#it makes me SO SAD that no one has ever used it for a campaign. i know it's grim but i think it'd be cool as hell

[i3utterflyeffect]

So, had a thought about stick world—does Dark know about the Cycle when it and Chosen first escape? I, uh, don't think that would go over well when it becomes relevant. Specifically because I know Chosen would attempt to protect it at any cost.

i don't think that they worry too much about it at first; for almost all creatures i imagine the cycle is just some fact of life, and if you don't think about it too hard, it'd really just be iterators bothered by it--

but of course... then it Isn't

and with every cycle dark's rot gets worse, and they say it's fine, they can conquer anything including this stupid rot. but they keep getting worse. and they think it'll be better once they discover they can use spitter spider venom to help anesthetize the rot and the sharper weapons; they make ways to fix it, chosen learns from the scavengers when dark isn't terrorizing the local populous

but it's not just growing, it's contaminating Dark on the inside, too. it comes and goes, but when it's at its worst, Chosen can't stop thinking about it.

What happens when they completely turn to rot? will they keep living? will they die forever? will the rot be all that's left? or will dark be inside, suffering?

they bring up the thought of ascension but dark doesn't want to. and even though chosen thinks about it dark prefers to ignore it, they don't want to think about that inevitable end result

of course, the hunger of the rot doesn't let them sleep soundly sometimes.

especially when they think about turning on chosen. another slugcat could provide easy food.

[pharos-ryoji]

My sorcerer is level 17 now and I just can't believe how far she's come over the course of the campaign 😭 genuinely shocked she's still alive after hitting 0 hp so many times, but now my bb girl has a Wish. How far she's come <3

[munsonpetal]

I Would Follow You Into Mordor

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: when eddie starts to doubt himself, you're there to remind him how loved he is.

“Do you ever regret saying yes to me?”

Your head snaps down to look at your lover of almost one year. “What?”

You knew Eddie had his insecurities and his doubts, but it was almost never brought up out of the blue like this.  “Do you ever regret saying yes to being my girlfriend?” Eddie repeats with a tight voice.

You knew something was up when he came home from school, sat down at his desk without so much as a look in your direction, and began working on his next D&D campaign.

“Eds, where is this coming from?” You attempt to lift his head with your hand but he burrows further into your neck with a noise of protest. You let out a small sigh before saying, “Eddie, I will never regret you. Ever.”

His jaw clenches and his grip around you tightens. You know he’s about to cry, so you hold him as tight as you possibly can. What brought this on? You have a feeling Jason and one of his dickhead friends had something to do with it, but you decide to let him tell you in his own time.

Eddie hates being vulnerable with others, he’d rather deal with his emotions on his own, not wanting to burden others. Now that he has you, though, he can’t seem to want to deal with it alone. He knows he can show you the darkest and most scarred parts of him and you would love him all the same. That doesn’t stop the doubts and insecurities from fogging his knowledge of that, though. 

“I love you,” he says in a voice so low you wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he wasn’t so close. You can feel your heart breaking inside of your chest, not knowing if the crack in his voice was from the low tone he was using or the tears threatening to spill in the juncture of your neck. 

“I love you too, Eds.”

You run your fingers through his curls as his breathing begins to pick up and stutter, hoping in vain to calm him down a bit. You hold him close as he cries, your own eyes welling up, but blinking them away almost immediately. You needed to be strong, to be able to comfort him the way he needed.

“Why?” He chokes out through his tears.

“Why what?” 

“Why do you love me?”

The question pauses your hands and your breathing, knowing you had to answer thoroughly. You’re not very good at telling him how you feel verbally, opting for doing things for him or writing him letters instead. 

Before you can answer though, he’s speaking again, this time with a quivering voice full of self-depreciation, “I don’t have anything to offer you,” he lets out a sharp breath. “I can’t give you the life you deserve. I can’t take you to fancy restaurants or buy you fancy clothes. I’m a good for nothing-"

“Stop,” you interrupt with a soft but firm voice. “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he scoffs and pulls to move away but you keep him held to your chest. “Eddie, you really don’t know do you?”

This time you allow him to pull away. He glances down at you with his glassy red eyes that are full of sadness. “Know what?”

“How much I love you,” you softly smile and move so both of you are sitting facing each other on his bed. You move the bangs away from his face and cup his cheek. He opens his mouth to speak but you shake your head, letting him know you weren’t done. He closes his mouth, stares at you, and waits. He wants to hear what you’re gonna say, he needs to.

“You have shown me a love I thought only existed in movies. One I’ve dreamed of having since I was a little girl. I never thought I was going to find someone to love me the way I wanted to be, until I found you. You make me feel a way I’ve never felt before and I never want to feel another way again. You are the best thing in my life, Eddie. I wouldn’t trade you for anything. Not even Rob Lowe,” he laughs at that and feels his heart warming. He knows how you feel about Rob Lowe.

“Yeah,” you continue. “Not even Rob could make me take my eyes off of you,” —you kiss his forehead and wipe newly fallen tears from his cheeks— “I don’t want to live my life with anyone else. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I wish you could see how amazing you are. You deserve everything good in this world. I will continue to do my damndest to prove to you how worthy of every ounce of my love you are. You deserve love and happiness more than anyone I know, Eds.“

As soon as you finish, he’s launching himself at you, and crying for a different reason. You let your own tears fall this time, and they cascade down into his pretty brunette curls. “Thank you,” he cries while giving the space between your collarbones a kiss. 

You don’t reply, instead lifting his head to kiss him on the lips. It’s full of all the love, passion, and adoration you both feel for each other; it’s almost enough to cause a new wave of tears to come to your eyes. “Eddie,” you whisper.

“Hm?” he says after pulling away to put his face into your neck, kissing the skin there.

“Want me to prove my love to you even more?” He sighs out a desperate yes before clutching to you tighter and bringing you into his lap. You softly push him away from your neck to kiss him, slowly trailing up to his ear. 

The little noises he is letting out sends fire to your lower abdomen, he has no idea what he does to you even while doing nothing. As you reach just below his ear with your lips, he lets out a real moan as he grabs your waist with a vice-like grip that has you almost letting out a moan of your own.

You push it down, however, to whisper in his red-tipped ear, “I would follow you into Mordor.”

His grip on your wait loosens as he leans back to look at you. The smile on his face is so soft that you can feel your insides melting. “My sweet girl,” he exhales a laugh, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now that convinced me you actually do love me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp and playfully swat at his chest. “And my whole speech where I poured my heart out didn’t convince you of that, Edward?”

He grasps at the place where you hit, letting out a groan of faux pain before flopping onto his back in the bed. “Your speech was beautiful, but I take Tolkien more to heart, baby.” 

He laughs as you try to get off of his lap, grabbing you and pulling you down to his chest. You scowl at him, before a smile ultimately breaks out across your face. “You’re a nerd, you know that?”

“You’re the one who brought up Lord of the Rings first!” He exclaims leaning forward to blow a wet raspberry on your cheek. You squeal and try to move your face away, but he grips your jaw with both hands, locking you in place.

He continues the raspberry assault on your entire face before finally pulling back to admire his work. Your face is shiny with a small pout adorning your mouth. It makes him want to kiss you, so he does (no raspberry this time, thank god) while giggling. Eddie looks at you, admiring every inch of your face. He’s never loved anyone this way before, fully reciprocating every word you said to him just a few minutes prior. You are his forever. He will want you in every life, no matter what. Nobody will ever and could never compare to you.

How did he get so lucky?

He stares into your eyes, a serious look on his face, but with a smile playing on his lips and he says, “I too would follow you into Mordor.”

[joshs-big-toe]

I Hate That I Love You

a/n: hey my loves, this fanfic that i wrote is definitely a gift because of my lack of writing. i tried something new and wrote this one in first person POV, so let me know if you like that. i do want to give a warning up front, this contains spoilers for the beekeeper movie as well as an ending that made my proofreader, @peetas-nose, say "what the fuck". derek danforth will never get a happy ending.

edit: I LOVE YALL BUT I WARNED YOU IT WOULD BE SAD

CW: heavy smut, p in v, fem!reader, aggressive sex, mentions of drinking and drug use(cocaine), oral sex(fem!receiving), depressing ending, SPOILERS

word count: 3844

PRESENT DAY

Derek Danforth. Momma's boy. Rich kid. 28 year old man-child. Let me be clear, Derek wasn't always this way. He was kind once upon a time. He was always rich, don’t get me wrong, but god when his mother was campaigning, he turned into the biggest asshole you could imagine. When he changed is when I broke up with him. We were 24 when I ended things between us. Though, things never ended between us truly. I was tired of the selfish person he had become. But then again, I use him for things too. He has money, I get sex, it's a win-win situation. This sounds like a prostitute situation, it’s not. He doesn't pay me, not necessarily, but my life has never been difficult since our agreement. I make him look good, he gives me benefits. I’m getting ahead of myself, though. Let me rewind to four years ago. 

FOUR YEARS AGO

I sat down on the couch, running my hands down my face before I looked up at him. “Fuck, Derek, you’re not the same person I met! What happened to you?” Derek paced in front of me. He was manhandling a glass of whisky. I honestly was afraid he was going to spill it. 

“Y/N, you know I’m doing this for my mom!” His words were slurred. He had started drinking a few months prior when his mom first started talking about running for President. President, ha, fucking insane, right? Not to Derek and not to his mom. I hated it the moment he picked up his first glass, flipping through websites, spending hours up all night on the phone. He did some shit that I’m still in the dark about. I shot up from the couch, snatching the glass out of his hand. His eyes bore into mine, sending a chill up my spine. “Give it back, y/n.”

“Derek, your moms life has become your life. What are you doing with your money? Why are you doing this, this isn’t who you are!” He set his jaw, taking a step forward toward me. 

“Give it here.” His voice was almost too calm at this point. I loosened my grip on the glass, allowing it to fall to the ground and shatter on impact. “Fucking hell, are you fucking serious right now?” 

“Oops,” I shrugged, sitting back on the couch. My arm rested on the arm rest and I crossed one leg over the other. “Get your head out of your ass or you lose me, Derek. Thats how this is going to be.” I motioned toward him, studying his blazer and whatever-the-fuck expensive shoes he was wearing. “This… This is not who you are, or were, Derek.” 

“I’m doing all this shit for her, not me, don’t you get that?”

“I call bullshit on that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I call bullshit.” He started pacing, running his hands through his hair. I followed him with my eyes, studying his movements, the crunch from the broken glass under his shoes. He paused in front of me, looking down at me. 

“I am working my ass off, getting more money than you could ever comprehend for the sake of her. You don’t fucking understand the fucking stress I’m fucking under!” I was taken back. More money than I could ever comprehend. Ouch. I stand up and take a step toward him, our noses almost touching. I could smell the whisky on his breath and see the frustration and anger in his eyes.

“I can’t do this, Derek. I can’t be with, whoever this is, because it’s not the person I fell in love with.” I ran my hand through my hair as I began to walk away. 

“Y/N, help me with this!” He was almost shouting. I shook my head, but before I could get too far, Derek grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms, pushing his lips against mine. I fucking hated the taste of whisky, and I hated how I did not want to break away from the kiss. My brain immediately became foggy with arousal. Something about the way his lips moved against mine sent a tremor of heat down in my core. His hand trailed up my arm and to the back of my neck, holding me against him. My mouth gapped, allowing him to slip his tongue into my mouth. Our mouths worked perfectly with each other, drawing me deeper into the kiss. I finally somewhat came to my senses, pulling away briefly, him still attacking my lips as I spoke.

“We,” his lips connected to mine. “Fuck, we’re still done after this.”

“Yeah,” I leaned in, desperately connecting my lips to his again making him gap his sentence. “Okay fine, just shut up.” Shut up I did. As much as I hated who he had become, or more accurately stated, who he was becoming, I couldn’t deny sex. He was insanely good at it, even though he seemed almost careless. And for some reason, his carelessness was why it was so intoxicating. Derek groaned, shoving me down onto the couch, pushing the breath out of me. He moved quick, sliding my shirt and jeans off of me, leaving in nothing but my bra and panties. He bit his lower lip before leaning down to attach his lips to mine again. I could feel him fumbling with his belt before throwing it to the ground, momentarily breaking our kiss to slide out of his dress pants and boxers. His cock sprung out leaving nothing to the imagination. Derek was only slightly above average, but fuck he knew how to work his body with mine. I looked at him, noticing a bead of precum forming at the tip, turning me on that much more. He pulled my panties down to my ankles before turning me onto my stomach, pulling my ass into the air. As he pulled my hair back, I heard him spit into his hand before the wet sounds of him stroking his own cock filled the room. I was getting impatient. I decided to push my ass against him, however I earned myself a hair pull. “We may be done after this,” he huffed, “but we can keep having fun, yeah?” He sighed out as he slowly pushed into me. “I can’t get enough of this fucking pussy, you understand that?” I tried to nod, but the grip on my hair was too tight. I opened my mouth to speak, however as i tried he began pulling in and out of me and grabbing at my ass to roughly pull me onto him. A moan escaped my lips instead of words. “What.” he growled out, not stopping his movements. If anything, it made him go faster. “Did I fuck the words out of your mouth already?” His breathing picked up as he continued his pace. His nails dragged into my ass, making me whine in a pleasured pain. 

“D-Derek, fuck,” I struggled to answer him. I felt one hand reach around me and push a finger against my clit. Derek groaned, the sound of skin slapping overpowering any other sound that was in the room. His used his finger to circle my clit. I felt him plant soft kisses on my back as he worked at the bundle of nerves. He released my hair and grabbed my ass again and began to push and pull me off of him again. 

“Struggling to use your words, y/n? Come on baby, use those words. Even if we aren’t together, you'll still let me use you right?” I could feel his breath on my neck. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pleasure coursing through my body.

“W-what~ aha fuck- whats in it f-for me?” I managed out, trying to stifle my moans. He was pounding into me at this point, his finger still pressing against my clit. I was struggling to keep it together. There was a heat rising up in my lower belly as I felt my orgasm approaching. “F-fucking hell, Derek.”

“Whats in it for you?” His voice was low and his movements were erratic. He was close too. “A life of p-pleasure- fuck.. No more struggling. B-benefits.” I tipped over the edge, my orgasm spreading through my body as I clenched around him. I buried my face into the cushion of the couch, crying out in the pleasure of the orgasm ripping through me. His hands felt their way to my hips, his breathing ragged as i felt him twitch before filling me up with his cum. He pulled out, turning me over onto my back, watching me as I caught my breath. “So,” he panted. “Your answer?”

“You,” I paused to take a breath. “I’m here for whatever you need,” I began. “But I get a peaceful life in return.” He grabbed my clothes, throwing them onto me before getting his own and putting them on. After we both were dressed, he looked down at me and held out his hand.

“You have yourself a deal.” With that, the fate between us was sealed in a handshake. 

PRESENT DAY

I regretted the agreement the moment my hand touched his for the handshake. I wish I could hate Derek more, but part of me still very much loves him. The consistent sex over the next four years definitely didn’t help. Derek and I turned 28 a few months ago. He kept changing, he turned to drugs and alcohol, his fashion sense got so much worse and he decided to get these bullshit frosted tips. And I still couldn’t help but look at him and wonder what we could’ve been if he was normal. Once again, I found myself at one of his parties. I was sitting on his lap with my legs crossed while his hand rested on my thigh. On the table next to him sat a glass of whisky and a small vial of white powder, I assume cocaine. For this party, he had me dress in this form-fitting short red dress that ruffled at the end. I draped around him, putting on a show for all his little rich-boy friends. 

