#the initial tag on this post is for posts by muscle man that are not reblogs

[mrsparrasblog]

Seducing Price

Okay so this is like a excerpt from my very first ff Nigtmares become true solider, I think this fanfic is to big to post on Tumblr, but I still wanted to post at least one of my favorite scenes from it.

Pairing: John Price x Reader ( I perspective tho, Readers callsign is Sunshine)

TW: Oralsex, seduction, Cum play , body worship , John Price on his knees for you

I went to the training center; my training uniform was in the washer, and I just hoped I didn't have some rookies who barely finished their puberty in the hall since I put on just a green sports bra and yoga leggings that hugged every curve of my body—leaving absolutely no place for imagination.

To my surprise, John was in the gym lifting weights, only wearing a tight compression shirt and grey sweatpants—oh no. I smiled and greeted him.

"No one's here, lovely. You can greet me properly." He pressed me against his sweaty body, kissing me with pure passion.

"Training your arms today?"

"Full body," he smirked, flexing his arm muscles. I giggled at this act—behind all this Captain exterior, he was just a man.

"How much do you lift?"

"250 lbs. What are you training today, lovely?" I swallowed hard; that explains a lot.

"Just some flexibility and stretching."

"Like yoga?" his voice sounded hoarse.

"Yes."

"Explains the outfit."

"You don't like it?" I asked him teasingly.

"A bit distracting." I gave him another kiss and went to a corner where I started to go into the downward-facing dog, wiggling my ass in John's direction.

"Sun," he said, scolding me while pushing the weight to the side.

"What?"

"Stop being a tease."

"I'm not a tease."

"You are."

I rolled my eyes and went to another position, John's eyes still lingering on me. He pulled the heavy weights, groaning deep, his hoarse voice only sounding more extreme. Now he is being a tease. But two can play that game.

"Can you spot me, love? I want to try a bit more on the bench press."

"Of course." We danced around each other for hours in the gym, teasing each other, sharing hidden touches when someone was near. When a rookie came in and tried to flirt with me; the jealousy in John's eyes was immaculate.

"You behaved nice, John," I chuckled.

"Wanted to rip that muppet apart." I went over to John, pressing my hand against his chest while he sat down, my legs fiddling between his spread legs.

"A bit close, love."

"Do you mind?"

"A bit."

"John, can you help me with sparring?" I asked him nicely.

"Oh lovely, you don't know what you're asking."

We began to spar, and to my surprise, he didn't take it easy on me. He didn't underestimate me like Soap and Kyle do; he didn't make dumb mistakes, and so I landed on my ass every time.

"If you wanted to bruise my ass, you could have just asked."

"Fucking minx."

He pinned me down, his knee pressing into my thighs a bit too close to my sweet spot, earning a little moan. He let go of me, looking at me like I'm crazy, so I pinned him down and sat down on his lap, pressing my hips against his erection, while leaning down to kiss him. He grabbed my ass and deepened that kiss before pinning me down and standing up. He helped me up, and I thought he would initiate something, but he didn't.

After the spare, he went away quickly, leaving me alone and flustered in the training center. I was weighing my options. I could go into my room and take care of the problem for myself, or I could just take a cold relaxing shower.

I grabbed a bikini from my room, towels, and my favorite shower products and went to the community shower stalls, hoping I would still catch him there.

I went down and removed my clothes, the sound of water falling against the stall, made me hope John was there. I went with my bikini for the sake of catching anyone else than John there.

But there he stood completely naked under the shower; his brown hair was black and damp because of the water; he was muscular like I thought, but not lean like Kyle or Keegan; he had these thick, delicious muscles. His dog tags clung around his chest, and his chest was covered with hair, making him look more masculine than I could take.

My eyes wandered down. He had a prominent V line and a fucking happy trail that made me rethink my complete life choices. It was followed by soft black curls between his thighs. and the most beautiful dick I ever saw.

I always laughed at people who said they were beautiful, but wow, I just wanted to kneel in front of him and suck him dry. He was big, maybe not the longest I had, but definitely the thickest I ever had, with prominent veins and a red inviting tip. He wasn't circumstanced, which only added to his appeal. I planned to seduce him, not the other way around.

"Sun, what are you doing here? This is the man's shower room."

"Community shower, "I corrected him, sneaky.

