment you two make eye contact he flinched, snapping his face away. And what a face - or lack thereof. His features were obscured by a smooth mask made of hard black plastic (or metal, you weren’t sure) that hugged his face like bandage wrappings. He wasn’t the largest figure in the room but he was still imposing enough for you to be unable to look away once you noticed him. It didn’t help that his entire body was clad in black, more akin to an assassin or ninja than a soldier. And like a ninja, he left at unimaginable speeds when he noticed your eyes were still on him.

You leaned over to the soldier beside you.

“Who was that?”

“Who?” They followed your gaze, only to be greeted with an empty wall.

“There was a guy with a big, bulky mask, haven’t seen him before. Did he join while I was away?”

They were silent for a few moments but you swear you heard them quietly curse at your question. They cleared their throat and nodded slowly.

“Yes, new guy. Don’t have a name for him yet. Probably shouldn’t ask.”

Over the next couple of days, you managed to pry Nikto’s number from one of your mutual friends. You didn’t want to look desperate to talk to him but you figured you were restrained enough after an entire damn month. His mission shouldn’t be undercover so he’d have access to all contacts. You shot him a casual text, a greeting and a wish that his mission is going well. Then it was the waiting game, you can’t imagine Nikto being an avid texter that eagerly hops onto every notification.

You had a few weeks until your next deployment but that didn’t mean you could slack off. In days like these you waste the hours away in the shooting range, in the last aisle where you’re tucked and hidden away.

Arms steady, breath slow, you shot at the target. This pistol was new, the weight distribution was off and it was showing in your inaccuracy. If you stared at the target any harder you would end up seeing double. With a grumble, you tore your gaze away and reloaded the weapon.

In truth, you originally didn’t have a preferred aisle of the shooting range. It was on one faithful visit where the range was packed, you had no choice but to take the furthest and dingiest one.

“You are good shot.”

Funnily enough, that interruption was all you needed for your next bullet to completely miss the target. You slowly turned around to make eye contact with a man adorning a matching uniform to yours. You tried to hide your scowl as he let out a raspy chuckle. He didn’t seem all that expressive, just a small quirk of the lips at your misfortune.

“Care to have a try?” You taunted, stepping back from the range and towards him, challenging him with your unwavering eye contact. You waited a solid twenty minutes for this aisle to free up you’d be damned if someone takes it after five.

“No, no, I will watch you. I am learning a lot.”

… that was arguably worse.

You sighed inwardly as you turned back to resume shooting. You could feel those cerulean eyes burning into the back of your head. It took an extra few seconds for you to quell your trembling for each shot. You recognised him, he was someone in your squadron who you had yet to greet. He wasn’t the easiest to approach, but you’d be lying if you hadn’t been admiring his combat prowess from afar.

“Commander chose well to hire you,” the man eventually praised, his voice rough. But he sounded closer, as you turned around he was right behind you, sending you almost jumping towards the range. “But your form is lacking… can I?”

You nodded, trying to step away to give him space to demonstrate but it seems you misunderstood when he took a large step towards you. First cupping your shoulders, he reoriented you to face the target. Picking up on what he was trying to do, you got over your initial surprise and returned to your default shooting position. He grabbed your elbows, calloused fingers rough even through your shirt fabric, readjusting your form as he saw fit. He didn’t even provide commentary, only giving a satisfactory grunt when he was done.

Eventually, you risked turning your head to look at the man again, only for him to immediately fix your slackening arms. As he did, you focused on his face, taking it in. Despite his constantly stern expression he did seem quite the looker.

Noticing your gaze, he regarded you again.

“My name is Nikto. I usually shoot here but you shoot well, I will let you practice here too.”

You shook your head as you willed the thoughts away. Back then, you didn’t expect yourself to get so close to Nikto, but now here you are, your mind lamenting that he isn’t here and conjuring up memories to compensate after only a few days. How lame you chastised yourself as you finished reloading.

A creak of the floorboards has you whirling around. Oh. It’s that guy again. The masked man who you saw at that celebratory night. Typically, someone of his stature with a mask hiding his features would be intimidating, but with the way he was hunched over with eyes wide like a deer in traffic lights, you weren’t all that concerned. And so, you extended an olive branch.

“Hello-”

The man dashed away.

To be fair in your line of work, half the time you’re grateful if they run away.

With an inward shrug, you turned back to the shooting range. But not before you took one sneaky look at your phone, checking the message you sent to Nikto.

Read 12:35pm.

That bastard.

A fellow troop gave you an encouraging nudge of the shoulder at your irritable expression. There were a lot of reasons you were pissed this morning, the fact it was extra cold, the fact it was extra early, the fact you were extra tired. But whatever it was, it was not because it has been a week and Nikto has not replied to you. Why would you care? This man has only been through hell and back with you on missions, you’ve saved each others lives a good dozen of times and had each other’s back both on the field and off. No sir, this man is completely insignificant to your life.

You felt like a damn child with how petulant you were with your phone now, it felt far too heavy in your thigh pocket as it shook with each step. You were getting phantom vibrations as you could swear you received a text but it was never from him. You really should give Nikto the benefit of the doubt - these missions can be high stakes and confidential - but giving the benefit of the doubt won’t make him reply any sooner either so you’ll keep being petty.

You were encouraged to get a drink at the kitchen before you train. You grumbled to yourself as you headed there (about what, you weren’t sure, you figured just cursing the heavens and everything on this earth would alleviate your anger). But as you went to the kitchen, you had a new reason to hate life.