“You guys have any idea how much we made with that one woman alone?” Derek chimed in, his smile wide as he spoke. I smiled, looking over at Garnett as he raised his glass into the air.

“Wish I could’ve seen the look on her face as she saw that,” He paused before raising his voice. He shot his arms into the air, squeezing his eyes shut and shouting out in victory. “3.7 MILLION DOLLARS!!” All of Derek’s friends’ voices started ringing together, creating a dissonance of voices and shouts. I hated it here. I couldn’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke and the drunk men trying to poke and prod at me everywhere. Derek could see the discomfort on my face, or maybe feel it in the rigidity of my body draped over him. I feel his hand run up my thigh, the tips of his fingers resting under the hem of my dress. I look down at him, his hair looking fried and his stupid green suit he was wearing. I grimaced. He glanced in my direction, pulling my head down to where my ear met his lips.

“Liven up, y/n, we have an agreement.” He mumbled, the heat of his breath tickling my neck. 

“Oh-ho-ho,” Garnett exclaimed. “Derek wants some from his bitch!” I winced but kept a smile, even choking out a little laugh. 

“Watch it, Garnett, remember your place.” Derek’s tone was serious. Garnett raised his hands in surrender.

“My bad, my bad. I'm going to take the boys and go talk about the new branch you’re building.” Garnett stood up, his posse following close behind, giving Derek shoulder punches and shakes as they made their way out. The door slammed shut behind him, cueing me to get off of Derek and make my way to the couch. I kicked off my heels and leaned my head back against the head of the couch groaning, my eyes screwing shut. 

“You’ve been here for an hour, are you seriously acting like that right now?”

“I don’t want to hear it from you. I wore what you wanted me to, did my makeup the way you wanted me to, god forbid I’m tired of playing pretend with these jackass friends of yours.” I looked over to him. He was laid back in his chair, head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“If you’re done, I need you to tell me. I have plenty of other girls who would fight to be in the position you’re in.” His eyes met mine, a mocking smile was on his lips. I rolled my eyes and looked away, unable to hide the grin that threatened the corners of my mouth. His smile became more sincere. “That’s my girl.”

“Still not yours, Derek.”

“You are while you’re here.” He stood up and took a sip of his whisky before grabbing the vial and sauntering over to me. “You don’t understand how fucking hot you look right now.” He knelt down to the ground in front of my knees, gently spreading them apart before getting in between them. “You’re going to stay still for me, right?”

“Derek, what are you doing?” He held the small vial up and shook it in front of my face. “And you plan to…”

“Just stay fucking still.” I watched him closely, eyeing his every movement. He fumbled around his suit pockets, finding a $50 and handing it to me. “Pull your dress up, then roll that, yeah?” His face was flushed as he watched me push my dress further up my thighs, exposing my panties in full. He bit his lower lip as he looked at me, an obvious wet spot from my own arousal seeping through already. His eyes met mine, a grin plastering his face. “I love the effect I have on you, y/n.” I felt my face heat as I rolled the bill for him, knowing what he was going to do, but taken by surprise with how he did it. Derek broke eye contact first, taking the vial and unscrewing the lid. He brought it over to my thigh and carefully began pouring a line of cocaine on me. I wanted to shift, to mess him up just to see how I would react, but I was infatuated with what he was doing. Fuck I hate that he does this. I couldn’t stop him. He held his hand out, telling me he wanted the rolled up bill from me. I complied, wordlessly placing it between his thumb and pointer finger. “Good girl,” he mumbled. He turned, looking at my other thigh, quickly pouring out another small line across me. “Better stay still, understand me?” I was afraid to move. “Words, you know better.”

“Yes, Derek. Perfectly still.” He smiled. He brought the bill up to his nose, plugging one side and lowering himself close to my thigh. I tensed as he sniffed up the powder. He groaned, rubbing his nose before turning to the other thigh and doing the same thing but on the opposite side of his nose.

“Fuck,” he mumbled as he pinched his nose and sniffed again. “You still have some..” Before I could comprehend what he meant, he ran his tongue up my thigh where the line was, but did not stop. He traced the top hem of my panties until he reached the other thigh, dragging his tongue down my thigh picking up any residue from the powder that may have been left over. His eyes connected with mine, both of our faces flushed. 

“The door locks on its own, right?” I mumbled, my arousal taking control of me. That was the hottest fucking shit I have ever seen in my fucking life. He nodded, no words coming from him as the tips of his fingers dragged slowly up my thighs, hooking around my panties and sliding them down my thighs and pulling them off of me. He met my eyes again as he brought them up to his mouth, licking my arousal off of them before discarding them to the side. Fuck that made my stomach flip. His pupils were already blown, not looking away from me as he pulled me down the couch until my ass was barely on it. I sigh as he maintains contact, leaning down and planting a kiss on my pubic bone. 

“Such a perfect little pussy,” he mumbled onto me. The movement of his lips against me made my body jolt. “All for me, too. Fuck,” he pressed his tongue against my clit, moving his head up and down, my eyes following his. He groaned onto me as I wrapped my legs around his shoulders. My hands found their way into his hair making him nip at me in response. “Hands to yourself,” He growled, shoving his tongue into me. His movements became faster and more erratic and his hands squeezed at my thighs. I groaned, trying to focus on him and his movements, but the pleasure that was spreading through me was almost too much. His nose pushed against my clit as he tongue-fucked me, the heat building within me rapidly. My body begged for release as he pulled away, denying me, before standing up and grabbing my jaw and spitting in my mouth. “The things you fucking do to me even after all these fucking years. God I can’t believe I ever let you leave.” His words took me by surprise, but he took me into a needy, heated kiss before I had the chance to respond. His tongue worked its way into my mouth, making the kiss deeper. I reached up toward his pants and began unbuttoning them and waited for him to stop me. If anything, he gave me more access to slide them down. I began to palm him through his boxers, a groan escaping into my mouth. “T-take them off,” he growled before immediately attaching his lips to mine again. I obliged, not waiting before dropping his boxers to the ground. He wasted no time before stepping out of them. My hand connected to his cock, slowly pumping it. He stifled a moan. “Fuck I love the way you fucking touch me. Like nobody else in the fucking world. You drive me insane, y/n.” He pushed me back on the couch as he removed his blazer, throwing it off to the side somewhere in the room. I began to turn onto my stomach but he stopped me. 

“I thought-”

“Just shut the fuck up, will you? You think too much sometimes.” He grabbed one of my legs and draped it over his shoulder. His eyes met mine, focusing on my face as he slowly pushed himself into me. Just the tip. I didn’t look away despite every bone in my body telling me to. He started moving his tip in and out of me, my hands grabbing at his shirt to try and get him to fully push in. I am desperate, and with desperation comes begging, and with begging, I come apart. 

“Fucking hell, Derek please just-” before I could finish my thought, he pushed himself into me. He grabbed my hips and pulled me onto him, filling me up completely. I threw my head back and bit my lip to stifle the moans that were threatening to escape. There was still a party going on outside, afterall. He didn't hesitate before grabbing my jaw, making me look at him. 

“I love seeing your face as you come apart. The face you make when I make you so fucking needy. Fucking hell.” He pulled out of me before aggressively thrusting himself back in. He continued at this pace, forcing me to look at him. “I fucking love everything about you, y/n.” My eyes widened. He’s just high, he doesn't know what he’s talking about right now, right? I felt him twitch inside me telling that he was close. He brought his free hand down to my clit, pushing his thumb against it throwing me over the edge into an orgasm. I whined and he groaned as I clenched around him, his body convulsing as he reached his climax, filling me up. He allowed his body to fall on top of mine and rested his head on my shoulder as he caught his breath. We stayed there for a moment before he got up and put his blazer and slid up his pants. He threw his boxers at me and watched me wipe myself clean.  

“Where’s my underwear?” He shrugged, lazily checking the ground around the couch. I groan and throw his boxers at him. He made a face at me, dodging them. 

“Gross, you could’ve made a mess on my jacket.” I rolled my eyes and pulled my dress back down, leaning back on the couch.

“You said something earlier.”

“Don’t.”

“Did you mean it?” He was pacing again. All he seemed to do was pace. 

“You and I are not… We fucking can’t, okay? This won’t be spoken about again, do you fucking understand that?” Without a word, I grabbed my heels off the ground, stood up and began my trek out of the room. I felt his eyes burning into me as I approached the door, turning to face him as I placed my hand on the handle. 

“Goodbye, Derek.”

3 MONTHS LATER

The day I found out Derek was dead was probably the hardest day of my life. I knew what he was doing, though I didn’t know the extent of how bad it was. I knew he was investing in companies and owned call centers. I thought they were authentic tech support centers. In actuality, he was scamming older people out of money. Billions of dollars. The comments his “friends” made made sense now. I would have stopped him. I could have stopped him if I had just known. He was murdered in the crossfire of some vengeful man in a group called the Beekeepers. Shot him in the head in front of his own mother. 

—--------

I sighed as I sat down on the fresh patch of grass where he was laid to rest. I placed a flower on it. The stone itself had been defiled. I was here once a week to try and keep it in good, well, okay shape. “You are a fucking idiot, Derek Danforth. You should've just…” A tear slipped down my cheek. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed the same. I would’ve fucking married you, dumbass!” My hand hit the ground. I cried silently for who knows how long before I decided to get up. I hesitated, dusting my jeans off looking down at him. “I love you.” I mumbled before walking away, trying to carry on with my life like I never had him to begin with.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Punch me out

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 4

Prompt: Meet-cute at work

Rated: E

CW: Blowjobs, dirty talk, slight degradation kink

Tags: No UD AU; company Christmas party; bathroom sex; blowjobs; dirty talk; Eddie is a disaster and Steve is a slut and they both love it; inappropriate use of vending machine drinks

Eddie shouldn't have gone to the company Christmas party. The few weeks he's worked here taught him a bunch of stuff. 

The CEO? Asshole. 

The management? Spineless lickspittles.

The corporate culture? A conglomerate of bullshit. Eddie’s position is called Facility Manager - the most ridiculous euphemism for Janitor ever.

Anyhow!

He shouldn't have come, but Gareth insisted that was exactly what those tie-wearing douchebags wanted, so they went. 

Only that Gareth has disappeared with the receptionist, leaving Eddie to aimlessly meander while the tie wearers got progressively more drunk. He should probably have gone home.

Only he didn't. 

So he kind of brought this upon himself, he thinks, while a puddle of punch soaks into his crotch and laughter wafts all around him. 

The only one looking equally horrified is the guy the punch belonged to. He’s still holding the empty cup and blushing from his chestnut hair all the way down to his business shirt. 

“Shit, sorry!” he babbles. “Didn’t see you there-” 

“Don’t sweat it, Stevie,” Tommy Hagan guffaws. “I’m sure he brought his mop.” 

Stevie’s face grows stony. “Shut it, Tommy.”

Hagan does. 

Before Eddie can feel confused, one large hand takes him by the shoulder and steers him away. 

“Sorry again.” 

“‘s alright,” Eddie shrugs. “Was just heading home-” 

“Oh, no.” A pair of big, sad eyes fixes him from behind wire-frame glasses. “At least let me make it up to you? Please?” 

How could Eddie say no to that? 

*

"Fuck, princess," Eddie groans, head thudding against the bathroom wall. "If that's you apologizing, you can spill stuff on me more o-ooooh …" 

Stevie doesn't answer, which … okay. That would be quite the feat with Eddie’s cock down his throat as it is. 

He looks up at Eddie from where he's kneeling, and fuck, the sight of him! Hairdo ruined, lips stretched obscenely wide, eyes glassy with arousal. The picture is almost enough to do Eddie in, so he tangles his fingers in that hair and yanks that warm, wet mouth closer. Stevie's eyes roll back and he moans, and that's all it takes before Eddie is coming down his throat. 

Stevie doesn't so much as whine, just swallows. God, he's perfect. Eddie wants to take him home. Tie him up in bed. Never let him leave. 

"Wow," he murmurs as Stevie pulls off, slack-jawed and starry-eyed. "Are you always such a cockslut, or was that only for me?" 

Stevie smiles up at him. The glint in his eyes is smug. 

"Only if it's such a nice cock," he hums. "What's attached to it isn't bad, either."

Pretty, slutty, and a little bratty to boot? Eddie will just have to keep him. 

"Give me your number?" he mumbles as Stevie staggers to his feet, and leans in for a sloppy kiss. 

Stevie dances out of his reach. 

"No need to," he winks, unlocking the door and skipping his way out. "We work in the same office. I'll find you." 

*

Stevie does not find him, of fucking course. Eddie tries to put it out of his mind, goes to work as usual and does definitely not scan the crowds for that voluminous shock of hair. 

He's actually relieved when the holidays come. The floors are empty and nobody calls because they need their door oiled or their light bulbs changed. Eddie holes up in his basement and starts working on that new campaign. 

Until the phone rings and a bored receptionist informs him Mr Harrington's height-adjustable desk is broken. 

"The CEO?" Eddie asks dumbly. 

"No," drawls the receptionist, "The son." 

*

The office is spacious and bright and tastefully decorated. Eddie hates everything about it. The fancy adjustable desk is not plugged in. 

He's just under it on all fours, ass in the air, fingers desperately stretching for the socket, when the door opens. He quickly shuts down his monologue about overpaid dumbasses. 

"Hey, man. I'll be out of your hair in a second." 

"No need to hurry," says someone. "I'll just enjoy the view." 

"What the- ow, motherfucker!" Eddie whirls around so fast he cracks his head on the desk. "Stevie?" 

Stevie kicks the door shut, sips idly on his vending machine drink, and observes how Eddie clambers to his feet. 

"Said I’d find you," he smiles. Before Eddie can form a reply, he's being pushed against the desk and there's a tongue down his throat. 

"I- wha- wait!" He tries to pull away. Stevie keeps nipping at his throat. "Are you crazy? Harrington Junior could be here any second." 

"He already is." 

Eddie yelps and looks around frantically, half expecting to see someone lurking behind a potted plant. There's nobody there. 

"But it's just me and-" 

And then it clicks. 

"Oh my God," he groans. The mouth against his pulse grins. 

"Steve is fine." 

"You're the CEO's son," Eddie babbles. "I called you a cockslut, I-" 

Stevie - no Steve, Steve fucking Harrington, Eddie is so fucked - just shrugs. 

“I am,” he says easily. 

Eddie gapes at him. 

“The CEO’s son or …” 

Steve laughs in his face. It’s bright and cheerful and adorable and so fucking cheeky, Eddie wants to teach him some manners. Long, graceful hands are fiddling with the zipper of his overalls. 

“Listen,” he sighs when Eddie doesn’t react, just keeps gaping at him like a fish out of water. “I’m sorry it took so long. I had an unexpected business trip to go on, but … I’ve been thinking about you the entire time. Let me make it up to you?” 

