#grumpy old git

[kinkswondergirl]

NME, 1994

[unsettlingcreature]

Also look who came in the mail today :D

[celiababy]

Ain't Right part 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you deserve better.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral f!receiving, cockwarming, size kink, skinny dipping, angsty, kinda asshole/grumpy Joel, mention of alcohol

Celia's note: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OMG. but i threw in that much request angst i hope yall enjoy!!!!! Also happy valentines day!!! peace n luv fr

Aint Right part 1 Ain't Right part 2

Recently, life has been great for you.

Winter was gone as fast as it came, and spring started to take root in Jackson. Your favorite season.

The months that passed since Christmas had been like a dream. You and Joel's relationship had been all unicorns and rainbows—well, to you, anyway.

Finally, you were starting to pry open the gates to Joel's thoughts. Becoming close with him meant so much to you, even when he would off-handedly share information about himself by accident, you'd immediately commit it to long-term memory.

He didn't like to talk about himself much, but when he did, you were all ears.

Joel, on the other hand, didn't have to try as hard with you.

There was a constant flow of words out of your mouth, especially around him. You couldn't help it, really. You talked when you were nervous, and you were always nervous around Joel—that never went away.

But all in all, you were overflowing with happiness.

Joel, however, was feeling a little differently.

Ever since this relationship with you started, he's had this subtle ache about it.

His insecurities of being an old man were eating at him, day by day. His conscious just couldn't stop pestering him with the idea that you deserved better.

He felt that by being intimate with you, as much as he liked it, was holding you back from living your life.

By allowing you to indulge in this relationship with him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was setting your life up for failure.

He was picturing some White Fang situation where you were some wild animal that was getting too close to him, and in order to prevent you from getting hurt by domestication, he'd have to throw rocks at you and tell you to 'go on an' git'. Even though he deeply cared about you.

These insecurites really came to the surface whenever you two were in bed together.

He was 56 years old, for crying out loud. He had two rounds in him max, anything more might give him a heart attack.

He'd clock the little disappointed pout you'd make when he couldn't go again, even when you tried to act otherwise. He was just in his head about the entire thing—which was so unlike him.

You were doin' things to him, thats for damn sure.

Joel couldn't deny the affect you had on him anymore. You were starting to become a top priority; he was unable to stop himself from putting you first.

How was it so easy for you to become to important in his life?

He pondered this thought while coming back from a supply run, riding in on horseback. The sound of hooves crunching twigs and rocks was an oddly theraputic sound, one that helped stop him from thinking so much.

Upon his return, Joel drops off his supplies and guides his horse back into its stable. He gives it a few loving pats before leaving, walking down the main road with the breeze in his hair.

His eyes scan the people crowding the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of his favorite face.

And he does.

Eventually, Joel spots you, helping an older lady up her porch steps. You’re smiling, eyes sparkling like everything in the world was all fine and dandy.

It never got easier seeing you wear cooler clothes in public.

Sure, he's seen your naked body plenty of times, but there was something about you in a tank top, jean shorts and cowboy boots that just did things to him.

His heart tugs in his chest as he watches you complete the kind act, skipping back down the steps once the lady waves you goodbye.

That’s when you see him, across the street, just staring at you.

Your face lights up like fireworks when you notice. It always did. But Joel never got tired of seeing it.

He watches you jog his way, nearly running straight into him but managing to stop yourself last second.

“Hey! How’d that run go?” You ask, beaming up at him and trying your hardest not to smack his lips with yours.

“Good.” He nods, clenching his jaw.

Jesus, you looked so good right now—Joel was having a very hard time focusing on what to say when you were distracting him with your bangin’ bod.

“Good.” You copy, finding a moment to assess him. He seemed tense, more tense than usual. Joel knows you’re about to ask him what’s wrong—and he can’t face that question right now.

So he speaks before he knows what he’s saying. “You should come out with me again, next time, I mean. Actually try n' help instead of.. flirt.”

He's disgusing his intense feelings for you with an insult, because of course he is.

You scoff at his diss, rolling your eyes. “You loved my flirtin’.” You copied his texan drawl to mock him, earning you a glare.

“Well, I’d love to. Is it a date?” You purr, stepping into his personal space, prompting Joel to make quick use of his self control.

If he could act on his impulse, he would have bent you over and fucked you right there on the sidewalk.

He clears his throat before nodding. “Sure. Tomorrow. It’s a date.” He bites out like it pains him, because in truth, he'd rather take you out to dinner or something than another stupid supply run.

You’re smiling again, swaying on your feet. You make a few glances around to make sure no one’s watching before popping up and kissing him on his cheek.

“Kay, see you then." You chirp ever so sweetly, walking away in your small jean shorts.

You were really tugging on his heart strings.

When tomorrow comes, you're sitting on your porch swing, waiting for Joel to come and get you.

You were excited—mainly because you two would be out of sight from prying eyes. You could act on all your impulses.

You didn't mind people figuring you two out, you're kind of sure they already had, but you felt that Joel did care, and you wanted to respect his boundaires. Even though he never made those clear.

But, you felt you were pushing it with that kiss on the cheek yesterday, and you didn't want him upset with you.

The sudden thought made you worry.

Maybe he was upset with you. He did glare at you yesterday.

You probably did something, your anxious mind tells you.

You're snapped out of your thoughts due to the sound of hooves clopping against the road. Looking up, you're met with the pleasure-inducing sight of Joel.

He's walking with a horse beside him, holding its lead with a trained hand.

He's wearing that faded gray shirt and those jeans that seem like they're hanging on by a thread. So casual.

But, then you take a closer look at his appearance. He...trimmed his beard and attempted to slick back his hair...?

...Was he trying to look nice for you?

"Did you get all pretty for me?" You ask with a giddy smile, skipping down your steps.

He grumbles something incoherent under his breath before rolling his eyes. Yet, you swear you can see the faintest bit of blush on his cheeks. "You ready to go?" He asks, gesturing to the horse.

He's trying to change the subject, but you need to let him know you appreciate his efforts.

"You look really good, Joel. I mean—you always look good, but today especially." You bring your hand up to feel his hair, smiling happily. He can tell you're being geniune, but he's never been good with compliments.

"Thanks, sweetheart—now get on the damn horse." He sounds exasperated, but theres a small smile on his lips.

He helps you up onto the back before climbing on himself. "Wrap yer arms 'round me. Don't fall off." He murmurs, steering the horse towards the gates.

You slide up so that your chest is pressed against his back, and outstretch your arms to wrap around him. Once you two successfully leave the town and no one is watching, that's when you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade.

It's cozy. It's intimate. It's Joel.

You could fall asleep against him like this.

He remains silent because he knows how peaceful you feel right now. He wants to let you enjoy the moment.

You're admiring the forest scenary, occasionally resting your eyes. You don't know where Joel is taking you—maybe he's heading straight towards the middle of nowhere to drop you off and leave. Getting rid of you probably would've been in his best interest.

You're smiling at the thought because you know yourself. Even if he did do that, you'd find a way back to him. Like a loyal dog.

"Wait," Your voice cracks through the silence. Joel stops the horse, turning his head back to look at you. "Is that a lake?" He turns his head to where you're looking, his eyes catching the blue water that you're so enamoured by.

"Don't know what else it would be."

You roll your eyes at his smartassary. "...Can we go?"

"To the lake?" He reiterates, a confused look on his face. "'N do what?"

You shrug your shoulders, feeling stupid for asking all the sudden.

Immediately, Joel notices how you shrink into yourself. He wants to punch himself in the dick because he's being an asshole.

To fix his mistake, he makes a clicking sound with his tongue and steers the horse down to the body of water.

You're giddy again in no time, a soft but excited squeal escaping your throat.

He manages to find a small clearing within the brush; open tall grass, a fallen tree trunk perfect for sitting, and direct access to the lake.

"So pretty." You muse, simply in awe of the nature around you.

You didn't really leave town much—only when you had to. So, seeing stuff like this, really meant a lot to you.

Joel gets off the horse and immediately turns to help you down. His hands find themselves on your hips while yours latch onto his shoulders.

He lowers you effortlessly, his grasp lingering for longer than it needed to.

Your skin lights on fire at his touch, dirty thoughts instantly flooding your brain.

The lake, the seculsion, the tension...there was really only one thing you were thinking about right now.

"Hey, what if we just...didn't go on that supply run?" You muse, avoiding eye contact for a moment because no matter how close you've gotten with Joel, he still made you nervous.

He shoots you a questioning look, which gives you the idea to show rather than tell.

You step closer to the waters edge, beginning to take off your boots. Joel's watching with that stern look, but it quickly fades, replaced with lust when you start shedding off your clothes.

First your shorts, then your tank top.

"Let's go swimming!" You say with that happy smile, the one that makes his heart beat soar.

He can't stop his eyes from devouring every inch of your stark naked body.

Not only did Joel enjoy your pert breasts and supple ass, he was also equally obsessed with the not overtly sexual things about you. Your hair, shoulders, collar bone, forearms, the curve of your spine—everything, he was consumed by it all.

He realizes that he needs to answer you, but all that comes out is a scoff.

"Hey—no. We don't know what the hells in that water." He huffs as his boner peaks through his jeans.

"Fine, guess I'll swim alone then." You say nonchalantly, knowing if you went in, odds were, Joel wouldn't be far behind.

And you were right.

As soon as you enter the cool water, you see Joel starting to undress in the corner of your eye.

You pretened you're not watching, and eventually he joins you in the lake.

You've waded out rather far into the water, waiting to speak until you know Joel is close.

"Doesn't it feel nice?" You ask, letting your body float above the surface, limbs outstretched while you stared up at the fluffy clouds.

If you could do this forever, you would. Naked as the day you were born, floating in warm spring water with Joel's company—maybe this was heaven.

Sure felt like it.

You almost don't even notice Joel's palm run up your shin and thigh, only when his hand lightly drifts over your lower stomach, is when you become all too aware.

Yet, he doesn't venture south.

Instead, he makes a path further up your stomach, then your ribs, then the valley of your breasts, until he rests his hand over your heart.

You stare at his face as he completes this insane act, completely baffled at the fact that he seemed so entranced and calm, while you were trying not to freak out.

He notices your stare, and finally meets your eye contact. No words leave his mouth—he can't seem to find any that feel right.

But he's thinking about how beautiful you are. How sweet and doting, how smart and witty. Everything about you encompassed into a few short words just didn't feel worthy enough.

But you can't just leave things the way they are.

Slowly, you situate yourself around him, attaching to his body like a koala bear. Your arms slide around his shoulders while your legs wrap around his waist.

Skin to skin, face to face, so fucking intense.

Joel's strong arms find themselves around your torso, keeping you close to him.

"Yeah, it does feel nice." Joel replies, his voice soft, his eyes even softer.

You smile, big and geniune, a feeling of bliss taking over you. "Isn't this so much better than some silly supply run?"

Joel rolls his eyes, which spurs you on even more.

"Come on, admit it; you'd rather be out here with me, than some stinky convience store looting pills." You tighten your legs a little around his torso, feeling your cunt become flush with his bare stomach.

You feel a surge of pride when his breath hitches and his erect cock prods at your ass.

But it doesn't take long for his expression to fall back into its natural scowl.

"M'not admitin' shit." He murmurs, bringing a hand up to move your wet hair over your shoulder and onto your back. It's an absentminded motion, one that Joel isn't really thinking about doing.

He just felt the urge to touch you.

You giggle at him, dropping your forehead to his shoulder to laugh.

Joel huffs, trying to stop smirking because your giggle is contagious. "Quit." Is all he says, shaking his head. "Can't believe you got me out 'ere doin' this shit." He grumbles, adjusting his hold on you slightly.

"What 'shit'?" You mimick him and his texan drawl, earning you a stern glare.

"Naked in a lake like m'some fuckin' teenager." He speaks with an unamused expression, before his eyes land back onto you and his gaze softens. "What're you doin' to me, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question, but he says it like he's truly desperate for an answer.

You're not sure how to respond. His eye contact is making your brain all foggy.

It's silent.

You can only hear the rustling water, your breathing, and the general nature sounds in the distance.

Joel knows he confused you with his words, so he takes a moment to look away.

"Alright," He huffs out eventually. "Time to go."

He doesn't give you a chance to protest because he's already walking back to the shore, his arm remaining secured tightly around your back, basically carrying you.

You're not ready to leave, but you know Joel is, so you just opt for a dejected sigh.

He lets you back down on your feet when you're both on the grass, lingering his hand on the small of your back when he picks up your clothes. He uncrinckles your shirt before opening it up so you could easily put it on.

"This is becoming a habit of yours." You murmur softly, putting on the tank top and cringing at the way it sticks to your wet skin.

"Mm?" Joel doesn't know what you're referring to. He's never realized his pattern of clothing you. It was a simple act, but one you found endearing.

"Nothin'." You chirp, sliding on your shorts and boots.

Joel looks at you assessingly while buttoning his jeans back up, sucking in his stomach to zip them.

You're looking right back at him, admiring the way his wet hair looks, how the grays peak out in the most perfect way.

In a nervous manner, you shift on your feet, sliding your hands down into your jean pockets. "You sure you don't wanna...fool around?" You muse, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

Joel smirks down at the ground as he continues to button up his shirt, shaking his head.

"You're too late kid, should've asked when we were naked." He's teasing, walking back over to the horse and gesturing for you to come.

You groan out, dragging your feet as you walk over to him and the horse. You were being dramatic, and Joel see's right through it.

"Quit whinin'. C'mon," He mutters, grabbing you by the hips to hoist you back onto the saddle.

"You're no fun, old man." You mumble, which freezes Joel in his tracks.

He doesn't know why, but that one off-handed comment ignites a blazing string of destructive thoughts.

As if he wasn't already insecure enough about being old and no fun.

His brain is jump-starting the self-depricating train of thought he had grown accustomed to, only this time, it had more fuel because you unknowingly confirmed it.

Of course, that isn't what you meant at all. It was just a teasing little comment, one you didn't think twice about. You weren't actually upset—at all.

Nevertheless, Joel's already in deep.

Slowly, he swings himself behind you onto the horse, grabbing the reins and starting forward.

You're quick to notice his demeanor, but choosing to keep your mouth shut.

The entire ride back is silent.

It was just like the ride there, only with a more suffocating air.

You have an inkling, but you have no idea the extent of his turmoil behind you.

Eventually, you two make it back to the stables. Joel helps you down from the horse, moving like a robot with no facial expression.

He's got that look in his eye that worries you. Every atom in your body wants to ask him what's wrong, but you also don't want to pry.

However, Joel would never open up to you unprompted. So, you at least try.

Your hand drifts upwards to his face, smoothing some of his hair down by his ear. "Is everything okay?" You finally ask, your voice purposefully soft and light so you don't startle him like he was some wild animal.

He inhales through his nose and clenches his jaw.

Oh.

Something was really wrong.

Your gaze goes from slightly weary to concerned in a flash, nervously biting down on your lower lip. "Is there anything I can do to help?" You ask, very evidently willing to do whatever he needed.

Joel had never been good with emotional timing. At the end of the day, he was still a man.

“We’ve gotta stop this.” He blurts.

You’re still for a moment, confused with his abrupt and vague words. You wait patiently for an elaboration.

Eventually, one comes, to Joel’s own dismay.

“We can’t see each other anymore—not like this.”

A beat passes.

Then another.

And then another.

You’re frozen with dread.

It’s like your body has forgotten all functions as you sit there and stare at him.

Surprisingly, the only thing you’re able to think of in this life changing moment, is the Christmas party at Maria and Tommy’s.

You’re thinking about how Joel fucked you in the guest bedroom, and how he said he didn’t want you having sex with anyone else.

You remember how happy you felt—like you two were exclusive or something.

How stupid were you?

With a quick intake of air, you swallow and look away.

“Did I do something wrong?” You croak, your voice akin to a wilting flower.

Joel is wracked with guilt the moment he hears you. But his mind is forcing him to do this.

“No—no. You haven’t done anythin’ wrong. This is all me, I fucked up and let this go on for too long.”

His answer provides no relief.

“But, I thought we—I thought you liked me?” You’re stumbling over your words because you’re so distraught, trying to blink away your persistent tears.

Shit.

Joel can hardly look at you. He would crumble and die if he did—the sadness in your expression is like several stabs to the gut.

Truth is, he did like you.