They changed the coffee machine.

The army had prepared you for a lot of things, you’ve memorised essay long Russian military protocols, you’ve learnt complex weaponry but what the fuck is the machine standing in front of you? Why does it have fifty more buttons than the last one? Why can’t a poor, very lonely feeling soul, just get themselves a humble drink?

You experimentally pressed what you hoped to be the main button, only for the coffee machine to make a disapproving noise. You let out a groan before trying another. There was no response.

You smacked the machine, which ended up hurting you more than it hurt it. Taking a step away, you were ready to punch the mechanical brat, winding your arm back…

Inhale.

Exhale.

A steady breathing brought you out of your rage, only it wasn’t coming from you. Turning around slowly, you found yourself coming face to face with the fully clad man again. You don’t know how this broad figure keeps sneaking up on you, especially when you notice he breathes like Darth Vader. He stood at the centre of the kitchen, a few metres away from you yet still enough for you to feel on edge.

“Uh…” you looked at him curiously. He was too far away to get a good judge of his eyes - it didn’t help that the surrounding skin was coated in an obsidian that blurred his eyebrows and fine lines. But even from this distance, while he was looking at you his gaze seemed to be looking past you. Or perhaps deeper into your soul. Simultaneously focused and not, body still except for the slow heaving of his chest. And that breathing. You figured he was breathing through his mouth with how raspy it was. You had never heard a breath so laboured, it was worse than someone going for a marathon. It was more than his breathing sounding like a chore, it sounded painful, injured.

What sort of new recruit is this?

You figured there’s not much of a point deciphering that, you had more dehydrating problems. Clearing your throat, you gestured to the coffee machine.

“Could you help me with this…?”

There was a few tangible seconds of no response. It was only until you were about to push off the counter to leave did he do a quick jerk of the head and start moving. In a couple of strides he reached the coffee machine. He grabbed two mugs and pressed a convoluted line of buttons which you couldn’t figure out nor memorise. Then the machine made the whirring of good, hard effort and the two of you waited.

A Russian curse had you popping your head into the kitchen. There was Nikto, staring down at the coffee machine harder than he looked down the sights of a sniper rifle. You’re pretty sure victims of his wrath have gone through less than this poor coffee machine right now.

“A watched pot never boils,” you stated.

“A watched coffee machine?”

“Doesn’t look like it works either.”

Nikto groaned, only quietening at your giggle as you stood beside him, getting the coffee beans.

“We do not use these fancy robots for coffee,” Nikto stated idly as he watched you work the coffee machine.

“You make the coffee yourself? Some people would call that fancier.”

He shrugged in acknowledgement.

“What type of coffee?”

“Make me your strongest.”

“Roger that.”

After making his drink, you then made yours. You figured he was just learning through watching, getting mentally familiar with the machine. It was only the next morning you realised he was memorising what you drank, with him sliding it to you across the kitchen counter the instant you entered the room. Steaming hot, the best you’ve ever had it.

This was probably the closest you’ve ever gotten to the masked man, able to scrutinise and take a good look at him. His uniform was identical to yours - implying a similar rank - but when you eyed the patch at the front of his clothes, there was no surname provided. In particular, you were more curious in the expanse of skin around the eyes, the only part of him left uncovered. Whatever powder used to darken the surrounding skin in ash black only emphasised it’s rough texture. It wasn’t like the typical soft, sometimes baggy, skin around the mask of the eyes. No, his was taut, as though it was pulled back by an unknown force, where even a microexpression could cause cracks across such parched skin. Perhaps it already did, judging by the maroon bleeding between the cracks.

Against bloodshot eyes were his stormy irises. Dark and deep like the ocean, filled with turmoil. Maybe you misheard and this wasn’t a new recruit, instead someone who transferred. A newbie would never look so jaded already, not as though there were raging seas in their consciousness. A hurricane brewing, ready to devastate while the mind desperately tries to pick up the remaining pieces of self before the next terrifying wave washes over.

“Who are you?” You whispered aloud, almost shocking yourself and causing the man to look at you. He squinted, searching your face. It felt quite intrusive but to be fair you were doing the same a moment ago. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to read your expression or committing your face to memory, either way you remained silent. Eventually he pulled away and just shrugged.

At least he didn’t scurry away like last time, which is a good sign, maybe he actually wanted to know you. Third time’s the charm.

“Well, uh, feel free to call me Seeker,” you replied, offering your hand out to the man.

He stared at it for a moment, contemplating, before his gloved hand took yours. He shook your hand but with his other, he pointed to his throat. That, combined with the obvious scarring and breathing suggested that his voice has been fried. You have no idea how that’s going to work on missions - maybe he really is some silent, deadly ninja. But you suppose an ally’s been made.

You two turn upon hearing the footsteps of a lieutenant as he enters the kitchen. The masked man passes you the drink he made for you before taking off, pushing past the lieutenant, shoulders crashing together when they meet at the doorway. The lieutenant looks back at him before looking back at you.

“Damn, you really are special to him.”

“Sir? I just ran into him at the kitchen,” you raised your eyebrows as he joins you to make a drink of his own.

“Negative, he avoids everyone when possible. All day be mopes around in his room. I can not blame him, he clearly swam through shit’s creek and back.”