“I …” Eddie nods dazedly. Their lips brush with the movement. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Brilliant,” Steve says. Then, in one swift movement, he takes his drink and upends it in Eddie’s lap. 

Eddie gawks, heat pooling where the stain is spreading, tight and urgent. 

“Oops,” Steve Harrington deadpans, and gets on his knees. 

Maybe going to the Christmas party wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

All my holiday drabbles

[the-scandalorian]

two

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 5.1k Warnings: sort of dubcon due to intoxication; alcohol and drug use (by both reader and Joel); mention of reader’s hair being long enough to tangle his fingers in (no details otherwise); smut (fingering, oral, spitting on her pussy, p-in-v); grief and angst Note: There's no part one out yet; this is the second of a potential series of loosely tied oneshots that are coming to me out of order.

The living room is blue. All the surfaces, the shelves and the antique piano, are coated in a thick layer of dust. It feels wrong to disturb anything in this house—in this perfectly preserved resting place—so you tuck yourself into the corner of Bill and Frank’s old couch, out of the way, toe off your boots, and pull your knees up to your chest.

Ellie thunders up the stairs and shuts herself in one of the rooms, gone at the first opportunity for privacy.

Joel doesn’t disappear. You expect him to take the other bedroom and close the door. Instead, he watches you settle onto the couch and drops heavily into the seat beside you. He leans over the armrest and opens a cabinet, retrieving a bottle of dark liquid.

His casual knowledge of the space speaks to how much time he’s spent here, to the depth of his friendship with Bill and Frank. It makes you sad; it makes the room dark. It makes jealousy sour your stomach. Joel has people: a place to fit in this fractured world.

Had. He had people.

There are paintings on the walls: landscapes, still lifes, portraits. Mostly of Bill, you think. With that glower? Definitely Bill. Joel did say Frank was the nice one. 

The likenesses vary in style. There’s a gradient from careful, detailed studies to less refined renderings with loose, painterly brushwork. All of them, in their own unique way, capture the same steely gaze—the spiteful tenacity that must have fueled their survival for decades. 

You ignore the many versions of stern eyes watching you.

The worn fabric under your fingers is scratchy, the upholstery splashed with roses, the hard back of the couch draped in crocheted blankets. It’s dated, the whole place frozen in time while the world fell—falls—apart around it, chaos kept out by a chain link fence and Bill’s gritted teeth. A bell jar in a hurricane.

You wonder if Joel and Tess ever considered leaving the QZ permanently for this place. If that was ever offered. You imagine it would have been almost…idyllic.

You look up at Joel. He’s holding the unopened bottle in his lap. His sharp profile is limned by the soft moonlight filtering through the window behind him. It catches on the silver flecked in his hair and beard.

He knows you’re watching him. He says nothing. He’s thinking about the letter.

About Tess.

You’re trying to think about anything else.

You study his face. Even like this, anguished and lined, filthy from the road, with a half-healed slash across his cheek, he’s handsome. He has rugged good looks, with those brown eyes and that granite-cut jaw. The natural pout of his bottom lip. In a different time, a different universe, he could have been an actor, a model—the face of an ad campaign for a devastatingly masculine cologne. Those big, veined hands modeling watches on the pages of a fashion magazine.  

He wouldn’t have. It wouldn’t suit. But he could have.

It’s strange to think about what he could have been.

Instead, he’s here. The peaks of his knuckles are split and scabbed, the valleys a mottled black and blue, their edges fading to a sickly yellow. His skin is rough and dry—it snags when he runs his hands absentmindedly over the denim of his jeans. His palms are calloused. You know because when shit gets serious, he grabs your wrist or your forearm or your bicep—never your hand—and shoves you behind the wall of his body or pulls you along as he takes off at a run. His middle is thick and soft, his shoulders broad and strong. He’s going gray, and fuck, it looks good on him.

You study him because it feels inconsequential. Your presence feels inconsequential. To him, you think, you’re just another ghost in this house.

Or maybe he is.

A small part of you is braced for him to break, to buckle under the weight of Bill’s last words—the words that are hanging over this house like a storm cloud. Anyone else would.

Joel won’t, though. You watched him stalk away from the burning capitol building with white-knuckled stoicism, and you felt sure that he was already too utterly broken to break again.

Like molten metal, bent and hammered and folded over on itself, again and again and again. Until it’s shatterproof. 

He’s leaning forward, his elbows braced on his spread knees. Even on a soft couch, he doesn’t fully relax. He drops his head into his hands and scrubs one over his face. Then he reaches into the pack by his feet and rummages for something. A little plastic baggie. He just holds it for a minute. You watch him decide.

It’s safe here. As safe as anywhere can be. And Joel hasn’t slept in days.

He shakes two white pills out of the bag and chases them with a swig of whiskey, knocking the liquor back with a quick tip of his head, squinting against the slight after-burn. You extend your open palm. He shakes out a couple pills for you without question, without even looking up. 

He passes you the bottle, and you down them. One harsh gulp.

It’s real whiskey, with a label and everything, not something homemade. Not top-shelf quality by any means, but it’s better than anything you’ve had in a long time. It should be sipped and savored. Back in the QZ, you could have gotten a hefty stack of ration cards for this one bottle—even half empty. It doesn’t matter now.

You take another drink and hand it back.

You watch as a glazed calm gradually slips over Joel’s troubled expression and he finally sinks into the give of the couch cushions, letting his head drop back. You watch as the pills soften his edges. Just barely. They erode a little of the hard, calcified layer he must have started building the day of the outbreak. It grants you a fuzzy peek into the Joel before. His shoulders lose their tension; his fists unclench. If you squint, you might be able to see the Joel who drank with his buddies and winked at women at the bar. The one who drove a pickup truck with the windows rolled down in the summertime. 

You sit in silence as the haze takes you too, creeping up the back of your neck like a warm tide until you feel just numb enough. Any and all troubling thoughts are caught and trapped, restrained like moths in amber, so all that’s left in this blue room is pleasant quiet.

You’re just starting to feel drowsy and loose when he turns to you, wanting. Joel shifts in his seat and fixes you with a look—the first time he’s looked directly at you in an hour or more. The usual bite of his penetrating gaze is muted, the crease between his brows deep with feeling; his brown eyes are big with a question. A need.

It’s the tiniest chink in his armor, a momentary blip of him without a mask. A second of vulnerability, so foreign on his stoic face that the urge to soothe him is visceral. It jumps up the back of your throat.

This is Joel breaking.

He’s asking you for something—for distraction, for comfort. To be put back together.

You unfold your limbs and climb directly into his lap.

He makes a low, approving sound when you straddle his spread thighs and drops his head to your chest to inhale deeply against your shirt. If you weren’t buzzed, you might flinch away. You’re filthy, sweaty and dirty from days on the road. Neither of you have taken advantage of the shower yet. You can’t smell nice.

Joel does it again, though, chasing the comfort by burying his face between your tits, his hands tightening on your hips, his long fingers slipping inside the back pockets of your jeans to grip your ass. He pulls you down against his lap. Hard.

He’s hungry for it this time, watching the place where your body meets his, denim against rough denim. Like he’s imagining the way your naked body will fit against his.

He remembers himself for a moment, looking up at your face. “This okay?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you say. “I want it.”

“Good.”

His forehead drops lightly against your sternum as he moves you against him. He guides your hips into a slow grind. Your knees sink into the plush of the old sofa cushions, your hands braced on his shoulders. 

If he were anyone else, you’d have kissed him already. You settle for pressing your face against the side of his neck, dragging your nose up the column of his bared throat. He smells like sun and sweat and pine, like the dry, dusty road and something else...something distinctly him. It's subtle. It makes your mouth water.

He holds you tight, a strong arm wrapped around your back. You run your hands over his biceps, over the hard lines of his muscles, his shoulders—feeling what often distracts you when he crosses his arms over his chest and the fabric of his shirt pulls taut.

Joel is content, for now, to lift his hips, just barely, into the steady roll of your hips. You think about last time—his clinical, efficient approach. It was all deliberate movements and quick work. He'd made a growled promise that it would only ever happen once.

And yet.

This time, he seems to be letting himself enjoy something, reveling in the pleasure. That alone feels like an unaffordable indulgence, like if you drew attention to it, you’d scare it away. 

His big hand slides heavily up the curve of your spine, a needy drag, and back down again, settling on your lower back, urging you harder. Faster.

More.

It feels good. You rock your hips, grinding yourself into his lap, where he’s full and hard now, thick and straining against his fly, and you groan together when he adjusts his legs wider and pushes his hips up to meet you, letting you get at his clothed erection a little easier. The metal button on your jeans clicks against his belt buckle as you move.

He turns his head to set his teeth against your shoulder, biting with no pressure, and breathes hot against the fabric as you ride him, his chest expanding on a sharp inhale as you drag your core over the stiff arch of his cock and chase the embers of pleasure sparking low in your belly.

All at once, it’s not enough.

Joel grunts and grips your ass, fingers digging into your soft flesh, and he half-shoves, half-lifts you backwards as he straightens, setting you on your feet in front of him. You make a squeaked sound of surprise at the sudden movement, clutching his biceps for balance as you find your footing, and the corner of his mouth twitches up into the barest beginning of a smile. You smile back at him, radiant.

Smiles.

The pills are hitting. It’s all a little delirious.

The moment feels surreal, like this dated living room has been snatched from the current of time and set down on solid ground. Just for a moment. Just to let you both breathe.

It evaporates quickly. His stern expression returns.

“Bedroom,” Joel says with a bossy little jerk of his chin.

You snatch the half-empty whiskey bottle from the coffee table and head down the hall.

There are two spare bedrooms in this big, white house—the one upstairs that Ellie disappeared into and a second down here on the first floor. It’s situated down the hall from the locked door. You try not to think about that room. Try not to wonder if Joel and Tess shared this same spare room when they used to visit.

There are too many ghosts here tonight.

You pop open the bottle and drink deep, and Joel shuts the door behind him with a quiet click. He stoops to switch on the lamp on the bedside table.

You drop the corked whiskey onto an armchair and reach for the top button of your shirt, eager to avoid an awkward interlude, eager to please him.

There’s something about Joel that makes you desperate to be wanted by him—something more than just his gruff appeal or the situation you’re in together or the fact that his care promises some measure of safety in this world of scarcity. It has everything to do with how he acts around the people that are his. More than just protective. Possessive.

This want is practical. And it’s not. 

It’s animal too.

He rounds the bed and stands close, stopping your hand with his. You look up, and he inclines his head toward the bed.

“Lie down.”

You move to listen, but he stops you. 

“Wait.”

He bends to grip the bottom edge of the bed frame, and Joel grunts as he slides the whole thing a few inches away from the wall. The feet squeak along the hardwood floor.

He straightens and nods. “Alright, go on.”

The image of him arched over your body, fucking you so hard and deep that the headboard knocks against the wall—thump, thump, thump—sets your heart racing. You scramble up the bed, and he takes his time unlacing his boots then follows with a slow crawl, watching you with dark eyes. With intent so potent it makes you want to look away.

You don’t.

He’s here this time.

As present as either of you can be when you’re a little high. Just the barest edge of sedated. You imagine your own eyes are glassy, lacquered in the low light of the shaded lamp. Joel’s don’t seem to be, though. He’s alert.

He crowds you further up the bed, and you scoot back until your head hits the pillow. He makes space for himself between your legs and reaches for your collar. You watch his deft fingers work quickly down the line of buttons on your shirt.

His eyes flick from his hands to your face and back. There’s naked want there—desire etched into his hard features. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve only seen him two ways: serious or furious.

This is something else. This is intoxicating.

Your head is starting to spin.

He gets your shirt open, helps you shuck it off, and pulls your bra off with a practiced ease. His large, warm hands palm your breasts as soon as they’re free. He’s immediately fixated, and the attention sends a flush of heat over your bare skin. He tests the weight of each, kneading lightly, his mouth parted in muted awe as his fingertips sink into the give. He tweaks your nipple between two fingers, one and then the other, and watches, satisfied, as they pebble for him. He studies your reactions to his touch, eyes lingering on your face as he plays with you, as if your response is as important to him as the feel of you. 

He takes his time. Unhurried. Like you have all the time in the world.

Joel leans down suddenly and licks a warm stripe up the line of your sternum, through the valley of your breasts, and your body reacts to him: you arch your back into the heat, your hand automatically burying itself in his thick hair, your lips parting around a moan.

His tongue.

You must taste like salt and sweat, and yet, he looks a little smug when he pulls back, his lips quirked in a half smile.

“You like that?”

He looks young when he smiles. You can see thirty-year-old Joel in that look. Unburdened Joel. Fifty-year-old Joel without the trauma.

The margins of your vision start to smudge as you look at him; colors bleed freely in the dim light, his features running like wet ink. His smile melts away. You feel off-kilter, like you’ll slip off the solid plane of this mattress and drop into nothingness if you don’t hold on. You fist your hands in the comforter.

A hand frames your cheek. You can’t focus your eyes. Your lashes flutter.

Joel says your name, concern woven between each syllable.

Once. Again.

He drops his weight onto you. The spinning stops, and your hands release. You meet his eyes.

“Joel—”

You remember last time—the first time you fucked, the smothering weight of his hand on your mouth when you said his name—and you bite your lip before you can say anything else. But he doesn’t react to it this time. He’s too lost in it.

It feels good to be lost together.

“You alright?” he asks, his brow pinched not in anger or distress, for once, but in naked concern.  “Too much?”

You're not sure if he's asking about the pills and the booze or the pace or just...him.

“No, no.” You shake your head. “I’m good now.”

There’s so much care in his eyes that it feels like he’d give you anything you want in this moment. Like he’d lie down and hold you if you asked him to. You’re seeing him without his hardened front, and it makes you shiver. You slip your fingers around the back of his neck and pull his face down to yours, taking the thing you want most. He bends for you willingly.

His lips are a little chapped, his facial hair scratchy. You’re expecting a light kiss and a retreat, a concession. You’re not expecting his whole body to respond—the press of his chest against yours and an arm slipping under your shoulders to force you closer. You’re not expecting to be enveloped by his wide frame, for your back to be lifted a couple inches off the mattress in his urgency to hold you tight. You’re not expecting his tongue to slip between your lips first—to lick across the roof of your mouth in an utterly invasive, possessive way that makes you gasp.

He coaxes your shocked body into a response with careful waves of his tongue, consuming you with hungry lips and searching, grasping hands. Gentle teeth worry your bottom lip, soothed by the pass of his tongue. His nose nudges tenderly against yours as he kiss kiss kisses his way across your cheek.

He pulls back, fixing you with a serious look.

“You sure you’re okay?”

You can see him so perfectly in the before for a second. How he might have asked you the same question in some mundane situation, helping you to your feet after a stumble with a steadying hand on your shoulder. The dip of his accent and the color of his eyes would have spelled the end for you. You would have been a goner.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m good.”

“You wanna stop?”

You tighten your fingers in his shirt and shake your head. “No.”

He nods, sweeping light fingers across your cheek, and leans back in.

You fumble blindly with the buttons of his shirt as he kisses you, working as quickly as you can in the tight, shifting space between your bodies. When you have it almost all the way open, he sits back on his heels and yanks it off the rest of the way, tossing it off the bed. You tug impatiently at the hem of the white t-shirt he has on underneath, but he goes right for the button on your jeans, popping it open and ignoring the zipper completely. It comes down on its own when he hooks his fingers in your belt loops and jerks the denim off your body. Your underwear goes with it.