Thats why he wants to end things.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he can manage, head hanging down to look at the dirt.

You’re not looking at him either, instead opting to blankly stare at one of the horses in the stable.

“So,” You start, your voice cracking because you’ve started crying at this point. “You don’t wanna hook up, does that mean we can still hang out?”

Joel takes a big deep breath before answering.

"It would be best if we didn't see each other at all." Finally, he makes eye contact with you, and immediately regrets it.

You look like you've just been shot, for christsake—might as well have.

It was like he just tore your heart out, threw it to the ground, curb-stomped it, and kicked it down a gutter.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding slowly, trying to seem some-what chill about things. Inside, however, it was like World War III. "Uhm, I'm just gonna go home." Your voice is a croak, and Joel watches with the utmost remorse as you walk away.

It feels like shock.

Was this a break up? Were you even together in the first place? Why didn't he want to see you at all? Questions, questions, and more questions rattle in your brain as you shuffle away, hands shaking and eyes pouring.

You look down at the ring Joel gifted you on your finger, debting whether you should take it off or not.

Joel feels awful.

And it's not like the awful he felt the very first time he regected you—this time it's far more painful. It's a deeper wound, an uglier, gross, puss-infested cut that keeps getting worse the farther you walk away.

He thought he'd feel some relief.

He thought that after ending things, he would be rid of that nagging voice in his head.

But no, it remained.

Only now, it barked thoughts of wrong-doing.

'Why would you do that? Things were going great, you've fucked everything. You just broke her heart—’ and it goes on and on and on.

For a moment, the panic he feels registers in his mind as a heart attack. Thats what it felt like, anyway.

He has to brace himself against one of the wood beams in the barn, aggressively rubbing his chest to try and get his heart rate normal. Joel loses his breath in the process, not realizing that he's having a panic attack.

Whatever happens next, you don't see.

You never looked back after you walked away. *** "I don't know why you're all caught up about this, Joel." Tommy admits, a disappointed expression on his face.

Joel glares at his younger brother from the bar top, clearly disgruntled by Tommy's inability to understand his side of the situation.

It had been exactly 17 hours since Joel cut things off with you. He'd been drinking for at least 10 of those hours.

Somewhat drunkenly, he had told Tommy a very short and curt version of what happened.

But he got the picture. Tommy sighs, hanging his head for a minute before bringing it back up to speak again. "All m'sayin' is, it's the end of the damn world, Joel. Her 'future' ain’t graunteed; she'll be lucky if she makes it past 30 with the way things are. She's been 'round long enough to know that herself, n'for some fuckin' reason, she wants you—"

"She don't know what the hell she wants."

"See—that's where you're wrong, Joel." Tommy slams the whiskey glass that he was cleaning down on the bar, fed up and frustrated. "I've known 'er longer than you. She's a smart girl n'you're sellin' her short. Wake the hell up." He bites out before walking away, clearly finished with the conversation.

He had been watching and listening to Joel mop and groan about it all day and night—he had enough.

Other than the anger from being talked to in that manner welling inside of Joel, there was also a moment of clarity.

As much as it killed him to admit, Tommy was right.

He was selling you short.

The world is too ugly and fucked up for him not to act like everyday might be his last. He would be stupid to not just settle down and be happy with you for however long he had left.

Shit.

All alone in Tipsy Bison, Joel was slowly beginning to realize how majorly he screwed up.

He ruined things because he was too damn scared.

He didn't think there was a worse feeling than this—dealing with this huge fucking mistkae.

He wasn't sure if he would be able to come back from how things ended.

That look that you had in your eyes...Fuck. Joel didn't think he even deserved a second chance.

But goddammit if he didn't try.

After throwing the rest of his whiskey back, Joel got up from the barstool and hurriedly walked out, slamming the doors behind him.

He marches all the way to your place, ignoring whoever tried to talk to him on the way.

He had to do this. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't.

Finally, he makes it to your quaint little home, haulting in front of it. There is some imaginary force stopping him, something pulling him back.

It's that nagging voice in his head again, the one that caused this whole mess in the first place.

But this time, he ignores it, and trudges up your porch steps.

Joel knocks rather forcefully, his jaw clenching when you don't answer within seconds.

He bangs on the door again with his fist, hard, his patience wearing dangerously thin.

When you still don't answer, he enters anyway with your spare key (he always kept it on him), calling out your name as soon as he steps inside.

You hear him from your bed upstairs, though you honestly think you're hallucinating. You've been crying for hours, the only sound in your ears were your sniffles and sobs.

His heavy footsteps seem to get louder and louder, and when he calls out your name outside you're door, that's when you realize you weren't hallucinating at all.

You sit up just as Joel opens your door, your eyes wide with shock and tears.

He takes a couple steps inside before he sees how utterly devastated you looked. The sight of you renders him immoveable.

He feels…like the biggest asshole-asshat-douchebag-fuckwad-dickhead thats ever walked the planet.

“Why…are you here?” Your broken voice asks, trying your best to hold back tears.

Even after all he did, you still spoke so softly, all your respect for him still there.

He had talked himself up the entire walk over, but all his words were dying on his tongue.

He was beginning to think that there was nothing he could say that would make what he did right.

“Babygirl I—”

He sees you psychically flinch at his voice, and it makes his heart break all over again.

His feet carry him to the edge of your bed, hands coming out to hold your face.

You’re not sure how to process his touch, not sure how to process any of what’s happening, but you’re trying your best.

“I was wrong,” his thumb is wiping off the tear stains on your cheeks, a forced gentleness to his touch. “So fuckin’ wrong, babygirl. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Upon hearing his words, you can’t stop the floodgate of your tears. You start bawling, your shoulders shaking with each sob.

“I was so scared.” You cry, bringing your hands up to latch onto him. You wanted to explain more, explain why you were scared—because having Joel and then suddenly not having him, was like ripping your heart out.

He can’t scoop you up in his arms fast enough.

He gets in the bed with you, lifting you onto his lap while he cradles your head to his chest, kissing the top of your scalp.

"M'not lettin' you go. I promise." He husks, his grip on you strong.

And Joel kept this promise.

He held you the entire night, ensuring that you were secure and warm.

In the morning, you immediately asked what changed his mind.

"I was frustrated." He starts, exhaustion etched into his face. "I couldn't understand why you wanted me. Felt I was keeping you from some great life—a young husband n' some white picket fence. But..life here is probably as good as it's gonna get. And this," He looks to the both of you, alluding to the relationship you shared. "Is really fuckin' good."

Your heart is crumbling at his confession.

Discovering that he spent so much time insecure about things, both infuriated and saddened you.

When you were about to respond and explain away his worries, he speaks again.

"M'not lettin' you go. What I did was a mistake. M'sorry."

You're crying again, sniffling softly against him.

"You should've just fuckin' talked to me," You whimper, burying your face into his neck. "I could've—”

"Ain't nothin' you could'a done. You never did anythin' wrong." Joel reassures, pulling you from his shoulder so he can look at your face. "You gon' forgive me?"

"Obviously," you mumble, looking at him with a fake frustrated expression. "I meant it when I said I've always been yours."

And just like that, things were resolved.

You brought your hand down to grip his flannel, sighing into his chest. Joel also sighed in relief, realizing that you weren't going anywhere.

To raise the spirits in the room, you crane your neck up to look up at him, a soft smile playing at your lips.

"M'still mad at you. How are you gonna make it up to me?" Initally, you weren't really insinuading anything sexual—you were thinking he could take you for dinner or ice cream or something.

But Joel has something different in mind.

He gently grabs your jaw, angling your face so he could kiss you how he wanted. His tongue is warm in your mouth, his mustache prickly against your face.

When he breaks away, you're out of breath, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"I got an idea." Joel mumbles, carressing your jawline with his thumb.

Slowly, he sits up only to position himself between your thighs. With his calloused hands, he slides his palm up the planes of your legs until he reaches your pants.

You shiver when he dips his fingers under your waist band, pulling them down agonizingly slowly.

"This okay?" He asks in a gentle tone, one that makes your stomach do flips.

"Yes," You say immediately and breathlessly. "Very okay."

The corners of his mouth turn up to resemble a smirk, before his gaze returns back to the area between your legs. He runs his fingers down your clothed slit, feeling the way your wetness coated the stringy fabric.

You let out a soft gasp, slightly bucking your hips, hungry for more of his touch.

He plays there for a while before finally taking your underwear off, setting it somewhere on the bed.

Joel inhales through his nose when he sees your glistening cunt, trying to not cum in his pants at just the sight. He doesn't stop his impulse to pull your folds apart, running his thumb along your lips.

He's being so slow and gentle—it’s making your heart rate each dangerous levels.

His thumb then ventures up to lovingly rub your clit, his eyes scanning your face to watching your reaction.

Your legs are shaking as you kept them apart for Joel, your hands fisting the sheets as you cope with the sensations he's allowing you.

Your chest is heaving up and down and your eyes are glazed over with a hazy fog—one that Joel loves to see.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel lowers his head and connects his lips to your clit.

The act makes you jolt, mostly because you weren't expecting it.

His tongue laps at you, slowly at first, but then something shifts in Joel.

It's like the hunger for your cunt overwhelms him, and his grip on your thighs tighten. Within seconds, he's devouring you like a man starved, licking long strips up your cunt before focusing on sucking your clit.

You can't stop the moans and mewls slipping past your lips, and you don't really want to. You want Joel to know how good he's making you feel.

"OhhhfuckJoel," You whine, shooting your hands down to grab his salt and pepper hair. He focuses solely on your bundle of nerves with his tongue, using his fingers to give your desperately empty hole some attention.

When he slides two fingers inside, you effectively fall apart.

Tear prick in the lining of your eyes, your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out his name.

The fact that he's never eaten you out before and he's been this good at it the entire time, felt criminal. You honestly might've been more offended that he waited so long to reveal this talent than when he tried to end things.

"Dontstopdontstopdontstop," You sob, feeling yourself reach that climax you craved.

You come with a loud moan, and Joel lets you ride it out on his tongue and fingers.

When your body goes limp, thats when Joel lets up. He brings his head out from your legs and slips his digits out of your spasming hole.

You mewl at the feeling, looking at him with teary eyes.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" You asks, voice quiet and cracked.

"M'fifty-six years old—been around the block, babygirl." He's face is glistening with your juices, and his mouth is wearing that lopsided smile of his. It makes you wanna smile back.

"...Damn. So I'm not the first, huh?" You huff, not upset in the slightest, just wanting to tease him a little.

He chuckles and unzips his pants, letting his cock slap against his stomach. "No sweetheart, you ain't the first." He rasps, effortlessly manhandling you to straddle his lap. "But you are gon be my last."

His hands caress the plush surface of your hips, kneading them like dough while his eyes scan your face.

You're blushing so hard, your face probably looks like a spanked ass.

He really did have a knack for leaving you breathless with those one-liners of his.

You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, looking back down into his big brown eyes. All you can do is stare, because your brain is too focused on how hard your heart is beating to come up with a response.

"What? Now you ain't got nothin' to say?" He husks, his massive palm venturing down to your grab and squeeze your ass. Your back straightens and your lips part like you want to say something—but you're not quite sure what. "C'mon, use those pretty lips."

An idea pops into your brain.

"I'd rather use these lips," You whisper close to his mouth as you raise your hips up to hover over his member, slowly dipping his tip inside your warm hole.

"Fuck," Joel grunts, exhaling through his nose.

You grin at his reaction, lowering yourself down further with bated breath. You watch as his head lolls back and his grip tightens on your waist.

"What? Now you have nothing to say?" You mock, even though you're equally as breathless as he is.

He flashes you a glare before sliding a hand up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hand doesn't let you break away from his lips, and you don't plan to.

His tongue establishes dominance in your mouth, which you eagerly let happen. It's passionate, deep, bordering on punishing—sometime during, he manages to rip your top off, leaving you completely nude. But sooner or later, you both decide breathing might be a good idea.

You break away, chests heaving, mouths panting.

Eventually, you sink all the way down on him, giggling deliriously when you make eye contact again. You decide to forget your fake little fued, nuzzling your head into his neck.

"Have I ever told you how big your dick is?" You mewl, squirming your hips around a bit but not lifting them up and down. It has Joel reeling.

His hands are holding you so tight, you're sure that it'll leave a bruise. "No," Joel huffs out rather distractedly, his eyes laser-focused on the way your cunt is gushing all over his lap. But you swear you can see the faintest blush on his tan skin.

"Well—your dick is real big." You whisper nearly inaudibly, making Joel snap his gaze back to your face. A lazy smile curls at your lips before you begin dragging you tight cunt up and down on his violently erect cock.

Joel shakes his head in disbelief, as he often does, but is unable to answer becase the feeling of being inside you is rendering him speechless. His hand absent-mindedly dips down to rub your clit—the act has you doubling over onto his shoulder, starting to bounce on him like your life depended on it.

"OhJoel, Iloveitsomuch," You blabble into his ear, noticing how he had taken the reigns at this point. He was manually lifting your hips, bringing them down with intense vigor.

He was stretching you out so good and his tip was so fucking deep—you were having a hard time staying conscious and not going brain dead.

It appears Joel's in the same boat too. "Fuck—you're killin' me." He grunts, bucking his hips up to meet you.

You giggle airily before immediately getting your karma—his dick paired with the position and the way his face looked—your cunt clenches down on him and you cum hard.

Your body jolts as you grab onto him, not expecting him to keep fucking you. But his grip on your hips doesn't falter, and Joel continues to bounce you up and down.

The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt. Just letting him manhandle your body and do what he wanted was a surprising relief—even if you did just come.

You're reduced to whimpers and moans as you slump into his chest, letting him ground you and fuck your abused cunt.

Finally, slams you down one final time, unloading deep into your warmth. His groans sound like music to yours hears, especially because you know it's you that's making him feel so good.

He's panting in your ear, slowly starting to move his hands up to wrap around your torso.

He's hugging you before you can register it; his big arms securing you tightly to his chest while you both tried to catch your breaths.

Seconds pass...which turn into minutes, and you're wondering if Joel ever plans on letting you go.

He's made no efforts to remove his dick from inside you—it's soft now, but still buried deep nonetheless.

Your pussy will occasionally flutter around him, which'll earn a soft sigh from his lips.

You place a soft kiss on his temple before straightening your back to look at his face. "You tryin' to make sure your seed takes or something'?" You murmur, that teasing lilt in your voice that Joel is all too familiar with.

"Somethin' like that." He mutters into your chest, pulling you down with him to lay on the bed. "Want me to pull out?" He asks after a moment, scanning your face for any traces of displeasure.

You nestle into his chest, hooking your leg over his waist to lodge him deeper inside. "Never."

You and Joel fuck all day, all night and even into the morning. With, of course, breaks in between so Joel can recharge his stamina.

It happens multiple times in your bed, in the shower, on the couch, in the hallway, and even in the kitchen come morning.

Joel was making coffee while you were traipsing around with just his flannel on—humming along to some made-up song. It was like you two were an old married couple; him hovering over the moka pot and you scowering the fridge for some breakfast.

"Blueberry pancakes orrrr...." Joel watches as your head is stuck in the fridge, trying to find ingredients for meals. "Blueberry pancakes."

He snorts. "Surprise me." He huffs sarcastically, knowing he'd be eating a plate of blueberry pancakes.

You grinned and started making the batch, feeling Joel's eyes all over you because of the way his flannel was slipping off your shoulder because it was far too big on you.

His stare was turning you on—so you just bent yourself over the cool surface of the countertop and Joel did the rest.

Eventually, your safari of fun had to stop sometime during lunch. You both had succesfully cleaned yourselves and had started dressing for the day.

"I just told Maria I'd help set up." You murmur distractedly, tying your hair up in the bathroom mirror. Maria was holding a little town party in one of the recreational centers, and asked you, as well as some others to help her with the decorations.

There's a pause before Joel steps into the tiny bathroom, situating himself behind you and sliding his large hand over your stomach. He places a soft kiss to your head before dropping his hands to softly squeeze your hips.

"I'll walk you there."

A beat.

"You will?" He nods in confirmation, which has you turning around to look at him. You smile and tilt your head playfully. "You gonna walk me to first period too?"

Joel immediately rolls his eyes and scoffs, though you swear you can see him smirk.

"Smartass." He huffs out, grabbing your forearms to move you out of the way.