“Huh…”

Nodding slowly, you took your cup and returned to your friend with a new tidbit of information. You take a sip.

Your drink is exactly as you liked it.

A scream had you sitting up. It was blaring, right in your ear, bouncing around in your mind, hitting all the nerves that made the hair on your skin stand to attention. You rushed to stand up, only for your legs to get entangled on a blanket as it curled around you like a serpent. Clawing at the fabric you tried to pull it off as you hurriedly looked around for where the scream came from. Maybe you could hear for it again but you couldn’t hear over your racing heart. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, but it was hard as spots in your vision had you looking everywhere and anywhere. Eventually you realised where you were.

You were in your room.

Another one of those nights, huh?

One where your body was at base but your mind was back on a mission, rehearsing each fight and kill over and over again. Your blanket finally relented, releasing your body as you pulled it off with a full sweep of your arm, letting your sweating body finally breathe through your nightwear.

With a heave, you hauled your body out of the bed. You weren’t going back to sleep anytime soon and judging by how dark it was, you have a few more hours until daylight. Getting changed into simple gear, you head out to your special spot at the back of the base. It’s covered in greenery for privacy with a single bulb by the door exit keeping it just light enough to see where you are. No one wanders round the back and it became your go to place when you needed to take your mind off of things.

Opening the door, you were greeted with familiar surroundings. It had been over a month since you last came here, so there were a few changes. One of the bushes had grown exponentially, a tree had lost an overhanging branch, a man was standing slumped against the wall-

What.

Over the last week, you kept seeing the masked man around, despite the words of your lieutenant. To be fair, you only ran into him when you were alone. He somehow knew all the base secrets that took you months to know. You ran into him off the beaten path of a nearby hiking trail, it was part of a new route you made to avoid the hordes of new recruits that jogged around. The old training room neglected for the new one was your personal haven but he found that too - which wasn’t surprising since he seemed pretty introverted. And now he’s found another one of your spots.

You didn’t mind though, he was good enough company… you suppose. He’s started speaking now, only single word sentences. His voice is incredibly raspy, more air than actual vocalisations. Through his broken voice you can still hear the thick coating of a Russian accent. His voice appears to be getting better though, you’ve had to ask him to repeat himself less these days, his tone is a little richer. But oddly enough he seems more reluctant to talk to you, the words he’s spoken to you on the daily you can count on a single hand.

Still, you would be lying if you said you weren’t a little peeved. This spot was meant to be truly isolated for you, allowing you to walk off your stressors, back and forth and back again until you no longer get the horrors of covert warfare flashing in your mind. Or the ability to freely talk to yourself as you sorted your thoughts, free of judgement. But now you have to behave like an actual functioning human.

“Morning,” you mutter, you really need to give him a code name soon if he’s so reluctant to give you his actual name. It’s less of a surprise seeing him around these days, he’s like a phantom cursed to the base, seemingly everywhere all the time. The masked man eyes you curiously, prompting your answer.

“I just needed some fresh air, I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. You’ve heard some of the others during the night, yeah? War catches up to all of us. There’s kind of an unofficial buddy system when it gets too much.”

You’ve gotten quite adept at reading his body cues. A quirk of the head by him. On anyone else it would look cute, like a golden retriever but not on him. While curious, it was commanding, more like an interrogation by the good cop instead of the bad.

“My buddy? Uh, he’s out on a mission right now, I guess. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

You leaned back on a tree, ignoring the pang of your heart. He followed you, standing in front. Caught between a large tree and an equally wide man would have most people shaking, but not for you. It was as though he was trying to make your world smaller, more comprehensible, less terrifying.

“My last mission went well but it doesn’t mean I’m proud of what I did. I just woke up and I couldn’t get it out of my mind.”

He leans forward, listening intently. It was sweet how open his body language is around you.

“It sometimes makes me question enlisting. I never feel like I’m doing the right thing, or if I’m doing it that well. If I did it right it wouldn’t be coming back to haunt me, right?”

You looked at him, trying to look into his eyes but in this darkness with his back facing the light his features morphed together into a faceless silhouette.

“Did you wake up from something similar?”

After a moment of contemplation he responded with a singular nod. And then the two of you were left in an understanding silence.

Upon realising that your hand had an iron grip on your other arm to the extent it will probably leave bruises, you let go. Your free hand was now trembling despite how you willed yourself to calm down. Whispering a curse you tried to shake the nerves out of your limb.

When that didn’t work, the masked man took your shaking hand. Instead of just holding it, he offered a firm but gentle squeeze. It was just the right pressure until he eased his grip, repeating again in a rhythmic motion that was all too familiar.

You weren’t used to the battlefield. The FSB specialised in undercover missions, quiet, slow and methodical. It was more an acting lesson with high stakes than anything, eliminations were more creative than a bullet to the brain, a slow acting poison meant you rarely had to see the consequences of your actions.

But now here you are, deployed as last minute reinforcements. Leaning against the only standing wall in a destroyed house, you tried pushing yourself against the bricks, hoping to assimilate with the wall. You wanted out. This was too much. You weren’t prepared for this. To the east was a distant explosion, it lit up the horizon briefly, but it was more daunting how quickly it went silent. The west and the north held most of the fighting, the darkness briefly lit up by gunfire which would disappear as quickly as it ignited, it burns your irises creating specks in your vision. Your ears were ringing, gunfire from all sides, there was another explosion in the east, there were shouts all around or perhaps it was just your mind screaming at you to leave. There was another yell, that was one of the new privates, even though you’ve never heard them scream like that before you could tell it’s them, this should be their first ever mission, you met them this morning and they seemed really nice, they talked a lot about their younger siblings, they really wanted to see them again you hope they’re okay, oh god what if they’re not-

“Seeker!”