"No, you have a room with a shower because you are the only woman on base."

"But it's bonding to share a shower with your comrades."

"If you take a shower with Soap-"

"I won't do it; I don't want them to be hurt."

"Sun-"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Fuck"

"Something wrong?"

"Anyone could walk in here."

"Is that a problem for you when someone else sees me like this? I'm pretty covered up."

"For how long?"

I slowly started to remove my bikini top, freeing my breasts from the tiny fabric, my nipples already hardening under the friction of the water. Then I removed my bikini thong, throwing it in John's direction, who caught it with ease and couldn't stop staring down at my naked body like a predator who saw his prey.

"Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "To be caught like this, your cunt wrapped around my cock?"

"No, sir, I only want to take a shower in peace," I said, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

"Then stop teasing me," he growled, pulling me against him. His cock pressed against my stomach. "You've been teasing me the whole day, and now you're even walking in my shower."

"I'm not teasing you, sir."

"You fucking are," he snapped, losing his patience. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back roughly, forcing me to look into his blue eyes. "I've been hard for you all day," he whispered fiercely. 

"You say it like it's a bad thing; it's natural, you know."

"It's not," he groaned. "It's fucking heaven." He pushed me against the shower wall, pinning me there with his body. His cock rubbed against me, leaving a wet trail of pre-cum on my skin. "You're making me lose my control, love."

"Why don't you give me what I want, John?"

His eyes flared hotter than a blowtorch at the thought of giving in to me. He knew exactly what I wanted. "Because for once I want to make it right, I do not want you to think I only want to fuck you."

"John please" He couldn't resist my pleas any longer. He lifted my leg and wrapped them around his waist, positioning himself at my entrance. He looked into my eyes, seeing the need and desire burning there. "You want this?" he asked, his voice rough with lust. 

"Yes, John, I want you."

"Fuck, lovely, you make me lose any self-control."

"John, I know you want more than just sex; you do not need to prove anything to me."

"You're wrong," he growled, his eyes burning with passion. "I don't need to prove anything to you. But goddammit, I want to show you how much I fucking adore you." He lets me go and get back on the ground, trying his hardest not to just take me right now. He started to shower normally again as if nothing had happened between us.

I slowly started to soap up my body, putting the soap over my hard nipples and releasing a soft moan as my shower gel fell to the ground by accident. Of course, I bent over. Picking it up revealing a perfect sight of my glistering cunt to him.

John couldn't help but stare at my ass as I bent over, his cock twitching with desire. He forced himself to turn around and grab a towel, drying off his body fast as he tried to regain some semblance of control. 

"Why are you already leaving, John?"

John turned around slowly, his eyes burning with raw passion. "Because I'm trying to be the man you deserve," he growled, "and that means controlling this damn cock of mine." He pulled me into his embrace, his erection pressing against my stomach.

"You are the man I deserve, John; you've always been the one I want."

"Say that again, lovely," he groaned, kissing me deeply. His hands roamed over my body, squeezing my ass and pulling me even closer. He broke the kiss and gazed into my eyes, his own filled with desire and love. 

I wrapped my arms around him and deepened the kiss.

"God, you taste so fucking good," he murmured against my lips before trailing kisses down my neck and collarbone. His hands slowly roamed over my boobs, caressing them and slowly planting kisses on them. He spent a bit too much time sucking on my nipples; this man surely had an oral fixation. 

I moaned softly as he stimulated my breasts. Johns's fingers traced delicate patterns on my stomach, making their way lower toward my soaked mound. His breath hitched as he finally found what he was looking for: my wet, swollen clit. "You're so fucking beautiful, the most beautiful woman on earth, do you know that?"

"Mhm, John, please."

"Your beautiful eyes, your smooth skin, and those gorgeous tits that fill my hands so perfectly," he whispered before teasing my clit with his thumb. "I want to devour you whole." 

"Stop it. You make me crazy, John," I whined. 

"I never stop complimenting you, especially when you're getting so flustered easily." He slowly starts to press one of his thick fingers into my puffy hole.  But I wanted him to feel good, so I removed John Fingers from my sweet spot and fell on my knees for him, wanting to suck him off. 

"What are you doing, lovely?" He lifted me from my knees. "You never been with a real men before? You always come first." With that, he pinned me against the shower and started to spread my lips again. "Didn't Keegan take care of your sweet cunt properly, always leaving you unsatisfied?" He circled his thumb on my clit while slowly pressing his thick fingers into my pleading hole again.