"Kidding." You chime, leaning on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. You weren't sure why you were so surprised by his offer, but you could tell it was a sign of something.

Maybe he wasn't stressed about people finding out about you two anymore. He never said that he was—but you could tell.

And it wasn't like he was embarrassed of you or anything—he's just always been a private person. It wasn't anyone's business who he was falling asleep next to every night.

But you—he'd be willing to change that for you.

When you both are ready, you exit your house, locking the door behind you. You look up to see your neighbor watching as you and Joel descend your porch steps.

You never liked her—gossipy woman who was always sticking her nose in places it didn't belong.

Quickly, your gaze snaps to his face, wanting to see if he was okay or anxious or whatever it may be.

But Joel's just looking right back down at you. "Lead the way, pretty lady." He murmurs lowly, his jaw clenched but his eyes soft.

You smile, and fall into step with him as you both walk down the sidewalk. The birds are chirping, the breeze feels amazing, and Joel is cracking smiles at your jokes.

Life felt good again.

Suddenly, Tommy appears out of nowhere, as he often does, blocking you and Joel's path.

You freeze, trying to keep a neutral face. You still weren't sure how to act around people with Joel, so you were just planning to play if off like you guys were just two buddies walking or whatever.

"Hey," Tommy greets, looking at you and then Joel, his eyebrows pinched together like he was confused at seeing the two of you in the same vicinity.

Oh. He probably knew what happened, or bits and pieces of it.

For some reason, you feel anxious that Joel might be feeling anxious, so you look down at your feet and nervously fidget with your hands.

"What're you two doin'?" Tommy asks, a detective look in his eyes as he shifted on his feet.

Joel clears his throat before looking down and grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers with his calloused grip. He can't help but glare at Tommy with a stern face, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

Your breath catches.

Tommy's eyes venture down to your joined hands, then you, then Joel.

After a beat, a sharp and knowing grin spreads across his face.

"Well I'll be damned." THE END.

[arahdow]

BE CAREFUL WITH YOUR QUILLS !

Pairing. Sonic x reader, Shadow x reader, Silver x reader, Knuckles x reader

Content. fem!reader. fluff, tiny silly argument in shadow’s, cuddling, overall soft stuff.

Word count. 1.6 k

A/N. writing sonic was the hardest thing i’ve ever done aH idk why!! i’ll make sure to write him more often to get used to his personality aH anywaaay, again, not beta read, i’m really sacrificing my sleep hours for this one sjdjs hope y’all like it!!

SONIC

making you run and accidentally crashing with him.

“Come on! You’re being too slow!” Sonic screamed as he kept on running, his feet moving way too fast for her liking. 

Just a few days ago, the blue hedgehog encouraged his partner to go out for a run together, and she knew he was an athletic man, but this? This was torture.

“Sonic… Wait… I can’t” her feet were moving so slow compared to his, especially when she wasn’t used to running this much. 

“One foot in front of the other! Come on!” Sonic said laughing, as he ran backwards, looking at the girl. She huffed with annoyance, the hedgehog still winning even when running like that!

After a while, the blue animal ran faster and almost disappeared from her sight. The girl took a deep breath and started running faster. Somehow, the fear of getting lost in the forest making her move, helping with adrenaline. Suddenly her body was moving faster than before. Way faster! 

Her body, sadly, started to grow tired quickly because of the energy she was using. Her lower limbs suddenly getting wobbly, but somehow kept running. Out of instinct, she thought.

That was until she realized she was about to crash into a stone wall at the end of the road, it was getting dangerously close!

The girl stretched her arms to cushion the blow. A violent ‘Hey!’ was all she could hear as she crashed, not on a stone wall, but rather a soft body. Sonic’s body to be clear.

He used his own body to soften the crash, but something was wrong.

“Ouch! Wha-”

She looked down and saw one of Sonic’s blue quills stuck on her shoulder. “Damn… Ouch.” 

The animal was sprawled upon her, but quickly recovered to take a look at his injured girlfriend. “Oh, I’m sorry darling,” he said with a sheepish smile, helping her stand up, careful not to mess with the quill. “but it’s kinda your fault to run that fast, thought you were about to destroy time and spac- Ouch! Why are you hitting me!” He said with a pained laugh.

“You’re an asshole! Help me get this out!” She complained, annoyed that the man was making fun of her.

“Aw, don’t be all grumpy, I promise not to make you run again.” He said, pushing her slightly to take her to the infirmary. “Hey, maybe next time you can try Shadow’s air shoe-”

“Don’t even finish that thought.”

SHADOW

silly old couple argument

“Move.” The girl didn’t reply, her gaze focused on the tv. “Get up.”

“Git ip.” she mocked.

The black hedgehog grumbled, sitting really close to her, almost on her.

“Hey-”

“This is my side of the couch, you know that.” He said as he crossed his arms. “I don’t like this channel.”

“You don’t like anything, Shadow.” She complained, not giving him the remote.

They’ve been living together for a year, two years being a couple, and they still bickered like an old couple. It became something usual between them, and it got even worse when speaking of the sofa. There was only this purple sofa in the living room, both her and Shadow liked it, but there was just something about the spot on the far left that was perfect. For both of them.

So if they were together in the house, it was usual for them to fight over the sofa spot, like they were doing now.

“I’m feeling hot, you need to get off of me!”

“I’m not on you, you’re the one occupying my place!”

“Shadow!” she pushed the hedgehog with her shoulder, as he pressed even harder on her.

With a huff, she turned and put her hands on him to push him again, when a quill suddenly pinched her hand. 

“Ow!” She exclaimed, looking at the dark quill stuck on her. “You can have your stupid place on the couch!” the girl said as she stuck her tongue and got up to the kitchen, looking for some tweezers to take the quill out.

Not many long after, the man got into the kitchen, following her, taking her arm in his hand. “Hey-”

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking intently at the sensitive red spot on her hand. Pressing his lips, he brought her hand under the faucet to clean the wound. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. Please forgive me.” 

The girl snorted. “It’s alright though, I was just messing with you, but you were seriously pressed, huh? Pressed enough to hurt me.” She said with a fake tone of hurt on her voice.

Shadow rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna let this down, are you?”

She gasped and whined, putting on a pouty face, “Ow! It hurts! Please! Why are you so mean to me?”

“Alright alright, you can have the couch for today.” He sighed, shaking his head with humor.

The girl smiled, her face expression going back to normal. Turning happily, the girl kissed his cheek before running to the couch. “Love you, Shads!” 

SILVER

cuddling after a long day but uh oh…

After a tiring day outside, he wanted nothing more than to be at home, eat the food his girl made for him and spend time with her. It was a simple plan, and the cherry on top? Cuddling with her on bed, his face pressed on her stomach as she threaded his quills.

It was a usual occurrence, both of them lying down in silence, sometimes him laying on her lap, sometimes her on his, but they spent most of their time cheek to cheek.

“Silver…” She whispered, afraid of disturbing him. But he didn’t reply, instead, a soft snore broke his silence.

The girl giggled a bit as she kept on caressing his face and quills. It was times like this where she found herself falling once again for her hedgehog lover. She was actually reading a book on her other hand, so her attention was mostly directed to it.

Being immersed on the story, she got really focused on the sentences, suddenly drifting off from her task on her other hand. She unconsciously made her limb move in erratic ways, as she tried to keep on doing both things at the same time.

That was until she felt a slight sting on her hand. Jolting, she yelped as she retreated her hand from his body. The movement was so sudden, Silver opened his sleepy eyes, sensing something wrong.

Leaning back enough so he could see his partner in the eye, he found instead a look of slight pain as she held her hand in front of her face, a silverish quill stuck on her palm.

“Oh chaos, dear, your hand!” He expressed, incorporating as he held her hand for a bit. Using his telekinesis, he brought the aid kit to bed. Doing a careful procedure, he took the quill out from her hand, making her hiss at the feeling.

“I’m sorry…” He said.

“Don’t be, it was my fault, I was completely distracted by the story.” She replied, looking at the book beside her.

Silver took a look, as he kept patching her hand. “Hey! That’s the book I recommended the other day!” 

“It is! And it’s so good! I really loved it when the protagonist saved the kids from the falling building.” 

“That was my favorite part too!” He said. Both of them laughed and kept on talking about the book. He was really happy to have her in his life.

KNUCKLES

It’s shedding season! And your roomie-bf is in the house!

Cleaning after an echidna warrior was difficult, especially when he kept bringing his dirty shoes inside her home, her food taken, and her bed occupied. But she honestly loved Knuckles company, so she carried on with it.

It was starting to get a whole lot colder outside, as the temperature began to cool down. It was that time of the year where the island became a little snowglobe, so the echidna spent more time at her partner’s home than anywhere else.

Today she needed to do the laundry, piles of dirty clothes started to form, and even though Knuckles tried to convince her to stop using clothes like him, that still wasn’t on her plans, at least not on a short term.

Sighing, she started to walk towards the laundry room, a pile of white clothes on her arms, making seeing the floor almost impossible. Knuckles was sleeping in her room, so she let him. She’ll make him fold the clothes afterwards either way. Sure, she’d let him crash whenever he needed it, but it came with a price.

Opening the door of the room, the girl stepped inside. But she wasn't ready to feel an electric pain coursing from the bottom of her feet to her core. A scared scream left her throat as the pile of clothes fell from her hands. Tripping, the girl fell on her butt with a thud. Not a second later, the echidna was already punching the laundry’s room door, breaking it. His breathing agitated as he saw his significant other on the floor.

“What happened?” He asked, worried that someone might have come into her home. 

The girl crawled, starting to search in between the clothes as she stumbled upon a red quill. Taking it in between her fingers, she showed it to the animal, furrowed eyebrows on her face.

Knuckles saw the quill with curious eyes. “You stepped on a quill of mine?” 

She threw the quill at him, half annoyed. “Of course I did! Don’t go around shedding your stuff please. Look! Now my foot hurts because of it.” She said as she looked at her now destroyed door. “And that too!” The mammal listened to her words, and before she could complain for anything else, he got closer to take the girl in his arms, an easy task for him, and brought her to the sofa. Laying her down, he put a gloved hand on his own chest.

“I’ll take care of the laundry to compensate for it.” He oathed, the girl surprised for his serious face, snorting in the process.

“That’d be nice.” She said, as she looked at her foot, not swollen or anything. “I could help you though-”

“No, you stay there.” He demanded as he strided to the laundry room.

A moment later, he came back stomping to the living room again. 

“Uhm… How does the machine that washes clothes works?”

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Saviour and His Saved

It had been thirteen months and three weeks since Harry had found, and saved, Malfoy from a dark, icy corner in the crooked streets of Knockturn Alley.

For thirteen months, Malfoy had not stepped foot outside of Harry's cottage. He'd spent his time sleeping, ignoring Harry, reading his way through Harry's modest book-collection, making sullen conversation with Harry, and teaching himself to cook.

It hadn't been a bad thirteen months, Harry thought. He ate a lot better now. Malfoy too. The sour, skinny git had actually turned out to be a pretty good cook and baker.

Harry couldn't complain about his life. He left that to Ron, who still bemoaned the fact that Harry had brought home a stray Malfoy and kept him and even occasionally bought him a new book or a new jumper. Harry didn't mind. It was more than worth it to see Malfoy's thin, dull face brighten.

After months, Malfoy had begun going out on walks by himself every evening. The first time he'd gone, it was after yet another shouting match with Harry and to Harry's utter shock he'd stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind himself.

He'd been sure Malfoy wouldn't return and had spent the whole evening with his stomach churning with something awful, thinking about going back to a life without that grumpy fuck.

But then, just as the sun had set, Malfoy scurried in through the small, arched front gate, his cloak held closed around himself.

Harry planted himself before the front door, fists clenched, and prepared to yell some more, this time about Malfoy just leaving him. Then, Malfoy burst in, looking around wildly, and had proceeded to produce a baby bunny from under his cloak.

"What," said Harry.

"We have to save it!" Malfoy shouted, as if he was about to sacrifice his own life or something.

They bathed and fed it. Harry firecalled Hermione to ask her about raising baby bunnies. Malfoy named it Buttercup. That was three weeks ago.

Harry now sat with Buttercup the bunny on a bundled up blanket next to him on the sofa, a mournful, old, and partially deaf bloodhound that Malfoy had met on his way back from the shops and brought home sitting by his feet, and a cat with one eye missing curled up on a cushion on the windowsill. The bloodhound, Malfoy had named Wilson, and Harry had the uncomfortable, nagging suspicion that Malfoy had actually stolen some careless sod's old dog with the firm belief that it was an underfed stray. The one-eyed cat, Malfoy had permitted Harry to name, and had immediately regretted it when Harry had named him Mad-Eye.

Harry now saw Malfoy appear at the gate and pass through it inside, his gait as hurried as ever, as if permanently late to be somewhere. Then Malfoy let himself in, saw Harry sitting and staring at him from the sofa, and turned away towards the stairs, his cloak bundled around himself.

"Where are you going?" asked Harry at once.

Malfoy scowled. "To take a piss. Merlin."

"What's that?" Harry asked suspiciously, getting to his feet.

"What's what?!" Malfoy snapped, still not fully emerging from under his cloak.

"What do you have there?" Harry pressed, walking up to him and plucking at his cloak.

Malfoy took a step back, his cheeks pink. "Nothing. What do you mean?!"

"What's under there this time, Malfoy?" Harry asked wearily. "Not another rabbit. The dog keeps trying to eat the first one."

"Wilson's not going to eat Buttercup, don't be an idiot," Malfoy said, impatient and rude as ever.

"What do you have?" Harry said loudly, tugging at Malfoy's cloak more forcefully.

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, jerking farther away from Harry, when there was a tiny, very shrill mew.

Malfoy froze, eyes huge in his face. Harry's mouth fell open and he tugged, yet again, at Malfoy's cloak.

It fell away to reveal an extremely small, very dirty white kitten held carefully in Malfoy's bony hands. It was shivering uncontrollably, and continuously emitted small, pitiful meeps.

"You want me to leave it outside to die?!" Malfoy burst out before Harry could even say anything. "You want it to die?!"

"No, but--"

"Well, you make me take it away and it's going to die, Potter."

"Malfoy, I'm not--"

"It needs a home, and your stupid house is so big, and we can save it before it dies."

"Can you stop saying "die"?!" Harry said exasperatedly.

"If you make me take it back, I'm going with it," Malfoy said, jutting his pointy chin out at Harry.

That made Harry grin - because Malfoy was threatening to leave with the sort of confidence that one has when they know they would never be allowed to go.

And that made Harry's tummy flutter happily for some reason.

"Well, in that case, I'd better let you keep it," he said solemnly. "What would I do without you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's face, already tinged pink, now turned scarlet. Shoulders rounding inwards a bit, Malfoy looked down at the raggedy kitten before sticking his nose up in the air.

"You love it already, Potter," he said loftily. "You love everything you save."

Then, as he processed what he'd just said, Malfoy's face turned so hot that he looked faint for a second.

Then he hurried away into the kitchen, cloak billowing behind him, calling out over his shoulder,

"Clean towels and tic medicine, if you please, Potter."

Grinning, Harry went upstairs obediently. He had a kitten to save and a whole lot more to love.

[myownwholewildworld]

v. a Roman’s rotten heart - acta, non verba

chapter 4 | series masterlist | ao3 | chapter 6 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: temptation is sweeter than honey. a/n: well, well, well, what can i say other than this whole chapter had me howling? over half of it is smut, so if that's not your thing, i'm sorry? 🤓 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, starvation, marital abuse, infidelity. some fluff because cormag is a grumpy sweetheart. marcus is the praise/consent king. very soft!marcus (yes, this is a warning). he talks you through it. a lot of fingering. nipple play. unprotected piv. reverse lap dance and reverse cowgirl positions. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd, very minimal editing (soz). w/c: ~8.8k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Come see me tonight,” Marcus almost begged you as you turned around in his embrace.

He had you pinned against the wall of the garderobe, the small room filled with the scent of wine and sex.

You chuckled, eyeing him through your lashes. It was a good sign that he was eager, but you wondered if he was just trying to bed you, fuck you and then be done with you. All men were the same, especially men like him — drunk with power, believing they were above everyone else, that they could get anyone to bend to their will.

And… was not that what you were trying to do anyway?

“I’ll see what I can do,” you conceded, leaving him hanging. “But won’t you have an early day tomorrow? I’m sure being the General of Rome have you waking up like an early bird.”