You instinctively push even deeper into the wall, one final ditch effort to get out. You don’t even know who shouted your name until your sight of the battlefield is entirely blocked by the man of the hour.

“You are breathing too quickly,” Nikto stated as he hunched down to your level. Now you were distracted from the battlefield by pure embarrassment. Nikto, in your eyes, was the epitome of a soldier. He’s objective and efficient, and ultimately ruthless when an ally’s performance is subpar without good reason.

“I can’t do this,” you admitted with rushed words, syllables slurring and tumbling over each other. “I’m not- I’ve never been here before. I just work undercover. I can’t be in a war.”

“Only a madman wishes for war,” he says.

You shake your head furiously, looking at anywhere but him. You don’t know how he stays so calm in these situations, you envy it, you admire it. Why couldn’t you just be like him? Your shame is mixed in and swirling with the panic, any more emotions and they’ll rush up and spill from your throat.

“I’m a coward,” you muttered as you pulled your knees up. Nikto frowned as he leans even closer.

“Scared, yes. But you are no coward.”

Nikto looks around before pulling out one of your arms that you had wrapped around yourself. His hand - unoccupied by a weapon - holds onto yours. You return the grip like he’s a lifeline, impossibly tight but he did not wince. Noticing how your gaze was only trained on your connected hands, seemingly fascinated with his presence, he brings your hands up, letting your eyes drift until they settle on his face.

“Take a good look. I am here, I am with you,” Nikto didn’t speak loudly yet you can hear him over the chaos.

He squeezes your hand as your grip on his loosens. It’s gentle, especially through your thick gloves but you can most certainly feel it. It’s a slow, repetitive movement, almost as if he was massaging your hand or resuscitating your limb. A welcoming gesture, grounding you, coaxing you back onto the battlefield. You don’t know how long he keeps at it but he doesn’t relent even with as war rages on, he never misses a beat.

Eventually you narrow in on a shout. It’s oddly close, and in a language you can’t understand.

“Hostiles,” you say simply, with the voice of a soldier.

As you pull your hand away, Nikto lets out a sly grin. You wouldn’t fault anyone else for describing his smile as evil, but to you, it’s a delightful expression.

He hands you back your own pistol.

“Steady your hand, my friend, I need your aim.”

As the masked man’s grip on your hand loosens you immediately pull your arm away. You cradle your arm as if it had been burned. You almost feel like you’ve been violated, your privacy intruded on. That little intimate gesture was done by Nikto, for Nikto and him alone. That single gesture sent memories flooding into your mind. From moments just before a battle to waking up in the dead of night with the horrors of battle invading your sight. That gesture alone saved you an ungodly amount of times. It must be a cruel, cruel coincidence, but you couldn’t stop the scowl climbing on your face. Your eyes were locked on him and he was staring back. Screw you for extending an olive branch and screw him for actually accepting it. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Waltzing up and treating you with utmost care like he could replace a dear ally of yours?

No, you weren’t tolerating it.

Your body may be behind a base in the dead of night, but your mind was on the battlefield. And in that moment, it only knew how to push back and fight.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you seethed. Despite your most intimidating expression, he does not flinch. He doesn’t even move. For once it is purely silent between you two as he holds his breath.

What was he waiting for? Did he need further instruction? You were more than willing to issue them out.

You pushed yourself off the tree trunk, almost launching yourself straight into the man’s chest had he not lunged back.

“Who do you think you are?” You hissed. “I don’t know why you keep hanging around or following me. I don’t know much about you and I’m an idiot who keeps talking my head off. But you know too much. I don’t know how but you do. Maybe I’m just too easy to read. We’re not best friends, you don’t have the right to do that to me. You just- you just don’t.”

You sounded a lot more eloquent in your mind. You don’t even know the point you’re trying to make anymore, but the only possible course of action in your addled brain is confrontation. And it seems like a victory as you make the man retreat, halfway to where the door is.

“Leave me alone.”

He hesitates. Almost as though he’s concerned for your wellbeing, or maybe he’s just pitying you which feels worse. He then dips his head in acknowledgement, before simply walking away. Not without one final look at you, you can’t tell if it’s because he wants you to change your mind or if he’s so selfless he just wants to check you’re okay, but it’s not looking good on either front.

Once you heard the click of the door closing again, you flexed your now empty hand as you grimaced. You hated how you were missing his presence already. At least you were now free to pace back and forth and talk to yourself to your heart’s content.

After another two days Nikto finally replied to your text. He took his damn time. He said he was sorry for his absence, welcoming back to the base and that he hoped to see you around again. But those felt like empty words when he didn’t even give an estimate to when he’ll be back.

You frowned as you read the text, almost throwing it across the room as you sat in the common area. You’ll reply later. If his texting game can be ass, so can yours (at least that’s you tell yourself but you’ll probably respond to him in a few hours). With nothing else to do, you found yourself eavesdropping on two other sergeants.

“You know, I was thinking of a name for the masked menace.”

You rolled your eyes, it turns out you can’t avoid the masked guy even when he’s not physically around.

“Oh yeah, what?”