You reach for his belt buckle, but he stops you.

“No,” he says, stern, not unkind, “I’m gonna make you come first.”

He waits for your nod, then slides down the mattress and situates himself between your legs, spreading them open with a decisive push. 

You’re naked under his gaze.

You watch, tense with anticipation, as he leans down to part you with the v of his fingers, one forearm hooked over the top of your thigh. He takes his time admiring the natural gloss of your arousal, his face situated so close that you can feel the warmth of each individual exhale on your skin, and then he looks up at you from his position between your thighs.

Without breaking eye contact, he adds to your slick by pouting his lips and letting a line of his spit drip slowly onto your pussy. 

When he did that the first time you fucked, you chalked it up to efficiency, necessity—a way to bypass intimacy by cutting down on foreplay. Now, watching him track the slow seep of his saliva over your glistening cunt with hungry eyes, you realize he just likes it. He’s just nasty.

Joel dips his head and licks through the mess.

Your knees start to close reflexively around his ears at the first direct stimulation against your clit, but he forces your legs open with one hand and the width of his shoulders.

He looks up at your face.

“You gonna keep these open for me or do I need to do it for you?”

He says it in his usual deadpan, but there’s a challenge there, a hint of provocation behind his expression, the buried hope that you might want to fight him in the way he’d like. You tuck that away for later.

For now, he takes your look of surprise as an affirmative and dips his head again, satisfied.

He works his tongue over the aching pearl of your clit with a gentle, targeted flick—up and back, the bridge of his nose pressed hard against your mound—and your mind goes blank. You arch into him, fucking yourself against his face in a languid rhythm, as the tension begins to build in your body. 

He likes it. His throat vibrates with an approving hum.

You grip the comforter as your muscles pull taut, as your thighs tense in his tight hold. You can hear the flick of his tongue and the suck of his lips. The low, wet sounds.

He exhales sharply through his nose and readjusts, his hands forcing your thighs open and up, so he can taste you how he wants—where he wants. Where you’re dripping for him.

The rough pad of one finger rocks steadily over your clit while he fucks you with his tongue, moaning into the heat of your body as he pushes in as deep as he can. His other hand is gripped around the back of your thigh. Bruises will blossom there by morning, a shadow of his hold on you.

You crook an elbow and drop your arm over your face, turning into it to muffle the noises he’s dragging out of you. A whine. A choked moan.

His mouth moves back up, and a finger takes its place, eased inside you with little resistance. He slides it out, and a second joins the first when he presses them back in. They’re thick, and he pushes them deep.

Joel builds your pleasure to a peak—with his hand, with his tongue, with the low sounds grunted in his throat—and it climbs steadily until it breaks. He climbs with you, the cadence of his breath picking up as yours does, his body rocking gently into yours in time with his fingers' movements inside you, his shoulders pressed against the backs of your thighs. The bed is shifting, the mattress springs whining quietly as you writhe. 

You clench tight around his thrusting fingers, their tips curled repeatedly against the spot that makes your heels slip down the bed, and he closes his eyes as he works you through it with the hot lick of his tongue on your clit. 

Through the shock, the tremors, and the slow fade. Until you’re limp.

His voice is a husky drawl, his breath humid on your hip. “Fuck, baby, you feel good.”

It’s barely anything. From him, it feels like a revelation, like a fucking love poem. You reach for him.

“Please, Joel—”

He sits up, kneeling between your legs, and rips his shirt over his head. His heaving chest is flushed. He opens his belt buckle with one hand, the clink of metal and slip of leather loud in the quiet room as it slithers out of his belt loops, and he drops it to the floor. He moves from the bed to kick off his jeans, and when he settles his body over yours again, the only thing left between you is the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.

You can feel the heft of him through them. The strain and the heat. The body-warm fabric pressed against your wet cunt.

He’s heavy on top of you, his hips caught between your thighs, his chest warm against yours, knuckles ghosting over your cheek. You shove the elastic waistband over his ass, impatiently searching for skin.

“Need you to fuck me,” you breathe.

He helps you push the fabric down, gets them off, and holds himself over you with a hand braced by your ear, gripping the base of his cock to tease the head through your folds. He meets your eyes as he catches the tip on the notch of your entrance and starts to sink inside you, dropping his hips forward in a slow, purposeful movement as he drinks in your reaction. You’re wet and aching to be filled, but he’s still a stretch, so he thrusts shallowly against the resistance until the crease in your brow smoothes and your body welcomes him deep.

He drops to his forearms and lets you feel each other. He’s thick inside you, sharp and vital in a way that feels incredible, hugged tight in your heat. Joel dips his head, your foreheads brushing, and he presses his mouth to yours in a light kiss. Sweet and quick. Almost chaste.

He tastes like you.

Then he circles his hips, a slow grind that ends in a controlled thrust—powerful and targeted.

You get to collect little pieces of him while he moves inside you, as his cock kisses the deepest parts of you, as you cling to him. Gray hairs are threaded among the dark brown ones on his chest. His neck is dusted with faint freckles, only visible this close. There’s a shiny pink scar on his left shoulder—a deep cut, old and healed. A much newer one puckers the skin of his bicep. A bullet graze.

He likes to kiss your neck and suck on the supple skin of your breasts while he fucks you.

He gives you a second orgasm before searching for his own, reaching between your bodies to take you over the edge with the practiced ease of his fingers.

He was right to move the bed away from the wall.

He works his way up from a slow, deep rhythm to a pace that has each punch of his hips threatening to drive you up the silky fabric of the comforter. He slips a hand under your back and curls his fingers over the top of your shoulder, keeping you in place as he impales you on his cock, pulling you back down to meet him each time. The pleasure has you pressing your head back into the pillow, your eyes closed tight.

He doesn’t like that tonight.

“Look at me.”

Joel shoves a hand under your skull, tangles his fingers in your hair, and holds you fast. He’s panting as his eyes flick between yours. Searching. Almost…frantic as he starts to fuck you harder, with less control. The mattress complains under your shifting bodies.

You watch him unravel.

One hand still caught in your hair, he pulls out and jerks himself over you, chasing his orgasm as he watches your face. He bares his teeth when he comes across your stomach in warm pulses, pearly lines dripped over your skin. The pleasure punches a grunt and a hiss from him, his hand squeezing tight around the base of his cock as his whole body tenses and releases, the tug of his fist slowing to a stop as he milks the last drop.

He’s breathing hard as his gaze traces over the spots where you’re painted with him, and something flickers behind his veiled eyes. Before you can really catch it, he scrubs a hand down his tired face and reaches for his discarded shirt. He uses it to wipe the sticky mess off your skin and tosses the crumpled thing back onto the floor.

He settles on the edge of the bed, sitting with his back to you, and you slip underneath the blankets. Now that you’re sated, sleep is starting to weigh at the edges of your consciousness. Insistent.

Joel pulls on his jeans and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. You hear water running.

You lie there—torn between feeling sure he’s coming back, especially seeing as the rest of his clothes are here, and the creeping thought that he’d probably rather sleep on the too-short couch then blur an already murky line by sharing this bed for something other than sex.

It would be so nice, for once, not to sleep alone.

But you’re used to sleeping alone.

His steps creak on the hardwood outside the door. Too much relief blooms in your gut.

Joel shuts the door behind him and stands at the end of the bed, scratching a hand through his tousled hair. Something about his rumpled appearance, his uncertainty, his half-dressed state is endearing. It’s so rare to see him…undone. He’s studying you, like he doesn’t quite know how to bridge the gap between your bodies now that the lust has dulled. Now that it’s just you and him and a bed.

“You want me to find another room?” you ask, knowing full well that the Texas gentleman buried somewhere inside him would never allow that. He’d leave if he wanted to be alone.

“No,” he says, making a decision and reaching for the light. He shuts it off with a click. There’s a shuffling of clothes, off and on, and he slips under the blankets.

In the dark, it’s easier for him. He gets close. He doesn’t reach for you, but in the quiet black, you can hear him angle his body toward you, settling on his side. He doesn’t resist when you slide closer; his hand rests on your waist when you press your nose into the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt.

In the morning, he’ll be gone again.

[saltpepperbeard]

Are you still feeling hopeful? I’m trying really hard not to feel demoralized these last few days…

Hi, darling anon! I totally understand where you’re coming from. We’ve been at it for weeks (almost THREE) and things have seemingly slowed down, there’s drama both in-fandom and out, and there’s just sort of an ever-creeping feeling of disheartenment. And on top of everything, it’s JANUARY (DEROGATORY).

But you know what? Despite all of that, despite it all, I am still clinging onto hope. Call me stubborn or whatever else lol, but yes, I’m still hopeful. I think I will be until I see Djenks wave some sort of white flag, or until a lot of time passes with no forward momentum. And even with the latter, I’ll probably still have the stubborn wish to get something like a movie or whatever else in the future.

Now, I’m clinging onto hope for a few reasons. One, and this is the most important one, we really don’t know what’s happening behind the scenes right now. I think that mentality can also swing into negative territory, but I’m using it to propel me into hopeful territory. We don’t know what all is being discussed, we don’t know if anyone’s interested, and we don’t know who all is fighting and how hard.

Again, could be twisted into a “nothing is happening” type view, but when I look at David? At Taika? And how much the show means to them? How passionately they’ve spoken out about it? And how gracious David and the rest of the cast/crew has been? Idk about you, but I’d like to think they’re trying to push for a continuation as hard as they can. *Stede voice* I don’t think…any of us have let go, actually.

Not to mention that the cast and crew have not stopped posting/interacting with renewal campaign efforts. David hasn’t told us anything that would allude to failed deals, and Ruibo still posts #SaveOFMD type things. It just feels like they’re still riding alongside of us.

Secondly, and sort of along those lines, I’m holding on to the knowledge that every renewal is different. There have been some giant campaigns with zero results, but there have also been smaller campaigns with success. There have been campaigns that have only landed a few more episodes, whereas there have been others that landed more seasons, a movie, etc etc.

Each case is unique, and really has to do with what’s going on behind the scenes. Why the show was cancelled in the first place, if the platform is willing to shop it out, if other platforms find it desirable/profitable, etc etc.

And I think along those lines also, there comes a mentality that makes people even more disheartened and sad. I think there’s this thought that if we’ve slowed down, if we’re not pushing enough, we won’t get renewed. And I don’t really think that’s the case; I don’t think renewal rests squarely on our shoulders like that. Because, again, I think a lot of it really has to do with money, and with negotiations between studios. I think we’re very good for visibility and noise, and subsequently, I think any sort of effort is great effort! I think any work that has been conducted is good work.

It’s also important to think about how we’re sort of in a transition stage of the campaign right now, too. Things are significantly different than they were just a week ago. There are campaign leadership changes going on, the focus is different, and new plans of attack are being ironed out.

So, we all just need to give ourselves some grace. We’ve done so much, and things have moved so fast, and the cast and crew have felt so loved. We’ve made it into publications, made it onto physical ads, and gotten the attention of outside entities (shoutout to Astroglide WJDJW). We’ve also all come together, which is VERY wonderful considering how divided things felt towards the end of October. We’re doing wonderful all things considered, and so for that reason among a few others, I’m still hopeful.

Also, there’s this post by @pehmokoira that goes into even MORE detail of why we shouldn’t throw in the towel/lose hope.

SO. TLDR, there is a lot weighing down on “the atmosphere of this ship,” but I still encourage you to keep those fingers crossed. Help maintain the momentum however works best for you. Take a break, take a step back, and take care. But keep that stubborn little fire burning if you can 💜🏴‍☠️

[sea-buns]

hey to a gorgug liker what do you think about his nightmare section from sophomore year? cause I feel like the horror there is less “ah my grandparents were racist” and more “fuck am I being a stereotype? are the people who hate me right about me?” cause wrt to his having to modulate between barbarian and artificer in fhjy it’s like. idk

oh boy do I have thoughts

Tbh, I had zero recollection of the racism stuff until reading this. It was just SO MINOR. His trial in the forest felt really lackluster to me. I feel like everyone else's really dug into an issue at the core of their character and his felt more like "everyone is getting a trial, what do we do for gorgug?" And idk if that was just a bad delivery/call on Brennan's part or if it could have been helped by Zac engaging more in it but it just. Didn't feel like anything. It was a lot more about the dice than the horror of the claustrophobia and the bugs and you've never fit in anywhere you live to make yourself smaller wherever you go you're just the loser who hits hard. Like yeah I guess there was an overarching theme of Gorgug gaining confidence in himself but it was done very poorly imo.

And I think his trial in the forest was wrong for putting such an emphasis on his intelligence. I think that would have been much better suited in fy, back when he was still being heavily bullied, but beyond that it felt like a quick and easy thing for them to grab. Yes, he had insecurities about his intelligence with all the complications with Zelda. But, to me, the focus of fhsy was his HEART. It put a spotlight on how his social circle has grown, and his bully is his friend now, and he's not alone anymore. His interactions with Ayda, the friendship book, trying to help Fabian, I believe in you spring break, it's Gorgug keep going. I made a post earlier in the season (including a great addition by another user) that I think articulates that emphasis on his emotional intelligence very well.

Fhjy HOWEVER. I think it's doing everything that sy failed at. It's giving him space to have an inner conflict. It's addressing lots of little issues and conflicts he's had over the campaign and combining them into one coherent piece. Like, guy was in a relationship pretty much all of fy, and then dealt with the fallout in sy, but I don't think we've EVER seen as much quality relationship development with Gorgug as we have in jy. He and Fig spent an entire summer together trapped in a tour bus and no season has indicated that bond and friendship more than this one. He and Riz have found something to bond over, meanwhile in previous seasons there was pretty much zero one-on-one personal interaction between them. Fabian expressed sadness over Gorgug leaving the Owlbears, because it was the only thing they had that was just for them to hang out and be friends.

Just with that, we're already doing leagues more with Gorgug's character than we ever have. And I haven't even STARTED on his barbificier journey, oh dear god lmao.

Gonna preface this bit with a post I made before the season even started. It was about Zac's steady improvement in his performances with every PC, and how I was predicting that it was gonna culminate into a Gorgug that does him the justice he deserves. It was initially supposed to be a criticism, but I got a little lost in the sauce of loving my boy lol. Still very relevant to the topic of this ask!

God, where do I START?? Addressing his relationship with rage? I'll be honest, I didn't think that would ever be used as a character arc. And I'm not even sure why I've felt that way. I just didn't think... I didn't think about how he might've had a dislike for his own rage. Like, the WAY he rages isn't bad by any means, but I don't think it ever crossed my mind how actually harmful his lessons to sing to combat rage were. No, I did not like the way Porter went about teaching him (a bit too unsupportive of his capabilities and reminiscent of shitty teachers for my liking). But his point about EMBRACING anger; that rage is not bad and does not— should not— need to be stifled. THAAAAT. That opened up such an interesting dialogue for Gorgug.