You were fishing for information, and hoped he would bite the bait.

Surprisingly, he did.

“Tomorrow we are going on a reconnaissance mission around the area, stalk out some points of interest where…” he trailed off, probably realising he had spoken too much. “But I don’t mind having a late night when I know it will be worth it.”

He surely knew how to make one feel fucking special. But what he said was like gold dust to you — it wasn’t much, but enough to get your plan working. You’d need to speak to some people, see what could be arranged, but if it worked out, perhaps your people could instil some fear in those rotten Roman hearts.

You wondered if Marcus’ was as rotten as his people’s. An idea of him had formed in your mind, and it contradicted what he had shown you so far. But only a man with a rotten heart could cause so much pain, so much grief.

You chewed your bottom lip, crouching for a second to collect the jug you had dropped before.

“If I finish early after cleaning up all the mess of your birthday’s celebration…” you teased.

“Right,” Marcus took a step back, liberating you from the warm prison of his body. “You go first, I’ll wait a couple of minutes then leave.”

“Such a gentleman, worried about my reputation,” you mocked him a bit, hand on the doorknob.

“I am,” Marcus replied, and you were not sure if he was joking back or being serious.

You didn’t stay to find out, scurrying away down the hallway straight to the kitchens. There were a lot of people in the small room, with Cormag at the forefront of it, barking commands and orders to everyone. The air was heavy, a cloud of smoke collecting close to the low ceiling.

The poor cook was profusely sweating near the hearth, his paw stirring a cauldron with a big wooden spoon.

“Ye deaf lad?! Bring that over right now!” the old git screamed at the top of his lungs, breaking into a coughing fit a second later.

Tomorrow you would make sure to put out the fire and clean that damn chimney, because one of these days Cormag was going to cough up a lung. You wouldn’t tell him though, otherwise he would try and talk you out of it, pointing out that it was no job for a lady. As if you cared.

Placing the empty jug down on one of counters, you saw Brighid and Isla tattling in a corner, giggling and blushing. You could only imagine what they were talking about. Had Brighid recognised you? It was dark inside the garderobe, and Marcus had tried to shield you from her, but the maid could be very perceptive.

Then Brighid swept the room and waved at you to come over, still snickering.

You steeled your back and sauntered towards them, not sure what to expect.

“Oh, mo bana-phrionnsa, you’re not going to believe what I just saw!” she squealed, almost too excitedly. “I just saw the Roman General fucking one of the harlots in the garderobe!”

Should you take offense in being mistaken for a prostitute? Perhaps you should but didn’t. It was actually a relief. Being caught red-handed sheathing Acacius’ cock in a crowded event like this would have been bad, really bad.

“Did you now?!” you faked the same level of excitement, sharing in the gossip.

The rest of the night was a haze, serving plates and taking empty ones away, cleaning up after the unwanted guests, replenishing wine and beer one pint after the next. Your feet hurt, although the dull, pleasant aching between your legs had nothing to do with standing up for hours. You had Marcus to thank for that.

Perhaps you were being paranoid, but you felt strangers’ eyes on you for the remainder of the night. You had avoided looking at the dais the whole evening, slightly worried that if your eyes lingered on him for too long, people would notice and add up your absence with his. That wasn’t the kind of attention you needed.

The last of the Romans had left now while you and the maids continued to clean after them. Marcus and Maximus were the last ones to exit the great hall, and you could sense the General’s brown eyes burning through your skin as he walked towards the double doors. You didn’t look his way, although the temptation was there. You knew if you did, you would not be able to stop yourself from following him to his room.

Two hours had gone by, and you were knackered. Rummaging through a basket, you found one of the plums that Cormag had gotten for you from Fachabair, jumped and sat on the clean counter. Your feet dangled in front of you, your mind stuck in that garderobe.

You were so distracted, your heart almost escaped your chest when someone spoke behind you.

“Meanbh-chuileag (Highland midge),” you almost fell from the counter when you turned around to look at the old cook.

“Cormag! I almost threw up my heart right now,” you accused him, his hearty laugh reverberating in the room.

“Didnae ye hear my ol’ knees clicking? Umnae (am not) that stealthy, fear beag (little one). What are you doing here? It’s so late, you should be in bed,” he questioned you, stopping in front of you with arms folded.

You rolled your eyes — Cormag was too close to a father figure to you, so you would sometimes give him the same attitude you did your dad.

“I was about to go, just wanted something sweet before I left.”

“Is that why all the plums are disappearing so quickly?” his brows knitted together, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Coireach (guilty). They are just too sweet. Didnae you say you bought them for me exclusively?”

“Exclusively? Now I don’t recall saying that, ye wee liar,” Cormag joked, his expression softening. “Are you and your family having enough to eat?”

The old man had a nose for hunger. While you were not starving, you did save as much food as possible so your niece and nephew would not go to bed with an empty belly. Bonnie was trying her best to keep you all fed, but four more mouths to cater for in the household meant that resources were a tad scarce. Your sister’s children were used to Cormag’s cooking, not having known hunger for a single day of their lives. And you didn’t want that to change now.

“We are making ends meet,” you eluded, shrugging, while sinking your teeth in the plum.

Cormag tutted at you and with no other words, he veered around and shuffled around in the kitchen. You watched him with curiosity, not sure of what he was doing. Got off the counter to drop the stone in the bin.

“Here, you take all of this with you, and I won’t accept no for an answer,” Cormag placed down a basket full of food. “They are leftovers from tonight. Brighid, Isla and the lads have already had their share.”

You could smell the stew even with the tiny cauldron covered. Fresh vegetables, berries, bread, and, of course, quite a few plums along with other seasonal fruits. All that food would keep you all fed for a few days.

His generosity made the knot in your throat swell, your eyes lighting up with unspent tears. You had not expected to feel emotional, but the cook’s kindness reminded you too much of the family you had lost.

“Cormag,” you whispered, fearing your voice might crack, “mòran taing (thank you).”

He waved one of his paws, making light of the situation.

“Dinnae mention it. You still have a few inches to grow,” he jested, palming your shoulder.

His joke worked — it lightened your mood.

“I am six and twenty. I don’t think I’m growing any more than this,” you chortled, grabbing the basket to rest it on your hip. “Awright, I’m leaving before you diminish the castle’s reserves.”

“Off you go then,” his hands did a brushing motion, the man almost pushing you out of his kitchen.

If you had planned on visiting Marcus tonight, that had now changed — carrying all this food to Bonnie’s home was your main priority. You couldn’t wait to see the sparkle in your niece and nephew’s eyes when they woke up in the morning, plums and berries ready for them to break their fast.

Marcus knew that the rebels would be up in arms, but he did not expect them to be so bloodthirsty. The barbarians from the Highlands were not going to go down quietly, he had come to learn.

He had lost at least a dozen of men in the skirmish. They had been ambushed in their way to Cùil Lodair (Culloden), and none of his trackers had seen any indication of the small legion being followed. The moment they entered the woods and the path narrowed, arrows flew from tree to tree. Hell ensued, a dance of swords quickly singing its melody up to the treetops.

With his wounds still fresh and healing, Marcus had been able to knock down the first two men that approached him. Maximus and Cassius had come to his aid in time — the warmth soaking the tunic underneath his armour a good indication that he was bleeding again.

The General looked around him before jumping onto Faun’s back. Death followed him everywhere he went, like an old companion stalking his every step. He should be used to it by now—the reeking stench of humanity’s demise—but the truth was, Marcus never would. It never became easier, just manageable, but his duty to Rome had him drown the lingering doubts living quietly in the back of his mind.

After an unsuccessful mission—never made it past the woods—they returned to the castle, carrying their own dead and leaving behind a pile of bodies for their people to mourn and bury.

His muscles ached with exhaustion as he crossed the barbican. A dense fog had settled in the bailey, not a soul to be seen. As he trudged forward and the warm air of the keep hit his damp skin, his senses flared — alert, hoping to cross eyes with you.

Marcus had not seen you since his birthday. Despite asking you to join you that evening, you had not shown up at his door. He had waited up for a couple of hours and when reality dawned, he called it a night, somewhat resigned.

Perhaps it was for the best. He was a married man, after all. It was normal for men to take up a mistress or two, but Marcus was the kind to think that matrimony was holy — despite the hardships and the cheating, that was. At least, that was his mind up until he met you.

Should not be after a woman who was several years younger than himself either, he thought with a pout. But whatever spell you had him under, he could not break free from. You were like the opium poppy — your mere proximity could soothe pain, but also cause it.

“You need to get that stitched up again, Acacius,” Cassius pointed out, interrupting his line of thought.

Marcus’ palm was pressing on the wound on his hip — he had almost forgotten about the pain, the thought of you soothing.

“I’ll call for Atticus,” Maximus chipped in, and Marcus nodded.

“Shite!” you staggered backwards.

The hardened soot and coal you had been poking at with a broomstick to unblock the chimney’s breast dislodged from the inner walls. Snapping your head back, your face was saved by hair’s breadth, but the black ash had cascaded down your chest, staining the red linen dress you were fashioning today.

You clapped your hands together, a cloud of soot flying around you as you tried to shake off the rest of it off your clothes.

Huffing and puffing, you grabbed the damn broomstick and brush the mess off the floor. At least the chimney was unblocked now, so the air would not be loaded with smoke when the hearth was ignited again.

At least the kitchen was empty, so no one was witness to what has happened. Not that you were a refined lady worries about being seen like this, but you just knew that if Cormag was around, he would be giving you hell.

Once you were done, you left the kitchen and sauntered towards the doors to the bailey. You were in dire need of a dunking to clean yourself — you knew the perfect secluded spot on River Ness’ bank, one you had been going to since you were a child.

“Callie?”

The voice behind you made your heart skip a beat and your feet freeze. One you would now recognise anywhere.

“Dux Meus,” you murmured, turning around to face the fire of your desire.

Dux Meus. His lower tummy burnt at the words.

The last thing Marcus had hoped to see this fine morning was you standing in the hallway, a red dress hugging the hourglass figure he longed for. Your chest was covered in what seemed to be ash and soot, a deep black staining ruining the front of your pretty dress. It spread to your neck, your cheeks, the tip of your nose — and your green eyes so bright that they were pulling him in.

“What’s happened?”

“A minor inconvenience in the kitchens, Dominus. I was unblocking the chimney’s breast and, well…” you lifted your arms and pointed at yourself. “I guess my reflexes are not as sharp as I would have liked.”

Marcus grinned, the annoyance in your voice adding to the entertainment.

“I guess not,” he hummed, his fingertips burning to touch you. “I can help you,” the words escaped him before his brain was able to catch up with his own intentions.

I can help you clean yourself, he meant.

Your eyes locked for what felt like an eternity, the pupils in your orbs flickering, pondering.

One of your brows raised in your forehead and you took a step forward towards him.

“Only if it is not inconvenient for you, Dux Meus,” you cooed with a girlish smile.

“Of course not,” he quickly replied. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

“I believe your pretty dress is ruined,” Marcus husked, the damp rag brushing the exposed skin of your clavicle.

This was fucking torture. He was playing a game, and your patience was running thin. He had been paying immense attention to every inch of your skin, cleaning off all soot and ash. You knew he was debating, but he wouldn’t have taken you to his bedchambers—your room—if he hadn’t had something in mind.

The same thing you had in mind, to be completely honest.

“It appears so,” you said, sliding your hand to his.

To hell with subtleties — the tension was eating you up.

You guided his hand, the one holding the linen cloth, to the valley between the swell of your boobs. Slowly you pushed it down, one corner of the rag disappearing between your breasts.

Marcus didn’t say a word. And he didn’t need to, because the way he was looking at you—like a man who had not drunk water in days—was speaking for him.

You were not sure who had taken the initiative, but soon enough you were in his embrace, his mouth warming your lips as his hands rested gently on either side of your waist.

“I need you,” you mumbled, possibly being sincere for the first time.

You had not been able to stop thinking about what happened in the garderobe. Every time the memory came back, you would find yourself rubbing your knees together to quench the thirst between your thighs.

Marcus groaned in reply, his hands harsher now as they found the buttons on the back. With steady fingers, he undid every single one of them until your dress cascaded off your body and gathered at your feet. Soon your loincloth was also on the floor, leaving you completely naked.

The General took a step back to take in the sight of you — the intensity in his brown eyes making you blush as he studied every square inch of your body.

“You look beautiful,” he muttered, one hand reaching up to cup one of your breasts, his thumb skimming the nipple. You pursed your lips at the gentle touch. “You are beautiful, mel.”

Then he bowed down to kiss you again, and he took control of your hands to show you how to undress him. So you did under his delicate guidance, until you both were equally bare.

Marcus’ body was a woman’s dream — or, at least, yours. Toned but not too muscular, a hard chest, strong and defined arms, his lower tummy slightly softer with the passage of time, a pronounced V line, and then a happy, hairy trail that your eyes eagerly followed.

His cock had started to harden, the tip pearly with his excitement. The length was generous, but the girth was what caught your attention.

No wonder why he couldn’t fit it in the first time. Perhaps it hadn’t been your body’s rejection, but that Marcus’ dick was thick, very thick.

“It’s alright, honey, we’ll make it work,” he hummed, his thumb tilting your chin up to press a soft kiss on your mouth.

Then he walked to the bed—his ass, goddamn his ass—and sat on the feathery mattress.

You were standing there, completely naked and suddenly you felt shy — your arms wrapping around your body to try and cover yourself up. Your skin had bristled, not because of the room temperature, but because you felt completely exposed to him.

Being shy was not something you were used to, but everything you had endured with your late husband had taken a toll on you, one you had not expected at all. It pained you to acknowledge that Iain might have broken your spirit a tad more than what you would have liked to admit.

Marcus’ nudity should have calmed you, but instead it made your eyes widened and your heart pound harder.

He was big, really big ― to the point that you pondered if he would ever fit inside you. No wonder why he had only fucked you with the tip a couple of days ago. Taking more inches of his cock seemed like an unachievable task, at least for you. You were no stranger to sex, having been subdued to satisfy all of Iain’s vices, but this… this was too fucking different to what you had expected.

Doubt nagged at your mind, questioning yourself. Perhaps this was all a bad idea, wanting to seduce Marcus to get information off him. But you truly didn’t see any other way of obtaining what you needed ― leverage.

Marcus extended one of his hands towards you.

“It’s alright, melculum. Just want to make you feel good,” he husked, his palm an open invitation to join him, sat on the bed. Your bed.

You slipped your hand to his and he pulled you gently until you were sat on his bare lap. His hardening dick rested on the side of your left thigh, warm and heavy. His right hand traced mindless lines on your back, while his left caressed your belly, the pads of his fingers lightly stroking your mound.

With eyes shut, you sighed, relaxing at his touch. Marcus kissed your shoulder, then the curvature of your neck.

“That’s it, mel, relax. We are not doing anything you don’t want to,” he whispered.

And you believed him. Knew better than trusting your enemy, but his voice was so reassuring, there was no more room for your initial doubt.

His left hand surprised you travelling up instead of down, cupping your left breast while his thumb stroked your nipple. A shiver of need went down your spine, soothed by the gentle pet of his right hand on your back. His beard scratched your bristled skin as he crouched down a little to trap your taut nipple between his lips.

Inevitably, your head tilted back, mouth agape with short breaths. Marcus worked your nipple diligently, the warmth of his lips dripping onto the wrinkled nub. And even as you started trembling on his lap, he did not stop. If anything, your little gasps and quiet moans spurred him on, his tongue flicking your nipple.

The sensation was too much ― Marcus latched on your breast as a man starved, his broad hand cradling your breast with reverence. He was intent on making it good for you and not asking for anything in return. But your instinct wanted you to reciprocate, you needed to do something.

Your left hand found his stiffened cock, leaned against your thigh. Tentatively, your fingertips stroked the leaky mushroom head, which gifted you a deep groan coming from his chest. Hearing him moan around your nipple was a great incentive to explore him a bit more, so you swiped his glans with your thumb, collecting a pearl of precum and buttering it onto his tacky skin.

“You don’t have to,” he purred between licks.

“But I want to,” you cooed back, mind mushy with pleasure.

Marcus’ efforts on your nipple doubled, twirling the tight button between his teeth and pulling slightly before soothing the gesture with a wet kiss on your bud. You couldn’t help but whimper, dampness gathering between your thighs.