“Freakshow. Got that idea the instant we fished him out of Zhakaev’s compound. His face is fucked, not even a mother could love that.”

“Quiet, he could beat us up.”

“Maybe before, not now. Punching someone would probably break his own arm. Or the skin at least. Definitely the skin.”

“Easy, now. That’s your comrade.”

Despite your conflicting feelings towards the masked man, this was just downright cruel. All it took was a sideways glance from you (and perhaps giving them a bit of an earful) and the two shut up.

Pulling back, you reread Nikto’s text. You were overanalysing, you knew that, he’s always been a direct and honest man but there was something about his message that was bothering you. Even though you have barely texted him, you were sure his physical behaviour could translate to mobile. He was punctual, he replied efficiently with just enough words to give the maximum amount of necessary information. But the sentences you were reading were far too long, like he’s trying to compensate. Like he’s lying.

You decided the next best course of action was to clear your mind at the shooting range. It was a quiet time, most people would be eating lunch about now, so you were sure your go to aisle would be free. As you entered you could already hear the distant shooting of a gun. The ceiling light casting a shadow over the figure that stretched across the booth and into your view. They were in the last aisle.

In a form of psychological warfare, you take the aisle next to the shooter in hopes they’ll get the idea to scram. There’s a break in their shooting as they notice where you’re situated and you can’t help but smirk, only for it to drop when you realise who’s in the next aisle.

That rugged breathing was in mistakeable. So rugged it dried out your own throat. God why did it have to be him? Leaning on the bench in the booth, head down, you took a few deep breaths as you considered your next course of action.

You had to admit, perhaps the last time you interacted you weren’t in the best of mind. But upon reflection all your interactions with the man are starting to putting you on edge. It could be pure coincidence - whatever god out there taunting you that you got a little crush on some Russian guy that left you on read - and you put your bitterness on him. He didn’t deserve your anger.

Hands in your pockets, you tried to nonchalantly wander towards the aisle next to you. The man kept shooting but you were sure it was just a farce. He knew you were behind him.

“Uh… I just thought you should know that one of the boys is trying to make a callsign for you.”

Real smooth, Seeker.

He stops shooting but his position is fixed, aiming down the aisle.

“It’s not that great. It’s terrible, actually.”

The safety of the gun is switched and it’s put in his holster. He turns to you.

“They wanted to call you ‘Freakshow’ but after a word with them I don’t think they will.”

At the name, he tensed. You were too far away to give him anything more than a sympathetic shake of the head.

“I could probably come up with a new one for you? I’m not the best with names but with a bar as low as the one they set I can come up with something.”

A foreign sound escaped the man. A rush if air through his throat, a wheeze, before it sent his shoulders hitching repeatedly. A chuckle. You looked on in surprise, he was laughing.

Offering a small smile back you said you’ll get back to him in a few minutes as you returned to your aisle beside him. Wanting something to occupy your fingers as you pondered, you instinctively pulled out your phone and went to your texts. A casual reply back to Nikto wouldn’t hurt. You could probably just ask him some funny Russian nicknames to give your ally. Maybe you could name him after a masked hero or villain?

Satisfied with the text you wanted to send to Nikto, you hit send.

Ding!

Your head jolted to the thin barrier between the booths. That sound didn’t come from your phone. Never had such a small sound set your heart ablaze but your blood go cold. Limbs like jelly, you haphazardly stumbled over to the booth next to you. The masked man, phone in hand. Upon turning on the screen to preview the message, his eyes went up to you and you almost doubled over at the contact. Those dark, clear eyes, so alarmed, so scared. Yours probably looked the same.

You wanted to open your mouth but no words came out. Save for one word that was on your tongue, one name. Why was it, when you’ve been waiting for him, you’re scared of saying the name?

“… Nikto…?”

The figure visibly deflated before squaring his shoulders, ready for confrontation.

“Seeker,” he greeted, and you can hear it now. You can hear that familiar earthy warmth in his voice, how it complimented and mixed so nicely with his accent. It was, however, dominated by the excessive air in his throat, making it scratchy and gravelly, near unrecognisable.

Your arms started to wrap around your torso, your mind racing.

“Brother Nikto is busy, he’s on field duty for the next few days.”

“Yes, new guy. Don’t have a name for him yet. Probably shouldn’t ask.”

“All he does is mope around in his room now.”

“Damn, you really are special to him.”

The man in front of you, seemed to know everything about you because he did. He’s been with you while you were waiting for him all these weeks.

And yet, instead of joy, your mind was only swarming with other emotions. Disappointment becoming dizzying as you failed to recognise him. Confusion as to why he didn’t try to let you know it was him. Betrayal tasted bitter on your mouth as he dared lie to you.

“I can not blame him, he clearly swam through shit’s creek and back.”

“Got that idea the instant we fished him out of Zhakaev’s compound. His face is fucked, not even a mother could love that.”

Ultimately it all boiled down to dread, as you try to merge the Nikto you bid farewell to all those weeks ago to the fully clad man standing before you.

“Oh my god,” you covered your mouth with your hand as you took in his figure. Had all this happened in the month you were gone? His body and face so battered and bruised beyond recognition that not even you recognised him? Every artificial ridge on his skin told a horrifying story that you have not read yet, and frankly you’re not sure you can even stomach it.

Nikto must’ve taken your response as disgust, and he bowed his head down.