I do appreciate the beginnings of Gorgug's interest in artificing in fhsy. I think the crumbs of it back then did a great job of leading into his larger commitment to multiclassing. And I think what he's been doing with it this season is exactly what was lacking in his section of the nightmare forest. His trial was a puzzle, based entirely on die rolls, where his solution after failing even when he's assisted by the enemy is to essentially give up. I understand that facing their fears was the whole point of the trials, but his section came off as incredibly anticlimactic and unfulfilling. Just the fact that it was a trial based on stat numbers more than the development of the character itself.

Where junior year succeeds in actually showcasing his intelligence and the evolution of the worth he holds in himself is with the hands-on approach it takes. Yes, the academic rolls are still dice and stats, but there's a physical manifestation that wasn't there before. Gorgug is smart when it comes to getting his hands dirty. It is in the practical applications of his skills that his brand of intelligence shines the most.

And while, once again, I did not LIKE Porter's heavy resistance to multiclassing....I have to admit that I don't think Gorgug would have had such a boost in confidence without that struggle. Even if my boy had trouble expressing it to Porter verbally, HE STOOD UP FOR HIMSELF. Instead of simply rolling over and agreeing that he wasn't built for a technical class and it was stupid to try– he was DEFIANT.

The kid who said "I'm a dumbass. Eat me you stupid bug." took on FOUR CLASSES. Three school years worth of artificer simultaneously. AND stayed with the Owlbears. AND went along on party missions to help Kristen's candidacy. AND was always on deck to help the party with the overarching plotline.

AND HE ACED IT!!! THE FIRST BARBIFICER THAT THE AGUEFORT ADVENTURING ACADEMY HAS EVER SEEN!!!!! He is paving the way for every unprecedented multiclass that follows.

Just in comparison to who he was in the previous season, the amount of drive and self-worth he's gained is astounding. In my eyes, it's done more than enough to makeup for the way his development fell flat in sophomore year.

i hope this fulfilled the ask in the way you were hoping! i told you i'd get carried away lmao. writing a bunch about any of zac's characters is always such a joy. gorgug had always been my favorite of the bad kids but i always found myself wishing he went deeper, y'know? and now it's real. my precious anxious boy has been handled so well. and watching zac's growth as a performer has been such a blast.

thanks for the ask! :D

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I confronted my boyfriend about not feeling praised enough? Over dumb D&D shit?

Background - I (20s F) live with my boyfriend (30s M) and things are usually great. He's always been supportive, emotionally intelligent and caring and we've had no major problems. We met via D&D several years ago so it's pretty important to both of us, and I'm a DM. Before we met, he was involved in a years-long campaign with some friends and is generally more experienced in D&D than me (I've been DMing around 5 years, he's probably closer to 10).

The current campaign that I'm running is something I'm really proud of. It's a mid-length campaign and I made the story myself (I typically plan mine to be 6-8ish months to avoid things fizzling out) and I've tried really hard to step up my writing and story planning for this one.

I've put in a LOT of extra time and effort and have been holding myself to a much higher standard than I usually do. As a DM I get self-conscious over how much time people are spending with me each week, and I want to make sure it's REALLY worthwhile. And because my boyfriend is more experienced in D&D than me, I've been looking to him for feedback and/or praise, as it would mean a lot to me coming from him.

And I've been getting close to nothing. At the end of each session he immediately falls asleep and doesn't talk about it at all. It makes me feel like I'm keeping him up/boring him. So I started asking him things like "hey what did you think about how I handled X" and he'll give a brief response like "yeah it was great" without explaining anything.

He didn't even give much thought into the character he's playing either - for his old campaign he created a HUGE story for his character, background, goals, etc. I know for a fact he's an incredible creative writer and could have come up with something wonderful for this. But he didn't put down anything other than basic character sheet stuff. When I asked him about it, he says he only goes deep into character when it's "long campaigns like my old one" and "too bad a long campaign like that will never happen again. That's D&D at it's best but now we're all adults, and we're too busy to ever do that, half my friends have kids, it'll never happen again and it's so sad" etc etc.

It made me feel like shit - like anything I try to do is a waste of time and pointless compared to this legendary "old campaign". Like it's barely worth staying awake for, like it's some kind of chore he has to sit through every week just because I'm his girlfriend and he's just humoring me.

The other players have been EXTREMELY enthusiastic and supportive - they send me art they make based on the campaign after every session and have contacted me privately to compliment me on certain aspects of the campaign. I want to make it clear that this is NOT something I EXPECT, but moreso I just really really love and appreciate that they do this for me, especially while my boyfriend is kind of leaving a void where I'd want this kind of praise.

Full transparency, one of my worst fears is forcing people to play along with something that I am passionate about, but bores them to tears. I never want to make a big deal over something that means a lot to ME but doesn't mean that much to someone else. So maybe I should just let this go because, at the end of the day, it's just a game? And taking it so seriously makes me an asshole and I should touch grass? I feel like potentially starting a fight over stupid nerd stuff would be pointless on my end. But at the same time, the more we play the more I feel deflated and I really hate feeling that way. I'm not sure what to do tbh.

What are these acronyms?

[zeephyre]

CRITICAL ROLE CAMPAIGN 3 EPISODE 85 SPOILERS

IM LITERALLY ABOUT TO LOSE MY MIND YALL

Where do I even ??? start ???

I haven't been posting c3 as the episodes dropped in...a while actually, like right before they went to the feywild. i have many thoughts and many feelings about so many things that have happened since then and I'll summarise them so I can get to THIS episode.

fearne and ashton - love their shard powers, they're literally royalty and terrifying, and i want them to make-out. i can't wait to see them go full primordial again in a real combat situation.

imogen - save her. literally save her. free her, even. i love everything about the call of ruidus when it comes to imogen on a narrative standpoint, but...God I get so worried that we're gonna lose her. I don't mean she's gonna betray the hells, but...ruidus could take her and then i would simply perish.

laudna - before i really get into wtf went down this episode with her and she who must not be named, i gotta say... im worried. very very worried. however, that fireball was objectively the best shit ever.

fcg - i can't even really remember anything stand out abt fcg except what Sam pulled last night so.

chetney - still the heart of the team, still my baby girl, still my favourite. love him to bits.

orym - i think laudna is going to beat his ass one of these days and im... even more concerned about that after this episode. his nana morri powers are cool as fuck tho... does that make him a warlock now? i know he isn't multi-classing but wouldn't that be cool

ANYWAY WE'RE ON THE FUCKING MOON AND WE GOT MOON LORE AND EVERYTHING WAS SHITTY THEN FUN THEN SHITTY THEN FUN AGAIN THEN REALLY FUCKING SAD THEN IT ALL WENT TO SHIT AGAIN.

the moment imogen reached out to ruidus and matt mentioned that she could sense where other ruidusborn were i fucking knew that otohan was high tailing it in their direction, and i thought they instinctively knew that too but they probably got so distracted.

we were travelling for hours and had a huge fight that almost got them captured (not to be confused with the OTHER two fights that almost got them captured) and I was begging and screaming and crying for them to get a long rest safely hidden away AND THEN THEY SPLIT THE PARTY WITH BARELY ANY SPELL SLOTS OR HIT POINTS AFTER BEING DRAINED FROM ANOTHER BATTLE WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM

(Sidenote, the willmaster really opened up the door to the further increase in moral pondering in a certain number of hellians. i do think using the harness is disgusting and hypocritical, but i don't condemn them for it, it just...makes me wanna vomit thinking abt what ludinus did with it. not to mention the HUNGER parallels between laudna and ludinus...its just not good yall. also??? objectively funny that fcg seemed weirded out by the idea of killing the willmaster, not just with the harness but in general, considering how many people they've killed up to this point)

idk if its just the inherent terror that an evil old hot lady can inspire that makes otohan so much more terrifying to me than ludinus. like, objectively, ludinus is a worse threat and could wipe them out EASILY but jesus otohan is like the damn reaper to me. it's the trauma from the laudna, fearne, orym massacre mixed with the underlying little drop from their uthodurn romp that let us know that resurrection spells are NOT working and idk if that got fixed bc of time passing or distance from the leylines but i really did not want to test that shit out in real time

thank...god that sam riegel is a damn genius player, that banishment of fcg and fearne was the ONLY reason fcg survived. and thank GOD FOR KEYLETH BECAUSE WITHOUT THAT CLOUD SPELL BELLS HELLS WOULD BE VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY DEAD RN.

God, "otohan has us. run." is going to haunt me just as much, if not more than the almost tpk. it just...shot me straight back to bassuras and the plan to run that just...immediately fell apart.

god fcg truly could have died there. and fearne would be captured. i know the hells would be too stupid and too brave and too loyal to leave fearne with otohan in their cloud form but can you imagine a world where fcg was gone, fearne was captured and the hells had to switch from recon to rescue... itd be stressful but pretty fun.

thankfully it didn't come to that and some good came from the shit.

ruidus is so beautiful. i was worried they'd end being trapped under ruidus while they explored (not that I wasn't on board with the detours, I wish this wasn't a time sensitive mission), but matt's imagery of the fossilized elven structure and garden made me sad but also happy that we got to see it.

i cannot believe that the stupid plan to shove fearne up a water hole happened AGAIN and it ended up with us FINDING A BACK HOLE TO RUIDUS GOD I LOVE THESE CHUCKLEFUCKS WHEN IS THE NEXT EPISODE MATT YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME. WHERE EVEN ARE THEY??? IS IT EVEN EXANDRIA???? WHAT DO WE DO IF IT IS EXANDRIA??? WHERE DID THIS HOLE EVEN COME FROM???? DOES IT CLOSE AND REOPEN??? IS IT STAGNANT?????? IS IT FUCKING STABLE?!?!?!?!?!

God...we could go back to keyleth and the others and actually invade ruidus without encountering the ruby vanguard. (that's if they're alright because otohan did go out onto the battlefield and we don't know what fhe fuck she did when the illusion fell through)

GOD. IS IT THURSDAY YET??? WE HAVENT EVEN FOUND THE RESISTANCE????

[worldfullofash]

Eddie Munson headcanons

Headbangs and plays air guitar to his favourite songs

His room is filled with records and posters of KISS, W.A.S.P, Metallica, Iron Maiden and Motörhead >>>>

He does appreciate the country music Wayne listens to

Secretly dances to Madonna when he’s alone

Nobody can resist Madonna. Not even our favourite metalhead

One time Wayne caught him in the middle his lonely dance party… they stared at each other for a solid 5 seconds. ‘Material Girl’ still playing in the background. Wayne just closed the door and they never spoke of it

When you catch him robbing your fridge he looks at you like a startled raccoon

Eddie loves to share his opinions and hot takes with his friends

Ngl he is very straightforward, he says what he thinks. That’s why others are wary of him. He can come across as mean to some

BUT if you tell him that his comment crossed the line, he will understand and watch his words more often

This guy has a good but dark sense of humour

He cries when watching sad movies, like a lot. Especially if an animal died in it

He loves jewellery

He buys cat food to give to the strays in the trailer park

Eddie loves reading fantasy books to little children at the trailer park. Grinning when they giggle as he uses silly voices for each character (At least some people appreciate his weirdness)

He’s very clumsy. Would definitely trip over his own feet

Smells his clothes to see if they’re still wearable (me too, girl, me too)

Will steal food of your plate

He collects buttons and pins

Wears band tees all the time

When one of these t-shirts gets to small, he cuts the print and uses it as a patch. Or he will use the shirt as decoration if he really liked it

Wayne and him sit outside and have deep conversations while smoking a cigarette

Friendships are very important to him. He feels very lucky to have friends who share the same interests. Even if he doesn’t verbally express it often

When he cares for someone, he makes sure they know it. Not through words, but through actions.

He has very worn out copies of The Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit. He won’t ever replace them, they’re like his children

He can imitate Gollum. The voice is shockingly accurate

Without Hellfire and Corroded Coffin he wouldn’t know what to do

He spends so much time on his dnd campaigns

He makes sketches of the characters, plans the whole plot himself, and practices the voices he wants to use for each character

Where does he get the time for all this you ask? Well let’s say school is not his first priority

It’s not that he doesn’t want to graduate, but he’d rather put his effort in Corroded Coffin. So in a few years he can break through with his band

Eddie can’t mask his facial expressions. You can always know what he thinks just by looking at his face

This guy is really a menace, but we love him for it

Do you want a part 2????

[moonshynecybin]

Your takes on Marc always feel so accurate so I’d like to hear more of what you think in reference to that ask

i thinkkkkk this ask was about the pre argentina post sepang period where marc is like. attempting to mend his relationship to valentino by pure force of will and also being very sweet but vale is a lil reticent if sometimes polite... estranged but still hanging on to that lethal chemistry. death would be kinder if your name is marc marquez. but im going to take a HARD turn into omegaverse land here so sorry to god and his motorcycle racers

SO i think marc obviously like. doesnt really want to believe its over. hes soooo in love here (and as a canonical late bloomer i dont think hes EVER had a heat without vale?? and he is discovering that he is in fact quite bad at dealing with them by himself?) and i really do think that, as hurt as he was by the sepang fallout, he really thinks vale will get over it with time ! and that eventually theyll be able to be as close as they were previously! as soon as he unblocks me the wedding is back on ! truly cannot imagine doing a heat with anyone else he feels literally cold down to his bones thinking about it. and its not even just the dynamic stuff... he misses the grabby hands on cooldown laps and the hugs in parc ferme and the way vale used to put his long fingers in marc's hair to put him where he wants him when they were fucking and the soft skin of his neck and how when vale would touch him everything in marc's brain could just go quiet. truly he feels it in his TEETH like the longing is LETHAL the longing is PHYSICAL the longing has marc IGNORING HIS BODY'S BASIC NEEDS and refusing to go out and find someone to spend a heat with that would actual resolve the hormonal part of his biology reaching for vale (and break that mf bond). so the heat never quite fully resolves! and he feels antsy and feverish and smells literally crazy for weeks at a time. every alpha in the paddock bristling when the wind changes direction... vale staring at the sky with his nails digging into his palms

so marc's already shaky self control is pushed to the limit by his body's insane hormonal situation (motogp doctor is like. technically he can ride !) and so for a few years he decides to kind of. wage this tentative little campaign to see if he can get vale to smile at him or literally touch him at all and relieve a little of the tension swimming around in his body. ANY relief. so he says hi to him every day. goes up to him in parc ferme. small little touches on the podium. just making vale smell like him a little bit. hind brain rejecting the reality where they havent really touched skin on skin in months. waiting for vale to take off his glove before he shakes his hand. BUT because this is omegaverse and i love DRAMA, what marc doesnt realize is that he is sort of. fortifying the beginning stages of a bond that they had started to form when they were fucking. a bond that WOULD have just died if he left it alone or found someone else, but he canttttt because hes oblivious and in love... AND THEN he gets another heat, and its SO much worse... like the effects are compounding, and he can barely see straight and he's feverish and shaking with big eye bags all pale and sad... and eventually alex notices and pulls the plug. says you will NOT get on a bike like this and marc gets permission to stop and basically COLLAPSES

but meanwhile vale is being driven INSANE this entire time because the bond wont DIE but its also not COMPLETED, and marc keeps TOUCHING HIMMMM and smelling insaneeee like hes in heat literally constantly and vale doesnt know what the ISSUE is.... and hes caught up in soooo much resentment but theres literally a base part of his body that cannot physically ignore marc whatsoever. so its an escalating arms race of horny frustration until marc suddenly pulls out of the race one weekend (the official line is for "dynamic reasons" which vale stares at for full minute wondering. is anyone taking care of marc like he would. caught between wanting him to be okay and feeling SICK thinking about another alpha helping him through any of it...) and then theres a knock at his motorhome door. and its alex marquez, looking tired and a little nervous. and he just says. i need your help. its marc.