As if he knew how drenched you were getting, the hand that cupped your breast slowly trailed down until it found your mound again. His ring finger stroked the outline of your seam a few times, your knees pressed together so your juices wouldn’t leak out.

“Let me see how wet you are, please,” Marcus murmured in a moment of reprieve, his lips pecking your nipple with every word he spoke.

You couldn’t resist him, not anymore, so you parted your legs just enough to let his hand slip between your thighs. The moment his ring finger dunked in your warmth, you both moaned in unison. The pad of his finger slid across your velvety skin, from your clenching hole to your writhing clit, a few times, as if he wanted to get acquainted with the map of your pussy.

“You’re soaking,” he grunted. “So damn wet for me, melculum.”

His words in combination with his cheeky finger short-circuited your brain, that coiling sensation you had been craving these last two days starting to take form low in your belly. It was warm in here now, so much your cheeks flushed as if you had drunk a pint of uisge beatha.

With lazy strokes on your soggy slit, Marcus’ tongue kept on licking and flicking your nipple, now completely sodden with his spit. His digit worked you slowly too, moving up and down between your swollen pussy lips until it caught on your needy clit. You sobbed quietly at the touch, and sensing how much you enjoyed that, Marcus repeated it.

Soon enough you were mewling into the abyss as the General pressed languid circles on your bundle of nerves at the same time he was lapping at the tip of your boob. And the moment he sunk the first phalange of his ring finger in your leaking hole, your wails just grew louder.

With an unhurried pace, he pumped the tip of his digit in and out of you, feeling your inner walls relaxing around him. A couple of minutes later, your walls had adjusted to the intrusion, his finger now completely buried in your seeping hole down to the knuckle.

You heaved, pursing your lips in a vain attempt to control your moaning, but the pleasure building up inside you was too great to bear. Too intense to ignore. You bit down your bottom lip until you almost drew blood, your hips bucking up with a mind of their own.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you feel that?” Marcus’ devilish mouth abandoned your nipple, lips pressed against your ear. “Come for me, please. Melt for me.”

You resisted, wanting to prolong this moment. It felt too good to let it go just yet, albeit your whole body was commending you to. Your insides tightened around Marcus’ lone finger as you tried to hold on to the feeling a little longer.

You were so lost to the new sensations, you hadn’t realised your own fingers were wrapping snugly around Marcus’ throbbing erection. Hoping he would falter, you began to pump him slowly, his hot glans leaking onto the skin of your thigh.

“Don’t be a tease, mel, don’t want to come yet,” he groaned in your ear. His finger suddenly left your insides to slap your hand away from his shaft.

You sobbed at the emptiness, the coiling feeling starting to diminish. The idea of not finding relief haunted you, so you obeyed his command.

Your fingers found his wrist, gripping it tight and guiding him back to your beating cunt. You coaxed your pussy lips apart with his fingers and silently begged him to resume where he had left off.

“Are you going to be good for me and come?” he asked, kissing your shoulder. “Do you promise?”

You nodded with vehemency.

“Good girl.”

With more urgency now, Marcus worked you back to the edge of the pleasure cliff, forcing you to climb up to the top with a relentless pace. Every time his ring finger bottomed out inside you, his thumb would flick your burning clit. The repeated tease of his hand was your undoing.

Teary eyes and parted lips, you moaned as an enormous wave washed over you, the coil inside finally snapping with a force unknown to mankind. Or, at least, unknown to you. Marcus kept on fingering you throughout, pulling the last bit of pleasure out of you until you were spent.

You hadn’t realised how much you had leaked until you felt his wet thigh underneath, sticky and warm with your release.

“I’m sorry, I’ll clean―” you tried to move off his lap, but Marcus’ strong arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you on his lap.

“Don’t apologise, it’s normal. It means you’re enjoying it,” he reassured you, then lifted his gaze to yours, a lingering question dancing in his dilated pupils. “I thought you were a widow?”

He was not wrong. But not all men spent the time he was taking to make it pleasurable for women.

“I am. But my late husband only cared about himself,” you told the truth, a crack of sincerity in your carefully built façade. “Never took the time to… make it good for me.”

Marcus frowned with incomprehension at your revelation, his mouth falling into a flat line. Was that a ray of anger? If it was, it quickly disappeared from his brown eyes.

Judging by what had just happened, you knew he was the complete opposite to Iain in that respect.

“Two days ago, in the garderobe. Was that your first time orgasming?”

You pouted, feeling like the conversation was taking a very personal turn. But you didn’t want to lie to him, there was enough deceit between you two. So you nodded, eyes withdrawn with a tinge of embarrassment.

Marcus cursed himself, annoyed with something although you didn’t know what. Annoyed with you, perhaps?

His thumb stroked your bottom lip, soothing the grimace showing on your face.

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have taken you like that. This should have been the first time you climaxed, melculum. I am sorry,” he apologised, and your heart jolted.

He was angry with himself. But the whole thing had been so good, you wouldn’t have done anything different. The memory of Marcus’ tip fucking the first two inches of your pussy had kept you warm at night.

“What? Nay, don’t. It was good, really good. I wouldn’t change a thing about what happened,” you quickly replied.

And what was worst, you actually meant it.

For a minute, Marcus didn’t speak a word, studying your face expression until he reached the conclusion that you were not lying.

“Stand up for me,” he said out of nowhere.

You obliged, the tremor of your knees almost gone. standing in front of him, he leaned forward, hands on either side of your waist, to kiss your mound. The intimacy of such gesture caught you off guard. Then he leaned back and dragged his body on the bed until he was sat in the middle of it, back resting against the headboard, knees bent with his soles resting flat on the silky bedsheets.

He palmed his thigh, his cock so erect it twitched with every heartbeat against his happy trail.

“Come here,” he mumbled with need.

You might not know what you had to do, but your body definitely knew what it needed to do to chase that high again. So you crawled on the bed until you were straddling him, the tip of his throbbing cock kissing your hooded clit.

Marcus’ hand cupped your ass, and then tutted.

“Not yet, mel, I need to make sure you are completely ready,” he husked.

It was your time to frown.

“I am ready,” you assured him.

“It was only one finger, sweetheart―”

“One thick finger,” you remarked, snappy.

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yes, but I need you to take all of this,” he whispered, his hand gripping the base of his cock to direct your attention there.

He was girthy. Probably too girthy. One of his fingers was nothing in comparison.

You swallowed, your gaze looking for his.

“Yeah, I know, dove. We’ll take it slow,” he leaned forward a bit to kiss your right nipple. “Turn around, I want you to sit on my lap with your back resting on my chest.”

The promise of another climax numbed your mind, so you did exactly as he had asked. Sat on his lap, you leaned back until your bare back met his hard torso. His knees were still bent, and he slipped his forearms under your thighs to lift them up over his own thighs. The back of your thighs were now resting on top of his, and when Marcus pulled his knees apart, your legs followed the motion, leaving you completely open and exposed.

When your eyes drifted down your own body, you saw Marcus’ erection poking in between your thighs, gently lodged between your pussy lips. His hips moved slightly under you, his length skidding along your drenched fold, the head disappearing from sight as it dragged backwards across your seam. It hitched in your entrance, just briefly ― then Marcus tugged his hips upwards and his glans reappeared again, protruding where your slit began.

Marcus repeated the whole process a few times, his name dripping from your mouth in choked moans. He buried his crooked nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“You feel like heaven right now,” he mumbled, kissing the nape of your neck. “Play with your boobs for me, mel, my hands are about to be very busy, sadly can’t be everywhere.”

His request had your cunt gushing some more, if that was even possible. You felt so wet down there, you even wondered if there was something wrong with you. Couldn’t be that out of all men on this world, the one who killed your family was who had you melting under his touch.

Feeling a bubble of slick leaking from your hole on his thudding shaft, you leaned your head back on his shoulder and moved your hair out of the way, some ginger curls cascading down your front, covering your breasts. Cupped your underboob and pushed them up, creating a deep valley between your tits.

“That’s it, stroke them for me, melculum,” he mused as both of his hands rode up your inner thigs until your pussy was framed between them. “Brush both of your nipples with your thumbs, just lightly. Don’t be too harsh with them, they are sensitive.”

Marcus talked you through playing with your buds, petting them gently as he was telling you. While doing so, his left hand grabbed at his cock and began to pump himself, while his right started working your clit again. Looking down, you just caught a glimpse, which sent you trembling on his lap like a newborn foal.

He cupped your mound, the pads of all his fingers rubbing your clit leisurely, as if you had all time in the world. The fire burning between your legs hiked up your spine the moment Marcus let go of his cock and it sat snug against your pussy again, his fingers stopping for a second.

You whimpered in protest, your nipples hardening under the touch of your thumbs.

“Shh, it’s okay, Callie,” he heartened you, only to resume the petting of your slick nub. You let go a sigh of relief. “There you go.”

His free hand went down your thigh to find your drooling entrance, testing it out with one finger. Your pussy sheathed it with ease and Marcus hummed behind you.

“You’re much more relaxed now,” he praised. “Pinch those nipples for me, twist them gently between your thumb and index.” You did as you were told, another wail tearing your throat apart. “Yes, just like that, you’re doing so well, mel.” He gave you a moment to acclimatise to the feeling of having hands everywhere ― your nipples, your clit, your hole. It was almost too much. “Now, suck on your thumbs so they are wet and go back to rub those beautiful buds for me. Imagine they are my fingers. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, desperate. Doing exactly as you were told, the sudden cold of your spit on your nipples made the sensitive skin under your thumbs wrinkle. The brief pain transformed into something else, hellfire running through your veins.

So focused on your breasts, you had almost forgotten about Marcus fingering your pussy and smothering your clit at the same time. Your toes curled, hips bucking up, so close to that cliff again, one you would throw yourself off gladly.

“You’re doing very well―so, so well,” Marcus’ praise was like music to your ears, all your nerve endings firing with delight. “You think you can take another finger?”

You sobbed, shaking your head.

“Yes, please,” you begged.

As promised, Marcus introduced his middle finger, the pads of both dragging along your anterior wall to find that sweet, soft spot. Your hips jerked up and then back down on him, grinding a circular motion on his lower tummy.

“Well done, mel. I am sure we can get your sweet tight pussy to make room for me.”

His cock twitched between your thighs, leaking, and you knew he was as desperate as you. So, while one hand skimmed your nipple, the other drifted down to caress his glans with your thumb. Marcus rumbled underneath, his breath hitching with a quiet moan ― you did it again.

His fingers sunk inside of you effortlessly now, pumping in and out and all you could hear were the squelching noises coming from your swollen lips. It should have felt embarrassing, but it had the opposite effect on you ― if anything, they made you gush even more.

“If you can take three fingers… shit…” Marcus almost lost his composure there, “if you can, then you’ll be ready, sweetheart. Shall we try?”

You gripped his beating erection harder in response, mewling audibly now with every stroke on your clit, every thrust of his fingers, the caress of your own thumb on your nipple… Then the third finger went in smoothly and you saw stars behind your closed eyes.

It just was too much. Your knees quivered and so did your cunt, clutching on his fingers. You felt your inner walls contracting, but this time it was different ― it wasn’t to get the fingers out, but to push them as far in as you could. And Marcus obliged, bottoming out, then slipping them out and back in. The coil inside you twisted feverishly and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

You started wailing, grinding your ass against his tummy, in an attempt to increase the friction in your drenched opening, in your clit, everywhere.

“You’re close, mel, you’re so close,” Marcus huffed. “I want to try something. Do you trust me?”

You were barely able to nod at his words ― right now, you would do anything he asked for.

His fingers left your hole with a pop, and the second hand stopped petting your clit right when you were so close to fall off the cliff of your pleasure.

You panicked, tears brimming now as a sense of anxiety peaked inside you.

“M-Ma-Marcus,” you complained in a stutter, your whole body shaking.

You didn’t have much time to finish your protest, because he grabbed your hand off his cock and pushed your fingers against your clit. He showed you how to move them in circles, coaching you for a minute, teaching you how to pleasure yourself.

“Keep touching your sweet little clit for me, deliciae (darling),” Marcus groaned, his voice raspy and deep. “I’m going in. I want you to come while you sheathe me.”

And with no further ado, he slipped his forearms under your thighs, lifted you off his lap to align the tip of his veiny dick with your entrance. Slowly he dropped you, his length furrowing its way up your cavity with no difficulty.

The moment his glans was sat and more inches intruded, you finally came. The strength of your release had your whole being shaken up, your climax so intense you couldn’t see anything even through half-lidded eyes. Feral moans escaped your lips, every inch of Marcus’ cock intensifying the climax that had you on its tight grip.

Your inner walls hugged his cock, choked it actually. Your heart was racing so fast, you could feel the heartbeat in your quivering cunt, a sensation so overwhelming it almost sent you over the edge again.

You hadn’t realised, but Marcus was completely seated inside you, buried down to the hilt, his balls intimately kissing your puffy lips. Fullness tugged at your walls, stretching them, still adapting around his girth. He was everywhere ― filling every crevice, every nook and cranny. You felt his presence so intensely, it was staggering.

“Oh Gods…” Marcus sounded like he was within an inch of his life. “You feel so good, melculum. So warm, so wet, s-so… uhm… so tight. Heaven on Earth,” he prayed in a hush, his tone almost breaking. “How… are you feeling?”

“Blissed out,” you hummed. “Full, in the best way possible.”

Those were all the words Marcus needed to hear from you. He had been to hell and back, and even though his cock had been barely stimulated, he was throbbing for you. Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he felt this… needy.

And now he was in heaven, his shaft sweetly embraced by your wet warmth. A gift you were, sent by Gods themselves ― there was no other explanation.

Marcus’ forearms were still resting on the back of your thighs, then he hoisted you up ever so slightly, moving you up his length so you would free a few inches of his cock. The cold air of the room clung onto his damp shaft, a shiver running down his spine, then placed you back down on his lap.

Every time he pushed you up and down on his lap, you would moan like a woman possessed. Your little sobs and whimpers were the best melody he had ever listened to ― so quiet, yet so wanton. They filled your mouth and spilt over your lips like honey. He would drink them right now if he could.

His dick pulsated hard when your pussy fluttered around him, then your walls tensed around him and Marcus snapped his head back against the headboard, a feral groan ringing in his eardrums.

“Do that again, please,” he requested, all his fingers digging in the flesh of your thighs.

“W-what?”

“Squeeze your walls for me, sweetheart. Hug me tight,” Marcus mumbled, struggling towards the end the moment you did exactly as he asked. “For everything that is holy―”

And you did it again, his words dying out as you clamped down on him with a strength that had him delirious. His mind spiralled down and just in the last second, Marcus stopped himself from coming.

“Such a mischievous nymph you are,” it wasn’t an accusation but a compliment. “Let me see if you’re still playing with that taut pearl in your pussy the way I’ve shown you.”

When he looked over your shoulder, you coaxed your sodden flaps apart for him, showing him how your fingertips worked your clit. Marcus’ hips jerked up at the irresistible sight, burying himself further down in you. His waist waved underneath you, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“You’re doing great, mel. Such a good girl,” he moaned in your ear, nipping your lobe. “Do you like that, hm? Rubbing your tight little button?”

Your reply was a trembling whimper, your pursed bottom lip quivering with your eyes shut. Your brows were knitting together, bunny lines hugging your upturned nose. Marcus could feel your need, your palpitations. Your desperation.

“Is it too much, melculum?” You nodded, almost crying now. “I know, sweetheart, but we can remedy that. Do you want to come so you feel better?” Another nod of your head. “Alright, do you think you can ride me?”

“Aye, I want to ride you, Marcus,” you sobbed his name, his balls tensing up into his lower tummy.

Marcus let go of your thighs and helped you accommodate your knees to either side of him, so you were straddling him backwards. His hands caressed your round ass cheeks, eyes locked on where your bodies connected.

“Do whatever feels right, honey.”

Overtaken by instinct, you leaned forward and placed your hands between his calves, fisting the bedsheets as you started bouncing your hips up and down on his lap. Marcus let you find your rhythm, standing still underneath, letting you use him as needed.

The sweet choke of your pussy was too much ― too tight, too wet, too warm. This was the best he had felt in fucking decades, all thanks to you. Slowly, he matched your thrusts with his own, fucking up into you, meeting you halfway while his hands on your hips kept you grounded.