“I…” he couldn’t find the right words to say. Every syllable he spoke stabbed your heart, you remembered how effortless and smooth his voice once was.

“Mission with Zhakaev…” Nikto’s throat gave way with every phrase, ending with hacks and wheezes. You lifted a tentative hand up, telling him he didn’t need to force himself to speak but he persevered. “Went undercover, was found out, tortured for-”

The words were stuck in his throat. He shook his head negatively, as he ended up turning away from you.

“I have failed.”

You rushed to Nikto and pulled him into your arms. He let out a gutteral sound of surprise. You realised a little too late he was never one for affection, but eventually you felt his arms against your back and waist. His hold was still too light, as if he was afraid of your comfort. You placed a hand to the back of his head, gently guiding it to settle in the nook of your neck.

“No. You’re back here. That’s success to me.”

He didn’t reply. You knew it would be hard for him to agree with your views. Anything less than efficient on the battlefield should be chastised - and that included himself. The hand you threaded through his dry and charred locks started combing his hair gently, careful not to pull any strands.

“Still… I… I don’t understand. The others told me you were on a mission. Were they in on it too?”

“Yes,” Nikto mumbled, his voice making his mask vibrate and tickle against your neck. “They would not lie to you. I had to beg.”

“But why?”

His hold on you tightens, the curve of his mask digging deeper into your neck.

“Shame, for how I have changed. Fear, for what you’d think once you saw me.”

“Then… why did I keep seeing you around?”

“Selfishness,” he confessed. “I wanted to avoid you, but I yearned. Needed to see you again. It was a long month, without you.”

The hurt in your heart spread to the rest of your chest and stomach, birthing butterflies that made you feel nauseous. You could not comprehend how difficult his last month had been. To be stuck suffering in enemy territory, found on the brink of death and to recover all alone. How hurt had he been that he thought you would not want him around?

“Do you really think I’d care about your appearance?”

“No, but look,” he choked, but he doesn’t even pull back to let you do so. Instead his arms become constricting like a weighted blanket, there’s more resistance as you try to breathe in. As you breathe out he inches a little closer, refusing to let there be any space between you. “This face, this body, this mind… is destroyed. What was rescued… was not the same, as the man that was captured.”

“Nikto-”

“All that remains,” he muttered, “is shame.”

“But you’ve done so much-“

“I have failed,” he repeated.

“You risked your life for valuable information-”

“We- no, I?” You can hear his frown as he tilts his head away to look down at his chest. Perhaps he expected there to be a hole where his heart was, a fragmented soul. “I am broken.”

“Andre Nikto,” you commanded, dragging him out of his train of thought. You mustered the strength to push away from him. Taking his hand that was wrapped around your waist, you gingerly picked it up, and brought it between you. Bringing his attention to your intertwined hands, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. And then again. Slowly, just enough pressure to ground him and keep his focus on you and not on whatever demons were running amok in his mind. Your next words were steady, well-paced, ensuring he understood every syllable.

“Look at me. I don’t care how much you have changed while I was away. I am just happy I can see you again and I will always want to see you again.”

“You-“ he continues to shake his head in disagreement. “You deserve… so much more. My worth… there is none here. Only as cannon fodder on the field.”

“No, you are so unbelievably strong.”

You brought your other hand to cup his face. Initially you could only feel the coolness of the mask, but after a few seconds his body heat reached your palm.

“I admired you then and I admire you now. Nikto… if only you could see yourself how I see you. I want to stand by your side.”

Nikto is silent as he stares you down. You’ve seen him do it before, in arguments, in interrogations. It’s his go-to tactic to intimidate, to break. But now, it is his final resort. With eyes as piercing as his, seemingly able to peer into someone’s soul, his silent staring has always been able to ruin anyone’s resolve. But you weren’t just anyone. You are someone who fell in love under that intense gaze, and you communicate that as you refuse to look away.

Eventually he lets out a breath as he breaks eye contact, deciding to settle his gaze on the rest of your figure. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him almost bashful, it was endearing.

“You are always… so stubborn.”

“I accept all of you,” you cooed before you hardened your voice. “But if you pull a stunt on me like that again - pretending you’re not around and prancing around as someone else - I will claim this shooting aisle as mine.”

Nikto’s eyes turn into crescents, crinkling as he grins. Watching his textured skin warp and wrinkle has you worried that even smiling hurts, but you can’t deny that he looks at ease.

“A fair deal,” he affirms.

Now knowing you weren’t going to run away from him, Nikto is comfortable enough to let you go, and you loosened your grip on his hand. But before his hands properly drop to his sides, you reach over and place a kiss on his mask. You hoped it was somewhat romantic, but it didn’t help how the smoothness of his mask made your lips slip a little. Your aim was a little off too, you aimed for where his mouth would be but it seems you kissed him more on the philtrum.

Still, the wide eyed look was one you have never seen on Nikto before and you were going to savour that for all of eternity.

“You came here to shoot, yes?” Nikto asked when he got himself out of his stupor and you nodded. “There is less on the mind now. Take the booth.”

“What, and you’ll just watch?”

“As always,” he replied, eyes shining with mirth.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[captainleviswifee]

If you dare...

Tags/TW/context (idk💀): Alcohol, sfw, y/n fem reader, reader is a squad leader, Attack on Titan, Levi Ackerman, lighthearted, established close friendship and partnership between you and Levi, you and Levi are in denial of your feelings for each other and Hange knows it, Hange is just lowkey tired of this back and forth.