[volklana]

Gimme More

Title comes from this song:

Request:  Heyyy I'm way too shy to ask this off anon but have you ever thought about writing a fic where reader has to go undercover as a stripper and she gets paired on the mission with Bucky who acts like he hates her but it's because he's secretly obsessed with her and this is the thing that drives him over the edge? I don't know just think you would do wonders with a prompt like this.

Words: 4,392

Warnings: Stripping, unwanted sexual advances, mild torture. Shower sex.

A lot of the visuals and reader’s final outfit is based on this music video:

Masterlist can be found here: 

“Louisiana, Steve?” Bucky barked.

“I really think, this is the key Bucky, we know the deal is happening, we just need this final push of information.” 

“Y/n, is already down there, has been the last two months, she’s making fantastic leads but I really think this could be the final step.” 

Bucky sighed, and ran his hands through his hair.

“I know you’ve got some problems with y/n, but I really need you to do this.” 

Whenever Steve said those words Bucky never felt like he could refuse, because it was Steve and everything he had done for him, so he relented. 

Bucky dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, it was more than problems he had with you, he could barely stand to be in the same room as you, let alone have to live with you, he put off packing for as long as possible trying to prolong the inevitable. 

Bucky let himself into the safe house, you had texted him the coordinates earlier, telling him you didn’t finish work until after 2am, he showered and climbed into bed. 

Your headlights pulling into the driveway woke him and he was rising to let you in.

“I managed to get you work, you’re needed as a heavy hand, security, protection, that kind of thing.”

“How’d you manage that so quickly?” he mused.

“I’ve managed to get quite close to him, I’m his favourite girl at the moment. He trusts me.” 

Bucky scoffed and you rolled your eyes, “I’m going to shower, just turn up on time and don’t fuck this up for me.” 

Vincent was the club owner, despite never having been a member he had profited greatly from dealings with Hydra. Now he was running a money laundering campaign using the club as cover. He was good to his girls and for the most part ensured no one harmed any of them. 

Your second week on the job you had purposely instigated a situation that had a man carried out of the club on a stretcher while you cried on Vincent’s lap, he was a sucker for a pair of sad eyes, you had the saddest eyes of all and you knew how to play him like a violin. 

But Bucky didn’t need to know the ins and outs of what you had done to make this mission work.

And so Bucky went to work early the next day, and he didn’t think any more about you until you turned up for your shift the next evening.

“Hey Antonio,” you greeted running your hand along his chest as he moved the rope to let you in “James,” you acknowledged with a nod. 

“Man tell me how you’ve known her this long and you aint tapping that,” Antonio sighed following you with his eyes.

“Watch how you speak,” Bucky snapped and he regained his composure sharply, surprising even himself with the outburst. 

The dance music spilled out into the night drowning out the sound of crickets and Bucky and Antonio were moved from outside to run security inside. It wasn’t Bucky’s first time inside a strip club, but he didn’t particularly enjoy time in them.

Antonio tapped him and pointed his head in the direction of the stage, Bucky hadn’t even seen you make your way up to the stage, but he was mesmerised as soon as you began to sway your hips, your legs accentuated by the six inch heels you had on, hair tied up in a long ponytail that you swished and swirled effortlessly. You worked the pole in ways Bucky had no idea your body could move, he genuinely felt his mouth go dry as you dropped to the floor, crawling on all fours stopping in front of Vincent to run your hands up your body and swirl your hair, as you unhooked your bra. 

Bucky looked away only then because he didn’t want to invade your privacy. The irony of that not being lost on him.

He may have been trust into the modern world against his will, but he still had certain beliefs and the only time he wanted to view your body was with permission and when it was squirming underneath his. 

When he chanced a look in your direction again you were sitting on some guys lap while he spilled champagne over your chest and into your mouth. 

Bucky made a mental note to make sure you were really were doing okay when you got back to base that night. 

You were quiet when you slipped in, Bucky was still awake tapping on his laptop as you slipped your shoes off.

“Does this guy look familiar to you?” you asked simply throwing an ID at Bucky, the name read Andrew Beck, Bucky instantly clocked him as the guy’s lap you had been sitting on earlier. 

“How did you get this?” Bucky was seriously impressed, “He paid for a private dance after you left,” you offered simply.

“Y/n,” Bucky sighed “Are you sure you’re okay with this, if Steve knew-”

“-Steve knew what he was sending me to do, I’m fine Buck. But you cannot be so uptight, Beck thought you were my boyfriend the way you kept watching like you wanted to pull the head off anyone who touched me, if Vincent sees you-” 

-”No you’re right, I’m sorry.” Bucky interjected and you nodded. 

“I’ve put a lot into this and we’re so close I can’t afford to slip up now.” 

“We won’t,” Bucky promised, but you knew better than to rely on one of those. You eyed him warily and hmmed in response. 

You excused yourself to bed after a shower.

To tell the truth Bucky was putting off going to bed, he had tried to sleep earlier but the thought of you on that stage had his mind going to all sorts of terrible places, and he’d had to readjust himself a few times to try to get comfortable. He didn’t want to cross that boundary but the way your body had wrapped around the pole earlier made that incredibly hard. 

Bucky didn’t like you. He made it abundantly clear when you were both living back at the compound. He rolled his eyes at things you suggested, he berated you for mistakes you made on missions and that last one had been so bad Steve had to step in. When Steve had informed you he was sending Bucky down you had begged him for a solid week to send anyone else but him, but he never gave in. If you hadn’t invested so much of yourself into this mission you would have simply told Steve to stick it but you were almost certain you were within arms reach of finding out who Vincent was laundering for and if that meant sucking it up with Bucky for a few weeks then so be it.

Weeks went by of alternating shifts between you and Bucky, he was less and less on security work lately and more on the heavy handed side of things, collecting debts and rolling out punishments, while you continued to work the stage, collecting IDs and bringing them home for Bucky to run through the data base. One particular night he came home fist bloody and headed straight for the bottle of whiskey you kept on the counter. You were applying the finishing touches to your makeup in the bathroom mirror and getting ready to head in when you saw Bucky’s reflection behind you, “Y/n, be careful okay, you don’t hear the way the other guys talk about you and the things they want to do,” before you could even respond he was retreating into his room and slamming the door. 

Bucky was the first to find out that Vincent was throwing a private party when he was booked to do security that night. He rushed home to tell you just as you were getting off the phone, “I know when the exchange is happening!” he rushed but his face fell when he saw yours, “What is it?” 

“I’ve been booked to work that night,” you said simply, “None of the other girls, just me.” 

“You think he’s on to us?” Bucky asked panicked.

“No Bucky, that’s not it. Private parties for Vincent normally mean more than just dancing,” you sighed rubbing your hand across your face.

“Well then it’s non negotiable you’re not going.”

“Bucky we have him, we have him in the palm of our hands now is not the time to back out. Let Steve know to be here, I’ll work out the rest.” 

The bile rose in Bucky’s stomach at the thought of it but he had no choice but to trust you.

Bucky stood by the pool, arms folded watching like a hawk, for any sign of the buyer. He hoped Steve and the others were in place because he couldn’t risk using comms tonight. 

He heard your laugh from across the lawn, you were in a pink silk and shimmery bra with a matching short shimmery skirt with a slit all the way up to your hip on one side, you looked like a goddess to Bucky with the gold glitter around your eyes and gold bangles adorning your arms.

There was a stage with a singular pole in the middle of the grounds, leather couches and small firepits surrounding it. Some men had already taken their seats in anticipation of your performance. When Vincent stood up to announce your arrival Bucky felt his throat go dry. The music started and you began to sway, there was no denying it, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, you let your hair loose, letting your fingers run through it and swirled your fingers around, dropping to a splits you eased onto your back, long legs extending into the air as you spun around onto your stomach, slowly crawling your way back up the pole.

Bucky wanted to march up on stage, grab you and drag you off into a corner and fuck you senseless, him and every other man watching you, he suddenly felt an immense pang of jealousy over that.

You weren’t his to want or have. 

And then he locked eyes with you, as you bent down to touch your toes, butt pressed firmly to the pole, looking up at him through your lashes he nearly came on the spot as you smiled coyly his way.

His concentration was broken however when he heard Vincent’s voice in front of him.

“I’ll want to be compensated, she’s my best earner at the moment,” Bucky honed in on the conversation.

“I will expect to try before I buy,” the man to his right said simply, eyeing you and you slid your bra off effortlessly, Bucky knew that voice, he began wracking his brains to place just where he knew that voice. 

“I’ve had only the briefest taste myself but you are in for a treat.”

Bucky didn’t know if he wanted to be sick or kill the men in front of him or both but he hoped Steve would swarm the place soon so it didn’t get to that. 

As you finished your set you pulled your bra back on and climbed down from the stage, to the thunderous sound of applause.

Bucky watched you wind your way through the crowd to get to him.

“Enjoy the show?” you teased and he groaned, “I saw you Barnes, you couldn’t look away.” 

Bucky lunged forward to reach for you, grasping your arm in his, swallowing thickly, his eyes glanced down to your lips.

“What the fuck did you do?” Vincent shouted, grabbing you by the arm forcing you out of Bucky’s arm to face him.

“Vincent you’re hurting me,” you cried trying to wrangle out of his touch.

Bucky barely even had time to react when he felt the jab in his neck and suddenly he was losing consciousness, your terrified eyes the last thing he saw before he hit the ground.

                         __________________________________

Bucky blinked his eyes open to a blinding pain in his head, his hands were secured high above his head and no amount of pulling could set him free, even with his metal arm. The dull ache in his shoulders told him he had been in that position for a while. He tried to do a quick survey of his surroundings, he was definitely in a bunke. He whipped his head around trying to spot you and his heart fell out of his chest when his eyes landed on your unconscious form, tied to a chair, head hanging forward and blood drying on your lips.

“Y/n,” he hissed, “Y/n, you need to wake up. Please,” he begged. 

“She’s a tough one,” the same voice that he had been trying to remember earlier mused stepping out of the shadows, “Took down two of my men trying to get to you earlier, she’s got fight in her,” he cupped your face lifting it up to inspect your features, “She’s beautiful huh? Can see why the Cap chose her for this line of business.”

Bucky shook the chains in pure anger trying in vain to free himself, “Get the fuck away from her,” he roared.

It was only when he turned around that Bucky realised it was Jack Rollins, second hand to Brock Rumlow who had participated in disciplining him during his time as the Winter Soldier. He wished his stomach didn’t twist the way it did when he locked eyes with Rollins. 

He let out a dry laugh, “So you’re who Vincent has been dealing with?” 

“Surprised to see me?” he smirked making his way over to stand in front of Bucky, “Everyone assumed I went down with Triskelion so I let them believe it. But I’ve just been here biding my time, waiting for the day you would show up. I knew Cap couldn’t let his Hydra vendetta go. I was counting on it.”

“And you assumed he would send me?” Bucky spat.

“I knew he would,” he smirked, “Her on the other hand she’s a bonus!” 

Bucky again fought with his restraints, “If you fucking touch her-”

-”You won’t be here to see it,” Rollins grinned, “The other guy, the soldier will however, he may even join in.” 

Now it was Bucky’s turn to smirk, “He’s gone, the words don’t work anymore, there’s nothing you can do to torture him out of me anymore.” 

“Oh I know,” Rollins smirked “You’ve been trained to withstand torture we saw to that,” he turned his attention back to you, “She however, hasn’t. In fact shall we wake her up?”

Bucky saw red and pulled so hard he nearly pulled his arms out of their sockets, but his arms would not come free. He had to simply watch in horror as Rollins threw a bucket of water over you and you gasped back to life, pulling on your own restraints, eyes widening in horror when you saw Bucky, suspended in front of you, before Rollins' face came into view. 

“Nice of you to join the party sweetheart,” he smirked and you kicked your leg out in an attempt to connect with him.

Rollins laughed dryly “You see?” he turned to Bucky smirking “Feisty!”

“Fuck you,” you spat “Untie me and I’ll show you feisty.” 

Rollins fisted his hand in your hair, forcing your head back, Bucky could see the goosebumps on your skin from the cold water Rollins had thrown on you, he was furious, you were still in the attire you had worn to the party, pink  bra and barely there skirt, you had to be freezing, they didn’t even have the decency to cover you.

“You’re going to do something for me,” Rollins commanded.

You tried to yank your face away “I will do nothing for you,” you spat launching forward to plant a headbutt to his face, within seconds he had his hands around your throat, the chair swung back, and the two back legs were the only thing keeping it on the ground.

Bucky watched your legs kick out as you gasped for breath, but what he wasn’t prepared for was the scream that left your mouth to knock all the air out of his lungs, Rollins was holding against your bare torso a device that Bucky knew all too well, it had been used on him one too many times, the volts of electricity that were currently running through your body had been enough to bring him to his knees more than once.

As soon as the four legs hit the ground, you slumped forward, only the restraints kept you from falling forward entirely. 

“Submit,” Rollins ordered and you shook your head weakly, “Submit,” he ordered again and you wearily pulled yourself back into place, “No.” 

“You want to see her dance again?” he smirked and stuck the rod into your side again reveling in your screams as your body thrashed with the pain.

“Stop! Stop!” Bucky screamed, but Rollins simply drove the rod deeper into your side, your screams like a knife to Bucky’s chest, “Stop, please I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll yield. Just stop.” 

He pulled the rod away from you, with a sick smirk and you slumped to the side. Bucky watched your chest rising and falling, a sheen of sweat covering your face and chest.

“Good,” he simply said “Now that I see you can be reasoned with, get some rest. I will be back to talk business soon. Lets give our girl a little chance to recover huh? I have great plans for the two of you- might have to break this one in a little more through,” he winked. 

Bucky didn’t respond, his only interest was getting Rollins as far away from you as possible. 

“Are you okay?” he tried after a while.

You simply nodded weakly, “Please y/n I need to hear you say it, I need you to talk to me.”

“I’m okay Buck.”

Buck, you had never called him that before.

“But if you for one second think I’m allowing you to give yourself to that creep, you have another thing coming.” 

“Y/n-”

“- I can take it Bucky, whatever he does to me I can take, do you hear me? Do not offer yourself like that again. Do. You. Hear. Me?”

He nodded but he knew full well the second he had heard your scream he would rather die than watch you go through that again. 

The aches in Bucky’s shoulder was turning to pain and the discomfort was evident on his face, you were assessing the situation. If you could just get out of your binds you could make it up to the chains holding him in place and free him too. 

You tried standing a few times, you were shaky on your feet the first few times but you were determined. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky tried but you ignored him.

When you felt like you could confidently stand, you took a deep breath, this was going to hurt like a bitch. Natasha had taught you this move on your second week of training, you had never managed to do it without immense pain, but if that meant freeing yourself to give you and Bucky a fighting chance, you were going to do it. 