The slapping of his testicles on your swollen fold went on for a few minutes, a lewd cacophony echoing between the walls of his bedchamber. And soon enough he found himself grasping for control, his cock pulsating uncontrollably inside you.

You might have felt his pulse, because you spoke between choked wails.

“You can come inside, I can take―”

“What? No,” his response was instinctual, cutting you off before you finished. “You don’t need to take anything.”

Because the mere idea of you drinking some sort of potion so his seed wouldn’t take made him sick. Was that what your late husband had taught you? Was that how you were treated in bed, like a simple plaything to be used to satiate a man’s lust?

Those thoughts were deserted the moment your entrance squeezed hard around him, your moans mixing with the clapping sound of skin on skin. You pushed down your hips onto his lap, your sweet ass flush with his lower tummy. He felt another orgasm hit you and Marcus fucked you through it, steadily rutting up into you.

His own climax was near, all his muscles tensing with anticipation, his hips stuttering. With the last drop of his sanity, he lifted your butt up, his erection becoming free and resting between the swells of your ass cheeks. A second later, white ropes painted the small of your back while Marcus let go of a guttural groan.

With a fucked-out expression and a sweet grin, you looked over your shoulder and down at his spent sliding down your back. Marcus reached for the bedsheet and cleaned his cum off your skin delicately, his brown eyes fixed on your emerald ones.

“You’ve done extremely well for me, melculum. Exquisitely well,” he remarked, his hands smoothing over your thighs. “Come here.”

You turned around and laid down besides him, the upper half of your body resting on top of his torso. Your cheek rested on his sternum while his fingers traced invisible lanes on your arm, just above your elbow.

A moment of quietness lingered as your rapid breaths calmed down, your hearts settling back into a normal pace at the same time.

“I thought it was bad for you,” you muttered, the palm of your hand splaying right underneath his belly button.

“What was?” Marcus asked, confused.

“Uhmm…” you paused for a second, dubious, but then decided to trust him with your questions. “Coming outside. I was told it was extremely painful for the man to come if you are not buried… deep inside of a pussy.”

Your words awakened something with him, something dark and primal ― protective. For a moment, Marcus wished your husband was alive, so he could teach him how to be a real man. He had started to create a picture of what your sex life had been so far, and it wasn’t a pretty one.

In retrospect, he regretted having taken you so hastily in the garderobe. Barely took the time to work you to a climax. Marcus had paid worshipping attention to your breasts, but when it came to your clit, he had not been as attentive. Marcus should have shown you how good that could feel, should have taken his sweet time like he had done today, but he had been too anxious to fuck you.

Marcus looked for the best way to tell you without making you feel naïve. He didn’t want you thinking something like that, that he would force his seed on you for his own pleasure.

“That’s not how it is, mel. I’m sorry you’ve been told that,” his lips brushed your red crown, then pressed a kiss on your forehead. Could you hear how hard his heart was pounding with rage? One he was trying to quiet down. “I can come outside just fine, that’s not an issue. I prefer that a thousand times over you having to drink some nasty potion that will end up hurting you.”

His care for you was genuine, and Marcus was shocked at the truth that thought held. He barely knew you, but what he had seen of you so far had him reeled in like a fish attached to a rusty hook.

You were so direct, snappy even, with a sarcastic retort always at the ready. Your strong personality was refreshing, especially to someone like Marcus, used to be surrounded by women who would bow their head down at the sight of him. But knowing this side of you now―a tad insecure and inexperienced, rediscovering what sex was really like―, he wondered how much of your façade was just that, a carefully built stonewall to keep people at bay.

“Oh, I see,” you muttered, the skin between your brows pinching.

Marcus tilted your chin up with his thumb. His gaze roved over your face, studying it and finding that you seemed to be upset, possibly with yourself. He didn’t like that.

His thumb stroked your bottom lip to relax your pouting expression.

“If you were told such a thing, it’s normal that you believed it. I just don’t want to lie to you, don’t want to take advantage of you, melculum. I want you to enjoy yourself, to discover what you like and don’t like in bed.” The hand that was caressing your arm travelled down your back, went over the swell of your round globes until he found the slick of your arousal clinging onto your pussy lips. He stroked them carefully, buttering your sticky cunt with your own juices. “This is how I want you, sweetheart. Creamy and satisfied. That’s all I care about.”

You hummed at his words, eyes shut and mouth agape. His fingers pried your pussy open, the cold air on your wet, sensitive skin made you shiver on his chest.

Acacius knew too damn well what he was doing, taunting you again like this. You didn’t think you had it in yourself to come again, but the General seemed to think otherwise.

His index found your clit and stroked it maddingly slow. Seemed like he was right.

You gasped, chewing your bottom lip, your mind drifting away at his intimate touch.

“I think you can come for me again, don’t you?”

You whimpered in response, lifting your bent left leg until it rested on of his lap, so he could reach your swollen, reddened pussy better. You humped the side of his thigh, grinding on his hairy skin to get you off.

“You’re drenched,” he purred with satisfaction, kissing your forehead as your seeping hole sucked in his finger eagerly. You moaned. “Seems like you need me to take care of you again, mel.”

His fingering had you drooling onto his chest until you came again, sobbing like a babe gasping for their first breath. Your limbs felt numb as your pussy pulsed a few more times, releasing the last of your arousal onto Marcus’ palm. He rubbed your seam, cupping your whole pussy, until you were completely done.

Then tapped your cunt softly, gently. “Feeling calmer now?”

You nodded, blissed out and speechless.

You remained on top of his chest while coming down from your latest high. You had lost count of how many times Marcus had made you come now, but keeping count had not been on your foremind. What you had realised though was that this―whatever this was―was dangerous.

You had expected Marcus to behave exactly like Iain ― to take you how he wanted and discard you when he was done with you. Yet here he was, making sure you had no more orgasm to give him tonight. This was not your plan at all ― you banked on him being a complete monster who would ravish you given the chance.

This could complicate everything, and you even wondered if you should stop this madness before shit got too real.

A man with a rotten heart would not have you question your decisions. Perhaps it wasn’t rotten, only spoilt.

It’s just sex, a means to an end. Doesn’t matter how good, how fucking delicious he makes it to be. Fuck him, enjoy it, get what you need from him, then destroy him. Easy, you reminded yourself, albeit with less determination than before.

“I should be going,” you mumbled, unwilling to leave this bed despite the inner talk you just gave yourself ― your bed that now was his.

“So soon?” he whispered, his lips twitching in a pout.

Damn him for making it difficult to leave.

“My aunt will be wondering where I’ve gone. Can’t risk her coming here looking for me, can we?” you tried to make light of the situation with a white lie.

“I guess not,” he finally agreed after a brief silence, then kissed your forehead. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Patience is a virtue, Marcus,” you mocked him a bit, sitting up on the bed. “And mine has run out, I’m afraid. Aye, I’ll come tomorrow.”

Marcus sat up on bed too, hugging your waist, his mouth dangerously close to yours.

“I will make sure that you come tomorrow, mel,” the double meaning was not lost on you, even less on your gushing pussy.

You swallowed a whimper, kissing his lips briefly to then jump out of bed and grab your clothes off the floor. You put them on as fast as you could.

“You better,” you threatened him, softening the gesture with a wink, before you disappeared through the door.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[phantasm-ae]

im still hung up on cod mw3 im sorry😭

cw: angst, slightly canon, events take place before cod mw3

HEADCANON: Soap drags Ghost to a fortune teller. They end up learning stuff that stirs something…

PAIRING: Ghoap

something something, Soap dragging his CO after a brief break in the recon into a grimly little tent somewhere in Romania.

The scot seeing the sign and thought it'd be a laugh. "Madam Kora --Truth. Past Lives. Marriage Prospects" on faded gold paint. A tiny plastic skull taped to the corner of the tarp for some added flair. Tent flaps marshing in the wind like it wanted to escape.

It looked curse. That was Ghost's first thought

Second thought: if this was how he died -- hexed in the middle of bloody rural Romania because Soap couldn't resist a gag -- then he deserved it. He enabled this. He didn't punch Soap in the mouth when he had the chance. Never actually wanting to. Never could. Okay fine. That was on him.

Third thought: if this woman cursed him into marrying John MacTavish, he'd never hear the end of it.

Soap had already pushed his way inside like it was a bloody legendary pub and not a shanty tent pulsing with incense and ancient curses. Ghost stood just outside the entrance, staring at the plastic skull swinging in the breeze like it was trying to warn him. It probably was.

"Git in, ya grumpy shite!" Soap’s voice called from within. “She’s got tea!”

That was not a selling point. Promise, Ghost lies.

Ghost ducked inside anyway, because he was tired and it was Johnny plus the wind was picking up, and Soap had that look in his eye -- the one that always meant trouble with a capital T. The gaze that usually ended with Ghost babysitting someone through either a hangover or a near-death experience. Ghost was never even sure anymore at this point.

The inside was dim and smelled like burnt rosemary and regret. Candles flickered on cracked saucers, casting dancing shadows across velvet drapes and bead curtains. A fan whirred softly in the corner, utterly failing to disperse the smoke. Ghost could barely make out the outline of a grimly woman. A tiny wiry thing sitting cross-legged behind a small, round table covered in what seem liked wax stains and... tarot? cards.

"You came seeking answers," she said immediately, not even looking up. Her voice was raspy and bored, like she'd already done five of these today and everyone asked the same damn questions.

“Naw, just here fer a laugh”, Soap said cheerfully, plonking himself into the nearest seat. "He came 'cause I gave him a wee guilt-trip"

Madam Kora slowly looked up at Ghost.

“You carry death in your eyes,” she said, squinting at him. “And trauma. And... a lot of repressed sexual energy.”

Soap choked on his tea.

Ghost froze.

“…Excuse me?”

“I said what I said.” She gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Sit. Let the cards speak.”

“This is bollocks,” Ghost muttered, but sat anyway. His knees cracked. He was too old for this.

Kora reached out, grabbed Soap’s hand first. She hummed. Flipped a card.

“Ah. The Fool.”

Soap beamed. “Ach, sounds braw.”

She pulled another card. “And The Lovers.”

Soap raised a brow. “Oh?”

“And Death.”

“…Aye, alright,” he said carefully. “A right mixed bag.”

Then she turned to Ghost.

And took his hand.

Pausing. Quiet. Distant...

The tent fell silent. Ghost swore he even heard the fan stopped spinning.

Her expression changed though -- no longer vaguely annoyed, but something deeper. Eyes wide. Breath hitching a bit and brows furrowed. Voice softening and... concealing.

“You two,” she whispered. “Have been married. Four times.”

Soap blinked.

Ghost’s entire body locked up like someone had yanked his power cord.

“Each life,” she continued, “you found each other. Through fire. Through war. Through pain. And love. Always, love.”

Ghost ripped his hand back so fast the table shook.

“Right,” he said, standing up almost immediately. “This was a mistake.”

Soap looked like he’d just been handed a lifetime subscription to his favorite joke. Grinning madly like an idiot. Cackling with toothy glee “Oi! Married? Four times?”

Madam Kora gave a solemn nod. “Bound souls. You’ll find each other again.”

“Get out of the tent,” Ghost growled, already stomping out. But he could hear the grin in Soap’s voice as he followed:

“Should I start writin' ma vows noo, or—?”

"I said out Johnny. Now."

Later that night -- miles away however, from the cold campfire smoke and the ache of unspoken things -- Madam Kora sat alone again in her now-silent tent.

Candles now burning low. Creased, indented, and stained cards were stacked neatly in her lap, though she hadn’t touched them in hours.

She rarely remembered faces after readings. They blurred, mostly. Tourists and drunkards and the curious. But not them. Not the man in the mask, and not the boy with the laugh in his mouth and war in his spine.

She remembered how the air shifted when she touched the masked one’s hand.

How heavy it became.

How still.

She had seen fire. Smoke. Love so raw it was bleeding. A man built like a fortress, crumbling, piece by piece, because the world never let him keep the things that softened him. Not for long.

She saw them together. Fingers laced. A joke shared across the kitchen table. A hand on a scarred back in the dark. A home that smelled like tea and gun oil and laughter forced through grief. Ghost smiling -- not much, but real.

But it was only for a moment.

Because then came the silence. The sound of a gunshot in a room she couldn't see. The ache that cracked through time.

She’d seen the moment Johnny MacTavish dies.

And worse -- she’d seen what it did to the man in the mask.

She didn’t tell him. She never did. What would be the point?

You don’t tell a man already carrying a hundred ghosts that he’s about to meet one more.

Still, she whispered a prayer to whatever gods still listened in that part of the world. For the soul that wandered. And the soul that stayed behind.

Even now, she hoped -- maybe this time, maybe this life -- they could outrun it.

Even if only for a little while.

masterlist

[bunnyreaper]

𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸 𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈

𝓅𝓉 3 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 4.2k warnings - 18+/nsfw, cheating (not from reader or john), older male younger female, future daddy kink) notes - hello darkness my old friend. i'm back! i have no idea what i'm doing or if it's even good but here we are!! also on ao3! ♥

With John gone, you stand in the open doorway for longer than you probably should, your thoughts overwhelming your ability to just turn around and walk inside. There's an unfamiliarity to seeing him off on your own, without James by your side, but honestly, the moment felt all the better for it. 

Eventually, you head inside, heading to the kitchen for a cuppa before you'll probably find your way back to bed. Tea always has a way of making you sleepy, somehow, which is good because it's coming up on 4:30 am, and the last thing you want is to be in John's home on a dark morning, without the man himself.

Atop the kitchen island sits a handwritten letter, some cash, a house key, and an emergency number should you need anything. 

You pick up the letter, noting John's scrawl—it's not the first time you've seen it by any means, Christmas cards, birthday cards, the post-it notes stuck to his fridge—but it's neater than usual, his all block letter filling out most of the page. 

[Y/N],

If I can trust anyone to not burn my house down whilst I'm gone, it's you. Please stay away from the sharps, though love. No Nurse Price to help patch you up when I'm gone.

Bins go out on a Wednesday, next week is grey recycling. Try not to put it out too early the night before, or the nosey neighbours will have a fit. Window cleaner is due Thursday, and it's £35. He just put the price up, bastard.

Feel free to use my ensuite, the pressure in the rain shower is way better, but fair warning, it'll ruin the main bathroom for you.

If you need anything, use the money I left, and if you need any more, I'll square you up when I get back.

See you soon, love, don't get into any trouble. 

John.

——-

The letter makes you smile, both that John took the time and that it reads like an overly cautious parent leaving their kid at home for the first time. He truly is a mother hen in a gruff man's body. You pick up the key, putting it in the pocket of your joggers so you can attach it to your keyring later.

The two of you, or rather, you and James, have a copy of it at your house, but this one is all yours. 

John letting you stay in the house at all is a sign of trust, but doubly so when he's away. Strangely, you feel less turmoil upon his departure when you're surrounded by everything him. His furniture, his record collection, the throw blanket you crocheted for him that you know he uses frequently. Framed pictures line the walls, every room smells like him, his cupboards are filled with cheesy mugs that have clearly been forced upon him over the years. 

It makes the sudden emptiness of this somewhat unfamiliar place a little more bearable.  

You make your tea, reaching into the cupboard for a mug. The Sports Direct one is tempting, but there's no way you're getting through that much tea before drifting off again. Instead, you grab one of the aforementioned cheesy mugs—one that's fairly plain beside the "GRUMPY OLD GIT" printed on the side. It warms you from the inside out, thinking of John's expression every time he sees those words, especially since the mug was likely from his squad and was intentionally picked just to irritate him.

With a steaming mug in hand, you head back to the guest room and snuggle back into bed. Desperate to take your mind off of John, you watch some video essay on your phone and sip at your tea until you're finally ready to drift off to sleep.

—-

Days pass by, mostly in a haze. The post-breakup limbo you're in is strange. It's been so long since you've been without James that even though you're glad it's over, it's weird to be apart. 

Your sleep is much better now without him coming into bed late, making a racket, waking up early, and making a racket all over again. Your heart is lighter, not filled with worry and second-guessing—at least until his late-night texts come and disturb your peace. Despite muting the pop-up notifications, the number on your messages app ticks up every day, making you squirm with discomfort at the reminder of James and the little red circle that lingers. You don't hear from John, which never feels great when he's away, but at least keeps you from seeing glimpses of James' vitriol.