Edit: you can use extensions, or apps to replace y/n with the name of your choice.

The night is blooming, the moon's graceful glow upon you and your comrades in the clearing of the Old Headquarters of the Survey Corps. The tall trees, both vivacious trees and pine trees standing tall around your merry group, providing shelter from the fog of the evening. Not too far from the headquarters, but also not too near in the vicinity to avoid disrupting the working higher-ups, or the resting scouts in their in the assigned shared quarters of their barracks. Regardless, even without the protection of the trees, the fog won't be stopping this small gathering of you and your comrades. An survey mission had just ended. It's a small mission led by you, in order to train you. Nothing too exciting just this small group of scouts surveying ahead, and placing supplies ahead of the expedition route that's due in next week. Although the mission is a success with the least amount of deaths so far, it wasn't without sacrifices. You sit relaxed with a drink of your own on one of the chairs. Beside you are your comrades, your subordinates, the Levi Squad in some of the chairs and benches, and then Hange accompanied by Moblit who sat beside her. All forming a complete circle with a table of food in the middle of the circle then a burning bonfire right beside it. Keeping this small gathering of people warm from the evening fog. In some of these seats are soldiers, scouts who fought bravely. At the cost of a missing leg, or an arm, or maybe even missing screws after facing the dark reality that the titans bring outside the Walls this very recent expedition. Yet despite, what they have experienced, they sit there merry with a drink on their uninjured free hands. Largely due to the part that Hange, Oruo, Gunther, and Eld are leading the conversation of this humble party.

A farewell party to be exact. The last night of these maimed soldiers in the military before they return to their status as simple civilians. In a way, Commander Erwin allowed this to happen just so the soldiers would go home with at least smiles on their faces. Smile of relief from surviving, or the smile from this small gathering and the events would occur later are sure bound to kick up a merry chat between their waiting families instead of the horrors outside walls as their main topic.

"Ah, it's your turn!" The bottle spins and points at you. "What?" And you break out from your deepest of thoughts, maybe because of the battle analysis reports, survey reports, and whole another bunch of papers you'll submit tomorrow, or maybe because of the watchful gaze a certain pair of steel blue gray eyes.

"Everyone's been pulling up 'Truths' this whole time, would you care for a dare instead?" Hange smiles cheeky at you, as she asks you at gunpoint in front of your comrades. "A dare?" Your question sounding more like a refusal. "C'mon please? It's nothing hard I swear. It'll be just like how easy you killed four titans this recent mission, right boys?" And your comrades and subordinates alike jeered at the thought. You were quite in a good form, the past mission and now that you're in this spot like this. With their mood like that, you don't want these soldier's last night to be with you being a killjoy of the night. You gave Hange a look before responding, "Alright what's the dare?" "Sweet! Well it's nothing hard, I just want you to kiss someone." Hange playfully answers giving a certain midget sipping tea at the edge of the circle, a knowing look. Fully aware of Levi's gazes at you. Or how he would sparingly brew the tealeaves you gifted him. Or how he would scold you as he checks up on you at the hospital after each mission, Hange gave a knowing look at Levi barely noticed by their comrades. The latter only returned a glare, barely noticeable in between sips of his tea. "The what? Hange, you can't be serious." You respond. You may be a little tipsy, but you still have your wits about you. "It'll be fine, unless..." Hange trails off, "Unless it means something to you of course. Were you saving it for someone?" She quips, her tone now growing teasingly playful. It didn't help that the rest of the Levi Squad, your subordinates, basically everyone's got their eyes and ears on you now. Giving in to either get peer pressured to saying something akin to confession—

'It wont be a confession,' You stubbornly think.

Well it's either you get peer pressured into saying something you may or may not regret, you decide to just go with the dare. At least in a dare there's a chance that the very act will be considered, 'not of any significant meaning to you.'

"Alright, I'll complete the dare. You guys owe me a drink for this one." You say with a smile pointing to the rest of the crowd, primarily to Hange. You scan your surroundings to look for a specific person who you know wouldn't take this dare personally or seriously. He may be a few centimeters smaller than you, but it did not take you long enough to find him sitting at the edge of the circle. Drinking tea instead of alcohol, he looks at you his blue-gray eyes displaying deadpan expression. "Is it okay if I pick you?" You ask for consent walking up to him with his side facing you. Casual form drinking tea amidst the tensing sensual atmosphere fueled by the expectant gazes of your comrades. His jaw clenches for a split second before nodding nonchalantly. His steel blue gaze, maintaining his composure. Bringing his cup a little lower from his lips, he remained sitting as he was. His side still facing you.

"Alright," You give a smile before placing one of your knee to his seat for support, you other hand crawling up behind him, to gain purchase of the seat he is leaning on to. And your other free hand cupping his chin, lightly with your fingers as you lean your face closer to his steel blue gaze.

In response, his body stiffens evidently caught off guard by this sudden act of intimacy. He fought back the shivers that run along his spine and his jaw subtly clenches as maintained his indifferent expression.

You lean in closer, and closer. Intensifying the already sensual tension caused by her own intimate actions.

Only to give him a light kiss on his cheek.

'They only said a kiss after all, they didn't say where.' You cleverly think, avoiding making a spectacle of yourself and drag Levi in this.

Disappointed murmurs hint the chorus of their comrades and Hange nodding with a light chuckle in amusement, "Ha! Well played, y/n." Spinning the bottle once more, "Next dare!"