You sprung into action, running as fast as you could and propelling yourself into a summersault you landed down on your back, the chair collapsed in pieces and you lay winded for a few seconds before you could manage to wrangle free from the ropes that had bound your arms in place. Bucky couldn’t even process what he had just seen, he watched you push your left shoulder back into place, wincing slightly and he almost backed away when you made your way towards him.

“Are you okay?” you asked examining him carefully.

“Am I…Am I okay? Y/n are you? What the hell was that?” you huffed out a laugh and switched your attention to the chains over his head, “I need to get up there,” you motioned and he glanced up, he didn’t even get to respond before you were essentially climbing him like a tree, you felt his torso muscles tense when you came face to face, almost like he was holding his breath. You couldn’t help chance a look into his eyes, those worried cobalt eyes were boring back into yours and you swallowed thickly, arms locked around his neck and legs wrapped around his torso. 

“You should have escaped,” he said, voice raspy.

“I’m not leaving without you,” you reassured “We’re both getting out of here.” 

Bucky nodded and you continued your ascent upwards, the chains were clamped in an industrial clamp, it was locked and no matter how much you tried to pry it open it would not release, it was very clearly made to withstand Bucky’s strength. You slipped one of the heavy bangles off your wrist and unscrewed one of the ends Bucky watched in awe as a tiny blade appeared and you fidgeted with the lock a few seconds before you managed to pick it. The clamp opened and Bucky felt some relief as the pull loosened on his arms. 

You plopped back down to the ground, and asked Bucky to pull as hard as he could and he cried out in relief when the chains pulled free from the ceiling. 

Without a moments hesitation Bucky strode over to you clasped your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours and you returned his kiss greedily, leaning your weight into him, as he snaked his arms around your waist. 

“Do you think you can kick the door down?” you asked almost in a haze and he hummed with a nod of his head.

“We’ll have to fight our way out doll.”

“Ready when you are,” you nodded and he made quick work of busting down the door.

It was immediate hand to hand combat and Bucky managed to wrestle a gun from a guard and take out a few more along the way. You were in your bare feet trying to avoid getting your toes trampled on as you fought tooth and nail with a foot soldier who refused to go down, a shot to his shoulder from Bucky had him collapsing and allowed you to pass by.

“Where’s Rollins?” you shot to Bucky as the two of you escaped down a winding corridor, it almost seemed too easy.

Bucky took your hand in his and pulled you along beside him, ready to pounce at any second and finally he was kicking a door out into the fresh night air, and you were both running faster than you had ever run before. 

You couldn’t risk going back to the safe house now that your cover was blown, and you didn’t stop running until you were fit to collapse, your body had been through significantly more than Bucky’s tonight. 

He managed to hotwire a car and only once you had been driving for over an hour did you feel safe.

Bucky stopped at a gas station to fill up the tank and returned with a sweatshirt that said Louisiana on it, “I thought you’d be cold,” he said simply when your eyes softened at him. 

“I spoke to Steve,” he added after a moment, “I used the phone in the store to call him, they’re going after Rollins, Nat got a hit on him, I have the coordinates for a safe house an hour an a half away so they’re going to meet us there tomorrow.” 

You relaxed back into your seat, pulling the sweatshirt on.

Bucky collapsed onto the sofa in the safehouse and you rummaged for some food, in the cabinets, finding a box of mac n cheese and opting to make that for both of you, you both ate in silence. The shift in yours and Bucky’s relationship was thick in the air and you didn’t know how to broach it.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Bucky’s voice broke your trail of thoughts and you nodded with a small smile. You bit the inside of your cheek as you heard the water begin to run, before you could overthink it you followed him into the bathroom.

He was standing with his back turned to you, water dripping down his muscled back, and your mouth went dry, you slipped the Louisiana sweatshirt off and his deep voice commanded from nowhere, “Leave the outfit on,” you smirked and slipped into the shower in your shimmery costume, gasping when he pushed you up against the cool tiles of the shower wall.

“You have no idea what you do to me in those tight little outfits,” he groaned sliding his hand up under the skirt, “Watching your body move on stage, watching every man in the room want you, was driving me crazy.”

You panted head thrown back as his fingers continued to work their magic, and just as you were about to reach your release he pulled his fingers away, “All of them wanted you, but who did you want?”

“You Buck. Wanted you,” was just about all you could muster.

Suddenly, without warning he flipped you around and you had to put your hands against the tiles to brace yourself, his pace was ferocious, pounding into you, hands fisted into your hair, your palms against the tiles the only thing protecting your face from making contact with the wall. You cried out as he pounded, the sound echoing through the steamy room and he grunted as he came, releasing his hold on your hair and slowing his pace, and you winced as he pulled out.

He spun you around much more gently this time, removing your outfit gingerly and easing you under the water, he lathered his hands with soap and gently massaged your body.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he mused and you sighed contentedly, wrapping your arms around his neck, and leaning in for a kiss.

“Next time will be more gentle,” he mused running his hands tenderly up and down your waist.

“I’m ready when you are,” you smirked pecking his swollen lips. 

Tagging:  

@spookyparadisesheep   @jbbarnesgirl   @salvatoreitmeanssaviour@princesscornbread   @loki-laufeyson-1054 @firstcashheroathlete @missvelvetsstuff     nana1000night   sapphire-rogers   @sarahrogersevans   @steverogerssimpp @spudinthemud   @mrsragnarlodbrok @buckgasms @miss-patriciah-maximoff   @hellomissmabel  @knittingknerdy @shamvictoria11 @buckysberrie @assembletheimagines @dearthofequanimity @wellthatsrandomkek @mitra-k-w @nikkitia7 @fantasticimpaladoctor @feelmyroarrrr @sebseyesandbuckysthighs @andhiseyesweregreen @frickin-bats @buckyywiththegoodhair @iiharu-kunii @bellenuit45-blog @james-bionic-barnes @avengerofyourheart @jaegers-and-kaijus   princess76179   brasspistol  thelittleredrobinhood  

[celenawrites]

TW - just a vent about fandom stuff.

I feel kinda sad about how some creators in the CoD fandom have now abandoned creating content for the game series due to the demanding nature of other fans who used to consume their content. (fics, art, etc)

Like, these artists/writers in the fandom write fanfics/create art, FOR FREE OF COST and dedicate SO MUCH TIME AND ENERGY to their craft despite not getting much in return, only to deal with senseless hate, ignorance, stupidity and get treated as content generation machines; instead of actual human beings with jobs and studies and friends and families that need their time and attention as well.

A lot of us folks who write or draw do this as a hobby. As an outlet for our creativity, and we find this community for the media we are currently fixated on and we create things inspired by it cuz it brings us joy. IT MAKES US HAPPY SO WE CREATE CONTENT FOR IT!!! And then to see the same fandom/community and their horrendous behaviour driving away the creators from the fandom and the media itself is just....sad. Very disheartening.

Like I miss so many of the creators who have just given up on CoD cuz of this issue. Their works have inspired me to start writing again. They make me wish I start learning how to draw and paint again too. Their works have touch my soul, and made me happy - gave me something to look forward to every day.

But I'd much rather they leave the fandom and take care of themselves and their life, than to succumb to this weird pressure fans and fan-content consumers put on them, y'know?

Plus recently, I've seen a lot of racist and stereotypical prejudices from some CoD fans (and even some creators). I know a lot of them are new to the fandom, I was too. But I took an active effort to learn more about this game series. (and it's an ongoing effort cuz I cannot afford to play the games so I have to settle for wiki articles, gameplays, and comics) And I see so many fans not give a shit about it. They treat these characters as blank canvases to fulfill their hypersexual fantasies. (I like me a good smut fic or two, don't get me wrong) But that just makes it impossible for newer fans to get to know more about the lore and the characters. I had just finished watching the campaign for MW, and let me tell you, there are so many complex missions, characters and storylines to explore and depict through fanfics, and it's insane so many people disregard it for their whimsies so easily. That will just stunt your growth as an artist/writer! Read up on the lore, watch the game plays(the OGs and the remakes!) , maybe even read the comics!!! I promise you won't regret it ever!!!

Also, please! For all that is holy, stop putting these complex fictional characters into restricted boxes and label them. That just makes them so one-dimensional. Like -

Soap is not always cheery and bubbly and your fellow bestie. Simon is not an abuser/emotionally dead asshole just because he has a hard time expressing his emotions like everyone else. König, despite the lack of storyline/lore we have on him, isn't an uwu social anxiety babygirl, damn it. Stop excluding Gaz from your HCs and fics! He's a complex man with so many interesting things to explore about his overall story and psyche as a part of 141. He's not always begging for Price's approval either, he can and has objected to how questionable their methods have been regarding their field/work. Stop excluding Gaz from 141 stuff! It makes you look like a POS, and a lot of the people who exclude him are doing so for....pretty racist reasons. As a POC, this shit sucks balls. Also stop stereotyping POC characters in CoD - Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria, Gaz, Farah....just stop. Their ethnicity or race should not deter you from writing about them in a way that doesn't come across as prejudiced and ill-informed.

Also, not necessarily a rant, but please consider/remember the fact that the military has always been a bit of a morally dubious field of work irl, and just cuz CoD is military-centric and features characters who work in the army or PMC and take out bad guys - that doesn't take away from the violent history military has and how they have contributed to the deterioration of many countries (mainly in the Middle East). Heck, even these characters in the CoD games have done extremely unethical things and employed treacherous methods in order to get the job done. These characters may be good people in fiction, but that doesn't mean that they have done great things or have always stayed morally pure. Explore the dubious nature of it all - explore how dark and harrowing it can be for them and for the people that unwittingly or knowingly get involved in their work. It's dark and twisted but it's crucial since it's inspired from our world and it's necessary for us as humans and as artists to explore such themes and analyse them! It's crucial for the soul!!!

[littlxpxtal]

Little Dove | Chapter 5

Last chapter I got a little sloppy cus I'm horrible at ending things meep

It was the 3rd day of your 5 day trip away with Coriolanus. His attitude and demeanor had done a complete 180, reminding you of the charm and affection he has shown you in school. It was refreshing to have your lover return to such a familiar state, one that you had been yearning to regain. 

Not only was this trip a break for you, but for Coriolanus as well. He the hardest working person you knew, but he was also extremely hard on himself. This came along with his desire to be the best, it always came with a cost. You knew going into the games would heighten both of your anxieties, but you were glad to experience this moment of peace with him. 

Dressed in a soft pink maxi dress, Coryo wore an outfit of all white. he squeezed you hand as you looked out the window at a new spot you hasn’t been to yet. Multiple acres of grass with a few large trees spotted around. As the car pulled up closer to a tree, you could look across to see a small beach. 

“This is a perfect spot for our picnic!”

He grinned and grabbed the basket and cooler from the trunk of the car 

“I thought so too.” 

After finishing up the meal you had prepared together, you laid your head on his lap, as his was against the shady tree, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Tell me more about your expectations of this presidential campaign Coryo.” 

He sighed and brushed his fingers along your neck.

“We really don’t have to talk about that now, it can wait until we get back.” 

You push your lips out to a pout. 

“when we get back and talk about it, it’s real. If we talk about it here. it’s like it’s a figment of our imagination” 

He frowned. 

“It’s very real to me though, Y/N.”

You sat up, placing your hands on his chest.

“Of course it is baby. I just mean, less pressure, no judgement or arguing. just ideas with no limits” He smiled down at you and then looked back out into the field. There was a few moments of silence before he opened his mouth again. 

“I want everyone to know my name, not because they knew my father but because they knew me. And I want it to be more than just because of the 10th Hunger Games, or working with Dr. Gaul as assistant game maker. I want to make a legacy of my own. I need to beat my fathers. I’m willing to do anything.” 

“and you think I can help you achieve that?” you asked. He frowns again. 

“Didn’t you just say the limit does not exist here?”

You laugh at his quip. “Okay okay. If i’m being honest I think you’re going to have to get a little bit nicer.” 

He stared at you with no emotion and you laugh out. 

“Okay fine i’m done with jokes. I’m going to work my hardest to help you get there my love. I like to think you already have a name for yourself from your time on congress alone, let alone what you were doing in your late teenage years. This won’t be a terribly easy feat, but there’s no doubt it my mind we’re going to win. “ a moment of silence passed between the two of you. 

“Are you scared?” you ask him. 

He brushes the tip of your nose with his finger and avoids eye contact. 

You lean in closer and lightly kiss his lips. 

His eyes flicker towards yours. For the first time ever you see tears well in his eyes and feel him tremble under your hands. 

“I’m fucking terrified.” he finally gets out. a single tears drops from his right eye and you flick it away. 

Your lips form a smile, not because he was in pain and sad, you hated that part. But at the fact that he had finally opened up about something, and was looking to you for comfort. 

“I don’t think you’re going to lose Coryo. Maybe we need to do some exposure therapy, get you used to not getting what you want. I can start,” 

He lets out a laugh. “You always give me what I want.” 

It was your turn to frown now. 

“We can talk about strategy when we get home. For now let’s go explore that beach” 

He starts to stand and places his hand out to assist you. You slide you shoes off and brush your dress back down over your legs,  

Although Coryo had only let one tear slip from his eyes, his face still contorted with worry. You reached up to meet his face, cupping his cheeks between your hands, staring him intently in his eyes. 

“Coryo,” you start. He reaches up to your wrists and leans in to kiss you.

“I’ll be alright Dove, c’mon”

You both slowly walk from the grass down to the small beach as the sun slowly descended across the water. 

You release your hand from his and walk over to the water. 

“It’s so quiet” you murmur.

Coryo comes to join you, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing a sweet kiss against your cheek. “Can we stay here forever?” 

He chuckles lightly and brushes your hair over your shoulder so he can press a kiss upon your neck. 

“I’ve lived in the great outdoors before. It’s not all that great after a while.” he grunts, trying to pull you from the water. 

“But can we at least come back here to visit sometimes?” you plea, not turning around to follow him. 

“We can come back anytime you’d like dove.” he assures. You can tell his voice is now farther, finally turning to see that hes moving farther down the beach. His head is down and he seems to be stuck in thought. 

“Coryo, are you arlight?” you ask. You were hoping he wasn’t still shook up about the conversation you two shared moments before.

“Yea I’m just-” he stops before started to walk further away. 

You ran to catch up to him, twisting his arm around and pressing his chest against yours. You could feel his heart beating rapidly and his face showed anxiety. 

“Hey, hey is there anything I can do to help, whats going on?” You were beginning to get worried. You had never seen him so disheveld like this. You were afraid that you couldn’t be much help, and opened your mouth to offer another solution before he grabbed your face and started desperately kissing you. You immediately return the desire, wrapping your arms around his neck as he cradled your waist. 

After many moments of sharing a passionate kiss, he released you, still holding you close and embracing you into a hug. Your eyes opened for the first time since his lips were on yours and you noticed that the sun began to turn the colors of the sky pink and purple.

“I love you more than I’ve loved anyone before, y/n” he states. You freeze slightly at this abrupt declaration from Coriolanus’s mouth. 

You pull back from the hug and look up to him, your mouth slightly parted, unsure if you should respond or if he had more to say. 

“You amaze me by your intelligence, patience and ability to problem solve. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re so astute, desicive and observant. I admire your resourcefulness and how adaptable you are in any situation.”