Your newfound state of suspension is all the more complex by being in John's house. 

Admittedly, you hadn't thought much of what would happen if and when you and James broke up. You thought you'd be headed home, and you suppose you still might, but you didn't expect refuge in John's home along the way.

You still sit with the sin of coming between father and son, no matter how much James' actions are to blame for this whole mess. Even more than that, you feel decidedly wrong for holding onto your relationship with John with both hands, for being closer to him than his own blood.

John doesn't belong to you, never has and never will, but there's something safe and comforting and familiar about him you know you'll hate to let go of, more than James and more than the life you're leaving behind. 

Guilt twists in you further, for you finally admit to yourself that you've craved this closeness with John the entire time. From the moment you two met, there's been a connection, a simple bond of kindred spirits, an unspoken natural enjoyment of the other's company—and perhaps there's more to it than you thought. 

The feeling sits uncomfortably in your stomach, the realisation that you're interested in John Price as a man, separate from his relationship with his son. 

Creeping into his room almost feels illegal, but he did offer up his bathroom for your usage.

You've been in here before, but only ever briefly, and in John or James' company. Now you're unaccompanied. The texture of his soft pile carpet feels unfamiliar under your feet despite being the same one in the guest room. It's lived in, it's his, but it's still tidy in a way you'd expect from a man in the military. The bed is perfectly made, and everything's in its own place. 

You make your way through to the ensuite, delighted to see, just like John said, a room even more lavish than the main bathroom. The rain shower beckons you in, and the shelves are filled with a surprising amount of gels and creams.  

Turning on the shower, you begin to strip down, ready to bathe under the steaming cascade of water—yet a sense of unease washes over you.

John isn't in the room, isn't even in the house or the country, so why does being naked in his bathroom feel so... forbidden? 

You catch yourself in the mirror, entirely bare, on display only for your eyes. How many times has John stood in this very spot, getting the same view of himself? Your cheeks flush at the image of his bare chest, an undoubtedly hairy trail downward... and you try hastily to push away such inappropriate thoughts. No longer able to face yourself in the mirror, you step into the spray, the temperature of the water rivalling the heat building in your body. 

It doesn't help you any as a scent, uniquely John swirls in the air, his body wash and shampoo emanating from the bottles on the shelves and the loofah that now sits drenched near the taps.

Usually, you'd just feel a sense of safety, but now, something else entirely builds inside you. It's likely just a misplaced sense of wishing for John's return, missing him, as anyone who knew him would. It's likely not helped by your lack of physical intimacy for months now and the neglect you've suffered from for so long. 

The thoughts you were having earlier, of being interested in John as a person, grow corrupted with each passing second. Could it be that you're interested in John in a baser sense? Or is it just an unfortunate combination of other factors? 

You swallow thickly as you turn the temperature lower, hoping to douse the flames of your inappropriate thoughts. 

——

After several days of sitting around rotting, the urge to actually do something works its way into every fiber of your being. You've already sorted through the suitcase and bags you brought over to John's, though it likely won't be long until you need to repack again. You've also performed every self-care act known to man, and religiously checked Rightmove in the hopes of finding somewhere to rent on your own. You're in the middle of singing, dancing, and deep cleaning John's kitchen when your phone lights up, the man himself calling.

"Hi John." You greet sunnily, beyond pleased to see him safe and sound and smiling too.

"Hello, love."

Even through the speaker, his voice is soothing and warm.

"Ooh, is that the wifey?" A Scottish brogue fills your ears as a head pops into view, before a loud shushing and the slam of a door. You can't help but chuckle, only knowing Soap by reputation and feeling warm at finally getting to witness the man firsthand.

Even if what he said is mortifying. Isn't wifey a term for any woman in Scotland, anyway? 

"Was that Soap?" Hopefully John doesn't hear the waver in your voice.

"Sure was. How are you, darling? Keeping well?" John smiles in that way he always does, tight-lipped and only just meeting his eyes. 

"Not so bad, you've caught me at a bad time actually." You look at yourself in the small preview of what John sees—messy hair, dressed in barely there pyjamas, and definitely looking a little worse for wear. Shit.

"That's usually my line." His chuckle is faint, but then he seems to notice your appearance too, and the disarray behind you. "What are you doing?" 

"Just some chores. I cleaned your oven, and now I'm about to get rid of all the expired stuff in the fridge." There's a proud smile on your face as you explain—a small subconscious part of you hoping it pleases him, that it shows you're earning your keep. 

John sighs, his brows furrowing. "Woman, I can empty my own bloody fridge." 

There's equal amounts playfulness and reservation in his tone, the perfect balance to make you want to tease him. "And yet, you neglected to, so here I am." 

"What would I do without you, hmm?" 

"Come back to mold in your fridge?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You grimace before setting up the phone and turning back to the open fridge, picking up a half-open bottle of wine that sits in the door. It was probably there the last time you visited. You pull it out, taking a quick smell of the alcohol before your stomach lurches in protest. "I mean, how long has this actually been here?" 

"A while, but it's expensive wine, love." 

Feeling brave, especially despite the smell, you take a quick swig of the wine, downing as much as you can in one go. Not all of it makes it to your mouth, and you wipe your lips with the back of your hand before you show the bottle to John once more. There's still a bit left, but the guilt of wasting it isn't enough to make you suffer through more of the taste. 

"It's going down the drain." You shrug, setting it down on the counter next to the sink.

John's eyes twinkle with amusement, but he purposely tries to keep his expression flat. "Fine, least you're keeping busy, 'spose." 

"I am!" You smile brightly, focusing your attention on John and coming closer to the phone.

Upon closer inspection, you take in his surroundings. It's a surprise to get a call from him, although a pleasant one. He seems to be in a building instead of some tent or the middle of some desert, which comes as a welcome change. Despite the more hospitable surroundings, John looks just as tired as you'd expect, the lines on his forehead seeming deeper. 

"How are you, anyway?" You ask. "Didn't expect you to be in some office."

"Not that cushy, the bloody AC is broken, but I'm taking advantage of the WiFi while I have it."

He finally gets the chance to get in touch with normal civilisation, and he uses the opportunity to call you. 

The mere thought sets something in you aflame, a warmth that radiates outward from your chest and heats you until you feel your cheeks flush. 

You take a step away from the phone, fiddling with something off camera so your reaction is your own little secret. 

"Did Soap have to show you how to use FaceTime?" You tease, hoping to deflect with humour.

"Very funny, love." John rolls his eyes and fights the smile that lurks on his lips. "Think you'd have still been watching CBeebies when I got my first iPhone."

Incorrect, but a horrid thought regardless. 

"Okay, I take it back. You're not that old, and I'm not that young!" You protest, a desperate voice inside you screaming to assert the need to not have John see you as a child.

"I'm well aware, missy." He purrs, something imperceptible in his tone that makes you feel far from innocent. John's demeanor shifts quickly, and whatever was there before now hidden behind a mirage of stoicism. "How's the house?" 

"Fine, nothing disastrous happened. I waited for it to get dark before I took the bin out, paid the window cleaner his extortionate price even though he was a prick." 

"What'd he do?" John frowns.

For a moment, you hesitate, wondering if you should even tell him. While you're certain you're not making a big deal of nothing, you don't mean to sour his opinion of his competent-yet-arsehole-ish window cleaner. 

"Just called me your 'midlife crisis' and then asked if I could help him with his." Your features crinkle in disgust, entirely at the idea of being that man's anything.

"Arsehole." John huffs, his jaw clenching.

"I think he was just trying to be funny, but I just wanted to shut the door in his face." 

"Wouldn't have blamed you, love."

You shrug, hoping to brush off what was an unfortunate but fleeting encounter. "Oh well, at least when he comes next month, I probably won't be here."

John stills. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I can't stay here forever."

"Maybe not, but you can stay as long as you like." 

There's no question in his tone, and you should know better than to argue with the man, but that feeling of something untoward still fizzles in your veins. "I don't want to get under your feet."

"Darling, you're doing me and that house a world of good. Don't make me tell you again." Despite his words, his features are soft, his eyes almost pleading for you to drop the subject and agree with him.

You can't resist the look on his face.

"Fine." You sigh, accepting your defeat.

You watch as John repositions himself, the relaxed posture he held before now stiffening as he leans into his desk. "You heard from him?"

You nod solemnly, actually thinking of James for the first time that day. "He keeps blowing up my phone, deleting messages, and then doing the same all over again." 

John's jaw tightens, his rage clear. "Block him."

Another command, but one you know you can't obey.

"I would, but I need to organise a day to move all my stuff out." You explain, hoping it's clear to John that you're already counting down the hours until you can do exactly what he asked. "We let the landlord know we're moving out, so I'll need all the furniture out too by the end of the lease." 

John nods understandingly. "We'll get you sorted when I'm back." 

There's a knock at the door, a creak of a hinge, and a gruff voice on the other side—Ghost, you suspect. "Captain, you're needed."

"Roger." John calls out. He picks up the phone and offers you a sad smile.

"Duty calls." You say, forcing a smile onto your face for his sake. You pick up the phone also, and the two of you are closer for a moment.

"So it does. Talk to you soon, love."

Your chest tightens, entirely unfairly. It's only the end of a call, and you get to go back to lounging around John's home while he goes off to get his hands dirty. "Stay safe, John." 

You give him one last smile as you wait for him to end the call, unable to press that little red button yourself.

—-

Just a few more days, each dragging longer than the last, and finally John's coming home. When he sends you that fateful text, you rush to tidy the house all over again and plan a meal for his arrival home.

He should get back to base at 9 pm and be home a little while after. The hours feel like days, the time not even seeming to speed up as you cook him an indulgent dinner and put on the record player. Alone, waiting for him to come home pathetically, for a moment, it feels reminiscent of your nights with James. You're waiting for him to come over so the dread can be over, though at least with John, it's not caused by the man himself. At least with John, everything will be alright as soon as he crosses the threshold.  

By the time eleven rolls around, you turn down the music, waiting for any sound of his arrival. As soon as you hear his truck coming down the street, you're on your feet, rushing to unlock the door and pick up where you left off. 

He seems surprised when he climbs out of the car and sees you silhouetted in the doorframe, yet a tired smile shows from behind his beard, his eyes crinkling in delight. A few steps bring him closer to you, your breath stuttering before he drops his bag and pulls you into him.

His large arms wrap around your waist as yours slip around his neck. His hands grip you tight, his face sinks into your shoulder, and he holds you like he's never going to let go.

Safety. Connection. Electricity.

Your body shivers—whether due to the cold air of the night or the feeling of him pressed against you, you don't know. In John's arms, you know you'll never fall, you know he has you. 

John pulls away, his eyes staring into yours, an unknown emotion within. "Darling girl, what are you doing awake?"

"Couldn't sleep until I knew you were back." You almost go to reach for his bag, but you know he'd have none of it. You lead the way inside and immediately fall into a decidedly domestic role. "Cuppa?" 

"Go on then." 

John says very little, clearly exhausted in every which way—still, there's a twinkle behind the tiredness in his eyes that lets you know he's happy to be home. You get to work with the kettle whilst John shucks off his coat and boots. 

"I've got dinner ready for you, just needs reheating." You reach for the nicest mugs in the cupboard. 

John sinks onto a stool at the kitchen island and takes a deep breath—tension seeps from his body as he watches you. "You're an angel, love." 

"Figured you'd be hungry, and I know you love coming back to a home-cooked meal." You explain as you start to mess with the microwave, ready to reheat the food you prepared for him earlier.

"And the heating on." He smiles softly.

"Perks of a house sitter, hmm?" You muse, before turning your attention back to the tea. You pour the hot water on the teabags before adding a single sugar and a splash of milk for John. After squeezing out and discarding the teabag, you stir John's tea before setting it down before him, and taking a seat too.

Under the soft glow of the dimmed kitchen lights, you finally get a chance to take in John—the deepening of his crow's feet, the length of his beard, and the ruddiness and freckles splashed across his cheeks.

"You've got a tan!" You exclaim, your teasing half genuine and half kittenish. 

"Don't start." He fixes you with a look, but you know there's nothing behind it.

"But—" You start to protest, but fall silent when he raises a finger to shush you. Your mouth falls shut on instinct.

"'There's no such thing as a safe tan', I know, I know. You're about 30 years late to tell me that."  

You sigh, relenting on giving him The Speech, despite how much you care. You look over him once more, taking him in. The freckles give him a boyish quality that you wouldn't usually associate with the older man, and the tan only accentuates his dark hair and bright eyes. 

"I hate that it suits you, actually. Brings out your eyes." 

Handsome, even more so than before, you muse. If such a thing were even possible.

The microwave beeps, saving you from saying more than you should. 

"Cheers, love." John offers in return, and you can tell from his tone that he doesn't take such sweet words to heart. 

You focus on serving up, ensuring everything is perfect before you set the plate before him.

"You didn't have to cook for me." He says, but his eyes betray his appreciation. 

"I wanted to." You shrug, thinking little of it. It only seemed right. He goes out to god knows where doing god knows what—he deserves a hot, home-cooked meal. Add to that the way he's caring for you by letting you live with him, the way he's always cared for you—it makes perfect sense that you want to repay him in kind.

"Right." He nods before he dives into his food, barely blowing on it before he shovels it into his mouth.

You'd already eaten hours before. You wished you could've held out to share a meal with him, but your appetite and blood sugar were having none of it. You're more than happy to watch him enjoy the food all on his own.

As John eats, lost in his thoughts, you blow at your tea before taking quick sips, trying hard not to burn your mouth while still quenching your thirst. T.Rex keeps you both company as the minutes pass.

"Sorry that I'm not better company. Heads elsewhere, I'm afraid." 

"A particularly tough mission this time?" You ask, just as concerned as always.

"Wasn't easy, but don't you worry about that." The smile he offers you doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You reach out without thinking, a hand settling on his arm as you feel the need to connect with him. "You're back in one piece, that's all that matters."

His smile seems a little more real this time. Your touch lingers for as long as you can stand before you worry you've overstepped, and you withdraw. 

John devours the rest of his meal, a satisfied hum bursting forth from him with the final bites. He turns to you with a sense of purpose. "I know it's late, but fancy a drive?" 

"Sure." You nod. Admittedly, you're ready for bed, but if John wants some company, you'd do anything to indulge him. "... Though I have a confession." 

"Go on." His brow lifts, his eyes set upon you tenderly.

"Country lanes on a night freak me out."

He barks out a laugh before his features settle into a soft look. "Tell you what then, I'll take you down the A49 as a treat." 

"What a gent." 

John makes his way to the cupboard, pulling out a thermos for your tea. He drinks his own in quick gulps before he ushers you to the door.

He holds out his jacket for you to wear like its nothing—your own not yet present on the coat rack for you to grab. His scent wraps around you, and the approving look in his eyes only makes the comfort of the sherpa all the sweeter. 

——-

From then on, the two of you enjoy each other's company in relative silence. Once in the truck, John whacks on his driving playlist and pulls out of the drive with ease.

You're more than content to just watch him, satisfied enough just having him there, before you, safe and sound. Every time he looks over at you, sparing a glance before he focuses on the road once more, you find comfort washing over you more and more.

The warmth of the AC and his soft singing lull you to sleep as you look out upon the stars. 

[ashdreams2023]

hello dear! I don't know if you are accepting requests, but I would like to request a five hargreeves x fem!reader

where the reader is a psychic, and she works in the more "chic" part of the commission and she is interested in Five because of some visions she has of him and nananananana

Anyway, I hope you understood :))

a big kiss from Brazil MWAH!

I reached Brazil?! Y’all I’m worldwide now 😩💕

Five hargreeves x fem reader

Watching

There’s many characters in the commission to say the least, everyone got their story and how they got there, much how you ended up there.

But you weren’t that special, you don’t think so at least, not with your coworker having the head of a cow and speaking fluent Spanish and French.

You didn’t usually interact with other employees there that weren’t in your department, it wasn’t because you thought yourself better than them but everyone other than you moved too fast, worried at lot, but you suppose the calmness comes from knowing what your future is and how very little it takes to change your fate.

It was also noted that your department tended to stay to focus on appearances and self expression, you’ll be mostly found in different outfits and fun makeup, it clashed with the usual uniform but it was fine because in your case, it mattered what you said rather than what you looked.

In your years there you’ve predicted deaths, wars, fallouts and whatever you can think about.