When you pulled away and returned to your seat downing a glass in one big gulp, Levi didn't look at you or anyone at that moment. He just sat there with the memory of your lips, warm on his skin.

He sat there drinking his tea in silence. He wasn't drinking any alcohol at all.

And yet,

Why are his ears red?

[dailyadventureprompts]

Planescape: The Inclementus Convolution

It is simple as hells go, there is the snow, the walls, and the shape of things that will haunt you for the rest of your days

It appears first as a troubling dream, endless anxious wanderings through a frigid and featureless maze. While most shrug off these visions others sink into a deep and restless malady, possessed by recurring feelings of being cold and lost. For some the dreams deepen, overtaking their waking life until they sink into an unwakung torpor, others are compelled to walk: seeking out winding alleys or wintry landscapes in the hope of finding a way OUT of the maze, only to find themselves transported to it bodily.

Occult scholars of dream and dimension have named this phenomenon the Inclementus Convolution, and conjectures on its purpose and original architects feature in many a forbidden tome. What these dabblers have failed to understand is that the convolution is not a thing of artifice but part of a great unknowable entity, which uses the maze to filter-feed from the multiverse the way a great whale uses baleen to trawl the sea. While the exact nature of this entity will be discussed below the cut, whats far more interesting is how the appearance of this dream labyrinth affects the lives of others.

A series of disappearances has the party tracing the city’s backstreets tracking rumours of a slaver gang or some kind of monstrous presence. Imagine their surprise when they not only find one of the lost individuals wandering in fevered confusion, standing before an alley from which unseasonable snow billows. 

Nearly swept up in the convolution as a child, a minor noble has bent the wealth of her station towards determining the meaning of that traumatic vision, becoming a notable patron for adventurers as she sends them off to explore various ruins or gather scraps of potentially relevant lore. The party are hired by her for a mission, but weeks later when they return from their delve they find that her estate has fallen prey to an otherworldly influence. They’ll need to brave the twisting halls of her manorhome and the hedgemazes that sprawl across the grounds if they want to get paid, and maybe rescue their hapless benefactor in the process. 

A fairly simple bounty mission to track down an occultist hiding in the mountains and bring him back alive quickly goes out of control after he opens a portal to the convolution inside his cell, transforming the surrounding guard barracks and its prisons into an eacheresque tangle backing onto an eldritch landscape. With other prisoners looking desperately to escape and panicking guards looking to arrest everyone they don’t recognize, will the party be able to escape before the whole structure is subsumed into nightmare?

The entity at the centre of the maze is seldom seen by those lost with the expanse as the upper reaches of the towering walls are obscured by an omnipresent cloud cover. As such no earthly name has been given to it, as the miles long tendrils it sends skulking through the corners are often confused for individual lifeforms which some call. It is not malicious, nor is it strictly sentient, it is simply a lifeform doing what it has always done to survive, nevermind that it involves pinching beings from across the cosmos. Creatures that die within the convolution desiccate, their bodies becoming dried out husks as the moisture within them is absorbed by the surrounding stone to feed the entity above and later join with the ever present snow, the built up condensation from innumerable victims across time.

Future Adventures:

Lost souls from many worlds have left marks on the walls of the convolution, pleas for help, attempts to map a way out, epitaphs and memorials from those that knew their end was near. One of these happened to be a sage with secret knowledge most relevant to the party's ongoing struggles, meaning if that they want to find it for themselves they're not only going to have to find their way into and through the labyrinth, but also Ariadne their way back out after finding and deciphering the message he left.

Though very little can survive long in the endless halls, there are some interdimensional oddities that have managed to persist around the fringes, carried from one world to the next as the Inclementus seeks out new victims.

The most fearful of these passengers are a remnants of an alien empire known as the Tssol who were led into the convolution when their god-prince decided to lead his people into the otherworld following a "holy vision" (and the encouragement by his less theisticly inclined siblings looking to clear a path to the throne). The survivors of this royal expedition have endured for centuries by by carving their city into the oldest walls of the labrynth, where the entity's fleshy stalks merge with the endless walls. They worship it, subsisting from the meat sloughed off as it grows and using the remains to feed fungal farms, counting themselves blessed for following the god-prince's vision. Those that stumble into the maze are of particular interest to them, as individuals affected by Inclementus influence are capable of wandering in and out of the aberrant realm allowing the Tssol warriors to ride out and launch raids on other worlds.

[bbsmuts]

Masterlist

This is a list of all my smuts, by group in alphabetical order. Enjoy reading!

😃 - Community favorite (Top 3 in the leaderboard)

🆕 - well...it's a new one!

BLACKPINK:

After-match Entertainment (Ft. BLACKPINK Jennie)

Field Trip (Ft. BLACKPINK Jennie & Jeon Somi) 😃

EVERGLOW:

Promiscuous (Ft. EVERGLOW Aisha)

College Days (Ft. EVERGLOW Sihyeon) 😃

Summer Getaway (Ft. EVERGLOW Yiren) 🆕

T-ARA:

Breakfast In Bed (Ft. T-ara Hyomin)

TWICE:

Lascivious (Ft. TWICE Tzuyu)

Like OOH-AHH (Ft. TWICE Sana)

Good As Gold (Ft. TWICE Momo) 😃

Party In The Barracks (Ft. TWICE Chaeyoung)

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