Your lips form a smile lips and you reach your hands back up to his neck. Before you can respond he continues,

 “Since the moment I met you, I knew you would be a challenge. But I have come to learn that you're something I cant conquer or compete with. You’re someone I want by my side, always.” 

He lowers to the ground, on one knee. You gasp, at the scene of Coriolanus. Him proposing was something you hadn’t thought of happening for a while, figuring he would wait until he was president and checked off all of his boxes before indulging in something so customary. 

“Coryo,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair as the wind blew your dress in the soft breeze. The sun was now at the edge of the water, creeping lower and lower.

“Y/N, will you please do me the honor of being my wife, for now and forever?” 

“Yes, Coryo,” you exclaimed. He placed the beautiful ring upon your finger and stood, picking you up with a swift movement, kissing your face as he spun you around. 

“Was this apart of your plan?” you asked through giggles as he kept spinning you round. 

“Yes,” he said sheepishly before placing you down. 

“I was nervous as hell.” he grumbled, picking up the box he placed down. 

“I was worried I upset you or something,” he shook his head and connected his lips with yours again. A few moments passed before he removed his mouth from yours. 

“No darling, never.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Returning back to the cabin, you go up the stairs to change into one of your PJ sets, while Coryo put away the things from your picnic. You step back down the stairs to see the living room area is lit up by candlelight, a record playing, the fire place on and a bottle of red wine with two wine glasses sat out. He brushes past you, with a soft kiss on your lips.

“Get cozy dove, ‘m gonna go change.”

You walk over to the island and pour wine into both of the glasses. You walk over to the conversation couch and sprawl out on the cushions, downing the first glass you poured yourself, admiring the exquisite ring that fit perfectly on your finger. 

You hear Coryo’s footsteps padding down the stairs, and your breathe hitches as he comes down with an unbuttoned top shirt and a loose pair of pajama pants. 

You can’t help but eye every part of his body, feeling a burning sensation form in your stomach, and a lump beginning to form in your throat, unable to greet him before he plops onto the cushion next to you.

“You arlight love?” he asks softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. 

“Yea, sorry. Just can’t believe your going to be my husband.” he smirks and grabs his glass of wine off of the coffee table.

“Imagine how I feel. Having the most stunning and magnetic woman in all of Panem”

Your stomach filled with butterflies as he showered you with compliments. He must’ve studied a dictionary to come up with such stunning describing words for you, words youve never heard him use before. You knew he was an educated man and had an eloquent vocabulary, but he was really impressing you with his descriptions tonight. 

He moves over closer, taking a large gulp of his wine before place it down and moving your legs across his, resting his hands on your thighs. 

“Whatcha thinking about my love?” he asks. 

You finally gain the courage to speak, “Kiss me, Coriolanus.”

He obeys immediately, pressing his lips into your open mouth, sliding his tongue inside, tasting the sweet wine you both drank. He grabs the glass from your hands and sets it on the table without breaking the kiss and moves one of your legs to the other side of his waist. He pulls you ontop of him, running his hands roughly through your hair as you groan at his harshness, allowing his tongue to move deeper inside your mouth. Your hands trail up and down his abdomen, softly moaning into his mouth as he squeezes your hips and begins to move them back and forward. 

He finally removes himself from making a mess of your mouth, wiping his salvia that has dripped down your chin. He grins and reaches over to grab both of your wine glasses, He clinks his against yours

“To us.” he states.

“To us” you whisper before finishing the rest of the glass. He smirks and leans over to the table, holding onto your figure as he grabs the bottle and begins to pour more into both of your glasses.

“Trying to get me drunk Snow?” you question seductively, biting your bottom lip as he tops off the rest of the bottle into his own glass. 

He reaches back to place the bottle down, lets his hand release from your back and lifts up your chin. 

“I’m just trying to celebrate” he nonchalantly retorts. 

You take a sip of the glass and adjust your placement on his lap to move further back and admire his torso. 

“Can’t believe I get to marry the hottest guy in Panem” you say, half joking, half serious.

He rolls his eyes. 

“My you have a way with words.” he takes a sip from his glass and trails his eyes down your body.

“Take your top off.” he directs. 

Before you can form a snarky response, he grabs your glass from your hands. You find yourself mindlessly pulling your top off to reveal your bare chest. You feel his bulge harden beneath you immediately. 

“That’s my girl” he rumbles before forcing both glasses into your hands and moves his hands to cup your boobs. You wince at the cold pressure of his rough hands fondling your tits. He mouth moves to kiss your sternum and you sit, helpless on his lap as he attacks your chest with kisses and bites. 

A moan escapes your lips and you decide to take another drink of your wine. 

“Finish it.” he commands, before placing his lips around your right nipple. He looks up at you, and your bring the glass back up to your lips, maintaining eye contact as one of his hands reach to your back letting you lean back. Tipping your head back to finish, he finally releases his lips and smiles. 

“Are you gonna be this good for me all night?” he asks, trailing kisses up to your neck, using his hand to straighten your body back up.

“Yes baby” you murmur, feeling the effects of the three glasses you’ve had. 

“I’ll have to take a bathroom break before we go any further.” you giggle, feeling a blush creep around your face as the words slip out. He lets out a deep chuckle into your neck before placing a last kiss. 

“Go on then.”

You stand up and he gives your ass a tap before you tip toe to the bathroom, stumbling around a bit, officially feeling drunk. 

You return to see him with both glasses on the table, empty, and two glasses of water on the table as well. He is laying on his back, arms behind his head, eyes closed. 

“Hi baby”

“Hi dove” he responds, peeking one eye open. 

You lay ontop of him, head on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of every breath.

“What king of wedding shall we have?” you ask. 

He removes his hands from behind his head to hold you. 

“What did you have in mind?”

You smile sweetly and begin to ponder. Weddings always seemed large and extravagant, you couldn’t imagine what they would be like if they were presidential. 

“Grand”

He laughs and pulls you up closer on his chest so your face reaches his.

“I have a grand idea.” he smirks. 

He lifts your body off of his and he pulls himself onto the ground, kneeling before you again

“Coryo what,”

“Shhh” he mumbles into your thighs as he begins to press wet kisses up and down, slowly pulling down your pants. As they plop to the floor, you immediately become self conscious, fully naked standing before your fully clothed lover.

 His hands begging to spread your legs and you begin to protest as he interrupts you 

“Why dont you ride my face and tell me everything you want at your grand wedding, misses Snow?”

You look down at him, hazy and love drunk. he sits down, back against the couch, leaning his head on the cushion, moving your legs on his sides, pushing you forward to straddle him. Deciding tonight wasn’t a night to disobey, you place your cunt upon his face. He moves himself down to get comfortable and begins licking up and down your folds. You let out a soft cry, reaching forward to grab the back of the couch. 

Grinding against his face, you babble out sultry moans, looking down every now and then at your fiances face between your legs. You wish there was a mirror to catch a glimpse of this erotic sight, sitting on his face, using the couch as a chair while he sits open legged on the ground, palming himself through his pants. 

He grunts into your pussy, before pulling away and roughly grabs your ass cheeks,

“I told you to tell me what you want at our wedding misses Snow.” he growls before feverishly sucking on your clit.

You yelp out and clench your body, trying to focus on coherent thoughts.

“I- I want large chandeliers hanging everywhere. And, and I want white roses everywhere”

You let an exasperated moan out before beginning again.

“Matchbooks with our names printed on them, and my bridesmaids will wear beautiful rose gold satin dresses. Deep red and gold accents will be everywhere, and” you stifle out a moan, close to reaching your climax. Your thighs begin the tremble as he flicks his tongue over your bud repeatedly. 

“All of Panem will be in attendance, and there will be a grandddd dancefloor” you roll out before collapsing from holding yourself up. 

“I’ll wear a beautiful lace gown, probably no veil” you sigh before whimpering as he sticks two fingers into your hole.

“Sounds like an extravagant wedding” he whispers into your thigh, peppering it with kisses as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“Mhmm” you reply, nodding off into subspace.

“Come back baby” he coos, bringing a hand up and around to your chest, pushing you up straight.

“Coryo ‘m gonna cum”

He smirks and begins to pump his fingers fast, curling them, making you gasp for air.

“Fuck fuck fuck” you breathe out, leaning forward over to grasp the back of the couch. His mouth attaches to your clit again, moving in slow circles as you come undon on his fingers.

He removes them and you crawl further on the couch. Coriolanus begins to stand, placing his fingers in his mouth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tastes your juices.

You whine in response, head feeling light, core throbbing and legs weak.

He pulls off his open shirt, tossing it to the side of the couch. His pants soon follow, his cock twitching up and slapping his torso.

You bite your bottom lip, whimpering at the sight. 

He moves his body to hover above yours, using his knees to spread your legs.

“Tell me what you what, my little dove” he whispers into your ear.

“Make me yours Coryo,” he dips his head to meet your lips, tugging at your bottom lip, begging for admission inside. You oblige, and he circles his tongue around your lips, you taste yourself on his mouth resulting in a moan escaping from both of you.

He reaches down to grab his cock, lining it up with your entrace before slowing pumping in and out.

“Please Coryo, I need all of you” you squeal, hands grasping on both of his arms. Frustrated at his teasing you pout and squirm beneath him.

“You said you would be a good girl for me baby. Be patient”

“Im done being patient Coryo, fuck me damnit” you demand. He eyebrow quirks up before he bucks his full length inside, making you scream out.

“Gave you what you wanted Dove, hmm? Couldnt wait for me to stretch out your tight cunt, now you have to face the consequences.” he growls into your ear before pushing himself up, hands on your chest as he thrusts in and out of you. Crying out, a tear slips from your eye at the rough penetration. He wipes the tear with his index and squeezes your cheeks together with one hand. 

“You begged for it baby.” he states, you’re unable to retreat back with a response since only gasps and moans can escape your lips. 

His eyes roll back with pleasure, using the back of the couch to keep himself steady, his other hand grabbing your left hand, interlocking fingers. He brings the hand closer, admiring the rock he placed on your finger earlier in the night.

“Do you like your ring pretty girl?” he coos, keeping his thrusts repetitive and steady. 

“Ye-yes I love it” you squeak out before returning to your babbles. 

Your glossy eyes admire the sweat glistening from his chest as he grinded into your cunt. He kissed the diamond ring on your hand before moving it above your head, leaning his face against yours. 

He thrusts were starting to get sloppy as he came close to his high. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you forever” he chuckles.  

He brings his other hand away from the couch and skims the side of your body, leaving goosebumps. You squeeze your eyes shut, trembling at touch. His fingertips land on your clit, slowly rubbing circles. 

“Look at me baby”  he pleads.

You eyes flash open and you see a devilish grin placed upon his face.

“Were gonna cum at the same time okay baby?” he instructs. You nod your head up and down, already feeling a knot building up from the pressure of his cock hitting your cervix and the stimulation he was adding to your clit. 

“O-okay, ‘m already close Coryo” you groan out as he quickens his speed.

“Me too baby” he shuts his eyes closed for a few moments, leaning his head back. 

You feel his cock throb and pulsate within you, giving you a sign he was near the edge. The mere thought let you come undone for the second time that night. As your body begins to shudder, he collapses on top of you, mumbling a string of profanities into your neck as he finishes. 

He lays ontop of you, breathing heavy, pressing soft kisses into your neck. 

“I love you y/n” he murmurs.

“I love you too Coryo” you respond sweetly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting in the back of the car, hand interlocked with Coriolanus, your head leans against the window, admirning the cabin you would remember forever. A sense of uneasiness forms in the pit of your stomach as the driver pulls off, Reminding you of the responsibilities and reality you two were able to leave behind for the week. 

Coryo brings your hand up to his lips, giving it a soft kiss before squeezing it tightly and setting it back down on the seat. 

“Lets go take on the world, dove”

“Snow lands on top.”

[howlingday]

Do you think Salem has hobbies if she does what kind of hobbies would she have? What would her inner circles hobbies be?

Let's see... Going for jokes and whatnot, let's see what kind of hobbies Salem and her inner circle probably has.

Salem is literally making Grimm all the time in her black pool. That said, I could see her also being really into cooking and might even watch cooking shows and cooking along with them. She then has her Grimm dispose of what's left of the meals when the inner circle is done eating.

Up next, we have Cinder, who is constantly plotting and scheming of way to become more powerful. It's kinda hard for me to say what she likes to do since most of what she does is all in the interest of serving the purpose of a later goal. That said, I'm having trouble thinking of anything since most of it would be more what she considers a waste of time... except gardening. She has her own personal garden that she plants seeds for and waters until they grow into beautiful flowers or food-stuffs for Salem to cook with. It may also better solidify her ties with Salem.

Tyrian is Salem's oldest and most faithful servant, serving as her tracker and hunter for the Maidens and the relics. Since murder isn't considering a viable hobby, part of me wants to say hunting, though I can't really see Tyrian as a hunting guy. Not with long range methods, anyways. Now fishing is a different story. I could see him dipping his tail into the water, using it was a hook until he yanks up the hapless fish. He also provides Salem with her cooking supplies. Am I just making up a Salem cooking AU? Who know.

Watts is Salem's tech guy, and he is very good at hacking and other computer-based things. Aside from that, I could also see him into other intellectually-driven pursuits. Not chess because chess is too important to the story of RWBY. No, I'm thinking more like crossword puzzles and sudokus. His morning paper is all he needs to have a good time. And if he screws up, he can just erase it because he's not an idiot who fills out the crossword in pen! YOU HAVE PENCILS! USE THEM! ...Wait, what were we talking about?

Hazel. Oh, Hazel, how sad it was to see you go after coming so far. Judging by his size, you'd think he'd be big into weight-lifting and some kind of martial-arts routine, but I think he instead picks up where his sister probably left off with her hobby. I'm thinking things like books or movies or maybe even like tiny horse figurines. Stuff you wouldn't normally associate with an eight-foot-tall brickhouse with an immunity to pain and an unquenchable desire for hate.

Let's see, who else is in Salem's Inner Circle? Looking at the Wiki, it's... Oh no. Ohoho my god... Evernight Castle? No, that's not what it's called, is it? Oh, it is! Oh my god, and it's located in "The Land of Darkness". Yeah, no, Hazel is definitely an MLP fan and he joined the villains to avenge his dead sister. Just... Oh my god... This cannot be real! Ugh... Anyway, who else is there?

Wait, who the hell is Vermillion Raddock? Oh, RWBY: Grimm Campaign. Yeah, one of these days I'll actually see it or hopefully play it, but good golly, will it be a while. Did they ever sell Grimm Campaign merchandise, or was it just a podcast that we had to be members of RT to watch? Oh well, questions for later.

Let's see... Tock... Unnamed female warrior... Oh, Mercury! I guess Emerald isn't a member, either, huh? Or even a member at all? Anyway...

Mercury is probably the easiest to figure out for me. Judging by how he's into sniffing boots and recording genocide, I'm gonna guess he's a blogger of some kind as a hobby. He's not in it for the money, just for the reactions he can get out of people. But then again, I may have a bias against the guy who recorded people being murdered with a smile on his face. Seriously, fuck this guy!

But I could be wrong on all accounts for these characters. What do you guys think?