It was your job anyways and no one knew your face to point fingers at who is telling on their little failed schemes.

Although….there has been a change of atmosphere since you began seeing some interesting visions about a certain agent.

Five Hargreaves.

An oldie he was, yet surprisingly this was the first time you’ve seen him do something so….unexpected.

End of the world? His family? A new threat from within? Interesting.

You find yourself watching him, from your department, from the windows, he always walked with a purpose and heading somewhere.

Your coworker likes to tease you about this…sudden interest of yours calling him a call for help and that you need to get laid or something along those lines.

"There’s a thin line between sliver box and a grumpy git sweetie"

"Oh come on, aren’t you even a little curious? He’s so…mysterious"

Your staring had led to some rumors spreading around but nothing crazy, you weren’t the first to show any interest in five but it did become slightly embarrassing when you caught him staring at you during a New Year’s party.

Then you were surprised to find him up in your department looking for you.

"I thought I’ll drop by instead of our regular routine of you staring down at home like a hawk and me pretending I don’t see you"

"Oh…sorry?"

"I’ll accept good coffee and a conversation as a form of apology, meet at six outside."

Did he just ask you out? You weren’t so sure about it but it did happen and there were cameras, and to say the least, you became everyone’s business within a few hours.

"Care to tell me why a woman like you was staring at old me? I know your job here and what you’re capable of" He was so calm it made you shiver but you still kept your professional face on.

"You know as much as me that if I let something out both of us would be counting our days here"

"I see the rumors are true" He smirked

"Which ones?" Your curiosity peaked.

He took a sip from his cup "that’s a subject for another day with a much filling meal"

You bit your lip and chuckled "Are you asking me to dinner?"

The older gentleman eyed you so intensely you could almost feel the blush creeping at the back of your neck "I know a good restaurant in 1987 France"

"Hmm, it’s a date then"

"Only if you keep wearing that red lipstick of yours"

So he was watching you too "don’t tempt me I might rebel off and put something else, mess with you a little"

"I thought your department was too much of a bunch of goody two shoes"

You smiled at him then moved your under the table and kicked foot making him wince in pain.

"Pick me up at 7:30pm and a word of advice, watch out for chainsaw at your next mission" You stops leaving him stunned and clearly interested.

"Will do, will do."

[merrygay]

The Ghoul's dilemma

Cooper Howard x Vault Dweller! Reader

Warning : NSFW, Dark Themes, reference to cannibalism, afab reader. English is not my first language. I’m bad at writing synopsis. I’m bad at writing in general in fact.

Synopsis : Kill you, claim you or ruin you ? hard to choose.

He looks at your eyes, then your lips, he seems lost in his own thoughts, it wasn't like him to be so troubled, but now the infamous ghoul is fighting with his inner self.

Part of him wants to take you, claim you as his own, forever more, until the pit of hell swallows him whole if it still hadn’t already. 

He was a walking sin, a rotten old man with nothing but impure thoughts along side you, oblivious to everything despite your efforts to adapt to this world ending in failure. 

He could just kill you and be done with all this torment, he could just be the reason for your awaiting death, because it has to be, you should have died a long time ago, you weren’t fit to this world and he wasn’t fit for you.

But despite all of this he decides to spare your life, a selfish decision on his part, but surely you don’t mind do you now ? You don’t really have a choice considering your high percentage of chance being dead out there in the wasteland if you were alone.  

After letting you live, he thought he would sell you to the organ harvester. At least you would be useful to him, he told himself, denying the fact that the only reason he spared your life was because of how possessive he had slowly become of you.

Cooper thinks he has the upper hand, after all, the ghoul holds your life in his palm, but in reality you have him wrapped around your finger without even knowing it. 

He’s still a grumpy old man who’s too proud to admit his obsession infatuation towards you.

And then there’s one night

You pressed your body against him so suddenly, your shirt rode up just enough to reveal the beginning of your breasts, which made him freeze not expecting your sudden movement, you were usually too scared of him to even approach him on a daily basis.  

"I thought I told ya to keep your damn space," he grumbled. But his words trailed off as he noticed your sleeping form, completely unaware. His eyes lingered on your body, frustrated by the shirt that did nothing to help his resolve. Your intoxicating scent was almost too much for him to bear. 

200 years old, he had outlived practically every person he had known, yet he couldn't even keep himself in check because of some naive girl. He cursed himself.

But oh no no, you are not just any naive girl, are you? After all, he had met and killed tons of stupid women, but you? He can't quite pinpoint why he wants needs you. Perhaps it's a primal instinct that keeps growing as you stay beside him. Maybe it’s because he wants to eat you? Was that it? Yes Maybe it is his growing hunger for you.

With just one easy movement, he could easily be on top of you, roaming his hands all over your body, unsullied by the radiation or anything for that matter, just a perfect doll to play with. 

He could just ruin you. Bite you, lick you, taste that delicious body while being inside of you. Taking all the innocence that is left for his own sexual pleasure. Never stopping, pumping you full of his cock. He would be nice enough to wipe away your tears as you can’t help but whimper and moan. 

“Fuck.., yeah I know shh i know darling’, i'm a bad man i’m bad bad man” he would grunt while he spreads your legs wider to give him more access.

“S-sir ?” you say nervously. You were fully awake by now realizing the mistake you made, you rapidly moved away from him. 

Your voice brought him back to reality, he didn’t realize he was fixing you all along. 

“I'm sorry i didn’t do it on purpose” you gulped. He was silent for a second before readjusting his hat while turning his back to you.

“Git back to sleep, ain’t haulin’ ya sleepy ass tomorrow”

He felt his pants tighten, which only fueled his annoyance. He would deal with it later, once you fell back asleep, succumbing to the very same fantasy.

The ghoul had a huge ego, too confident, but right now he was desperate, and you made him like this. 

[mndvx]

joshuatbassett grumpy old git (olaaaay olay olay olay)

[nebra-sky-disk]

theres a guy called dave onboard and hes a miserable old git but loves birds. like rattles off the species names of all the birds and said how beautiful they are n he puts out water for the none marine birds. "little gems, they are" he said to me. i like when u see the warmth in someone otherwise grumpy its so endearing to me

[neminomnom]

Arcane characters as/ taking care of dogs

Okay so this is kinda a two in one; how they would take care of a dog if they had one and if they was a dog- it’s a bit random, but it’s all I can think of!! I hope you enjoy

Includes- Vi, jinx, Caitlyn, Silco, au powder and Ekko :)

Violet

-If Violet was a type of dog, it would be a staffy, or a pit bull, quite similar breeds, and I’m going to go with a staffy. Inteligent, loyal, reliable, bold, courageous, affectionate and protective when they need to be- all these words describing a staffy and Vi fits every one of them perfectly, staffys look scary on the outside, but they are really just soft giants on the inside.

-If she had a dog, it would be an Australian Shepard called rocky, it’s a bit basic for a dog name but the pair get along like a house on fire, she would bring rocky along with her to most places unless they are too dangerous. Vi made sure that rocky was well trained, she also taught him fun tricks like spin, talk and how to play dead.

-Vi found rocky near the zaunite side of the river separating the two sistering cities, he was in pretty good condition and probably ran off from somewhere, but no owner was in sight by a mile so vi decided to take him in and make sure he was SPOILED.

Jinx

-Jinx would be a small but feisty dog- like a chihuahua, jinx would be a very vocal chihuahua, even though they have a reputation for barking quite a lot, if jinx was the chihuahua then times that barking by three. Protective over the people they love, smart, alert and quite active despite their small size, jinx fits this dog quite well if you’re asking me.

-Jinx and her Pomeranian, jules, would be the most unstoppable duo in all of zaun. Jules used to be a white, fluffy dog, but now? She has hot pink and bright blue dye on the end parts of her fur, with patches of it missing, jules wouldn’t bark that often, but she growls a lot, it’s surprising that this loopy creature hasn’t fallen off the sides of jinx’s chaotic hideout.

-Jinx stole the dog off someone, but it wasn’t fully on purpose- ish. She saw the grumpy git when silco was in a meeting, it was Margot’s, but she never had time for it yet loved it, and jinx saw that opportunity gleaming like the sun infront of her and grabbed it straight away.

Caitlyn

-so, we see in the family photo of Caitlyn and her parents that they have two Dobermans, so it would make sense for Caitlyn to be a Doberman, but I think Caitlyn would be a Weimaraner. Weimaraners are very proud, intelligent, loyal and sometimes can be a bit possessive at time, similar to Caitlyn. But, she would be a decently behaved dog.

-As I mentioned in the paragraph above, Caitlyn has two dobermans, Caitlyn has always had dogs in the house, so she knows how to take care of them, their needs and she knows not what to do with them and what to do with them. The two dobermans are girls, one called Laura and the other called Elena, they act like gaurd dogs for the kirrammans- not that they need them, but they are extremely good trained dogs.

-they originally wanted only one dog, but due to Cassandra being so busy with the council and Tobias being a doctor, they didn’t want want the dogs to get lonely, so they got another to make Caitlyn, and the first dog happy.

Silco

-A bloodhound, no questions asked, he would be an old, grumpy bloodhound. Patient, loyal, mild- mannered and can be gentle, put silco next to a bloodhound and you can’t tell the difference, the size may be, but apart from that, they are quite similar. If silco was a dog, he wouldn’t like little kids and would end up growling at them if their sticky fingers go anywhere near him.

-Meanwhile, silco is probably a cat person, but he found this ratty, underweight, angry chihuahua in an alleyway, he didn’t want it at all, it was just another responsibility on top of all the others, but after the thing kept on following him for ten minutes and barking at him, he had enough sympathy to pick it up, he was originally going to make jinx take care of it, but ended up growing attached.

-Silco didn’t really have a name for it in the first few months, he just called it ‘the thing’ or ‘the dog’, but after having said creature and properly bonding with it, Silco decided to name it something what atleast I would deem quite out of character for a man like Silco, Fluffy. Yup, fluffy.

Powder

- quite like herself from the other universe yet slightly different, Powder would be a Pomeranian, full of life and would probably be the most silliest and happeist dog on the planet. Lively, intelligent yet playful, vocal, bold, extroverted and can sometimes be feisty when needed to be, sounds pretty much like powder, if you ask me.

-If she had a dog, that thing would be so spoiled, she named it Vivienne and it would be a beagle. The name reminded her of Vi, but it wasn’t exactly her name so it managed to bring back all the happy memories and not the bad ones, she calls the dog ‘viv’ for short. Sunset walks throughout the two sistering cities with Ekko and Vivienne are one of her favourite things to do in the summertime.

-She found the dog moping around the last drop like a sorry little thing, begging people for scraps despite vander most likely putting food out for it, and she just decided to take it to her hideout, and when she did, the beagle would constantly go to where Vi was, sleeping by the old painting of her- that’s how powder fully decided on her name.

Ekko

-Despite his nickname being ‘little man’ in the real world, if Ekko was a dog he would be a Husky, and if you know a thing or two about that breed then you know that they are far from little. Out going, friendly, intelligent, vocal, alert, active and playful, and Ekko just gives husky vibes. sure they are mostly playful, but they are also chill and friendly like I just listed.

-Right, so now we have little man #1 and little man #2, ( Ekko being the first little man, of course) Since jack russels arnt exactly the largest of dogs out there, so the name fits well. The dog would be called shaggy- not after scooby doo, but because how stupid this dog looks, it’s not common to have a fluffy jack russel. That dog is quite active, sure they already have a reputation for being fast and liking exercise, but this dog is FASTTT. Does it just hang around the fire light tree most the time? Yup, but that dog has everything it could want.

- Shaggy was originally someone else’s dog- an old man’s dog who was also a recovering shimmer addict at the firelight place. Sadly the old guy died quite quickly despite actively trying to get better, and for a while shaggy just ran free but no one really fed him so, Ekko started putting bowls of food and water out for him and took him out sometimes if it’s safe.

[tinynightmarewoman]

Dar Basri but he retires to become a grumpy old man that makes lewd comments at any adult in a 5 mile radius, drinks cheap beer and watches golden girls on repeat while smoking stogie. Is he a miserable old git? Yes! Does he annoy you? Yes! Does he give great advice? Yes... but in the weirdest ways and at the strangest time.

Also yes, the beret and stupid sunglasses stay on at all times, even in bed and the winter

[nativestarwrites]

What'cha got for #1 !! 👀

Sadly my idea for day 1 never made it into a fic (at least not yet!) but I can share the idea.

This is a Musketeer one. Some context first, this is pre-series, a few months post Savoy. Porthos doesn't have his commission yet and while he's friendly with Aramis, Aramis is still keeping him at arms length, he's decided he can't deal with making new friends only to lose them and a Musketeer's life is full of danger. Athos is very new and also uncommissioned. Porthos thinks he's a grumpy old git, Aramis doesn't much care, but they tend to wind up together as none of them fully fit in with the rest of the Musketeers.

Okay, onto prompt #1, I went for 'Search Party'.

Athos doesn't return from a routine assignment to make a delivery. Porthos might not be friends with him yet, but he does notice that he's in the Wren drinking every night like clockwork and realises somethings not right. It shouldn't have taken him longer than a day. Porthos is a good man who doesn't ignore his gut when it tells him something is wrong so he persuades Aramis to go with him to Treville. However, Treville knows the full extent of Athos's drinking problem and isn't convinced anything is wrong. There's no evidence and he can't justify using resources on a full search when he knows it's much more likely Athos is drunk somewhere. Not to mention Athos wouldn't appreciate it neither. Treville tells them to wait.

They do not.

That's basically as far as I got. Something something, Athos being forced to acknowledge there are people that care about him. Aramis dealing with the ghosts of Savoy. And Porthos has to deal with those two idiots which to be fair should really earn him his commission by itself.

[undertalesyafiqah12]

Gaster Gang fun facts and did you know: part 2

Welp- not really old and new facts or anything, but I can sense most people didn't know about the gaster's backstory lore so... Here are some lore about the gang + Swapfell

Wingding: While he's just the normal gaster around him. Got PTSD dure of war and he was just a kid who had to be mature to his brothers (Sans and Papyrus). Technically after fall to his creation, he accidentally open the portal to other gasters that close to him. He always overwork and being his grumpy side. And everyone, especially Swap treats him like a child (since he's youngest)

Swap: Born to a culture that's about riverperson. His father left his mother at young age. Left his culture after marriage(?) but got divorced after his wife committed adultery and he got full custody on his sons. He blames himself for Papyrus's bad habit. He's happy go lucky to cheer everyone up to not remind himself on his past

B: Was actually born prince. He was flirty and very gentleman. Born to be a king, forced to be a advisor after his kingdom got destroy and lost his eye as a result. Gave 40% of his soul to Sans, his apprentice/kin. And first to leave the war to hide. Act strongly to humans but he's chill most of the time... Unless he's on heat. He never met Papyrus dure of Sans and Papyrus separate at birth.

Fell: Abandoned at just newborn. Got move to different foster and orphanage at his young age, he decided to run away to with the doggo in his timeline (and fun fact, Fell wanted to fit in so he sharpen his teeth). Married to a woman named Rosanna to actually protect her since she got pregnant by a rich guy but he left her bc his reputation is more important than a random girl from a farm. Unfortunately, he lost his wife and child so he joined the war. Adopted Sans and Papyrus after their family home got burn down years after the monsters trapped underground.

Stars: Half alien, half monster (no, this is not a joke). His father is a high rank alien from "The Order" in his planet. Often got bullied because of his half monster side but proved them wrong as he can destroy and create stars. Left his planet to research (although his father don't like it but he left him anyway). Actually married to an alien but he didn't know it. Becomes a scientist and Sans being his student. The only one doesn't know how bad humans are dure of him exploring the world while monsters attacking humans. He's a kind and sweet person... But the person that you shouldn't made mad at.

Swapfell: Lost his family at young age yet had to live with a very strict and bad orphanage. He developed schizophrenia a bit. And time goes by, he became a doctor and married a singer and have a family. But lost his wife and his mental issues git worse. He tried to commit suicide but failed. He got welcome to the gang. But betrayed them by spiking them, hurting B and almost experiment on him when Fell stopped him. He's the main reason why the gang being cautious.

(Note: This is based of my memory that I line up. So any mistake please tell me right away :))

(A/N: Correction for Fell's wife's name, it's actually Rosanna, not Rosalina. Her nickname is Rosey/Rose)