"John," I moaned his name; it felt so fucking good. His calloused fingers only added to the friction.

"That's it, lovely; scream my name." His voice was deep and husky as he began to pump his fingers in and out of my tight, wet hole. His thumb continued to rub my clit in circles, driving me wild with pleasure. "so fucking tight."

"John, please, I'm close." I felt embarrassed at how fast he got me to my height.

"Cum for Daddy, my beautiful Sun," he growled, kissing my neck. "Show me how much you love it." His fingers moved faster, pressing deeper as he teased my clit harder. "That's it, sweetheart. Let go". John held me tight, his hands pressing firmly against my hips as I rode out my orgasm.  When my body relaxed beneath him, he pulled his fingers out of my slick pussy and gently kissed my neck. "That's my good girl," He licked my juices from his finger, moaning in pleasure. 

"Can you give me a second one, lovely?"

I nodded slowly, completely drunk from my high.

"Good girl." He pushed my legs apart again and knelt in front of me. I never had a man who fucking kneeled in front of me; it had something alluring, especially when he was my fucking superior. He planted kisses on my thighs, leaving love bites on them marking his territory. John started to lick my sensitive lips, his tongue darting in and out of my hole, teasing my entrance. 

"God, you taste like scotch feels."

"What?"

"Addicting, burning, and fucking exquisite." He had his things with words, making me clench around him all the time when he said the sweetest praises as if I were a goddess to him.

His other hand went to my clit, rubbing it gently before starting to pinch it between his fingers.

I pulled on his wet hair, pressing his tongue only further into my throbbing hole, his beard giving me sensations I never felt in his life, always coming close to my clit making me flinch from passion and pain at the same time.

"You like that, huh?" He chuckled against my flesh, loving the way I moaned and bucked beneath him. "You want more, don't you?" He continued to lick and suck on my clit while pinching it gently with his fingers.

I whined and shook and was barely able to stand straight. He held me in place, supporting my body weight and making me feel safe as he ate me out like a starved man. He licked every drop of me, not letting one sip of my delicious nectar go to waste. His moans vibrated against my clit and I asked myself if he enjoyed it even more than I did. 

"That's it, my sweet girl," he murmured, his voice vibrating against my sensitive skin. "Cum for me again." His fingers slid deeper into my pussy, curling to find that perfect spot inside me.

"Oh my god, John." With a final flick of his tongue, I came hard, my juices running along his tongue, and he took them greedily, his tongue lapping up every last drop. He groaned as he felt my walls clenching around his fingers inside me. When I finally stopped shaking, he pulled away and grinned, "That was fucking fantastic; taste so divine almost made me cum from just your taste."

His beard was full of me, and his blue eyes still looked hungry at me. I wanted to return the favor so much; he just gave me the best orgasm of my life. I slowly moved my hand to his throbbing length. John let out a moan as he felt my hand on his length. "Oh, fuck, Sun," he still removed my Hand.

"Give me one more orgasm, and you can have my cock all you want, sweet girl," he said, looking at me with a serious expression. 

"But John," I whined. I wasn't sure if I could take another one.

"No, but John, you asked for this, remember?" His fingers found their way again to my overstimulated clit.

"John"

He continued to tease me, circling my clit with his fingers as he leaned down to capture one of my nipples in his mouth.

"Mhm, please, too much, John."

"You can barely take it, can you?" He chuckled around, biting down on my nipple. "Just one more push and I'll give you what you want." He moved his fingers a little faster, his thumb pressing harder against my clit.

I shook under him, completely senseless and overstimulated. "That's it, my beautiful girl," he whispered. "Let go and cum for me." His thumb flicked over my clit as his fingers pumped into me.

"Almost there, I'm so proud of you," he moaned, my inner walls clenching around his fingers. "So tight, so fucking good." He thrust his fingers in and out of me faster, his thumb circling in tight circles.

"I'm going to cum John." From my face fell happy tears. God, am I crying? 

His eyes softened as he looked at me. "Let go, love; I've got you." He pressed his thumb more firmly against my clit and started a firm rhythm with his fingers inside me pressing against my G-spot. "Cum for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you shake with pleasure."

I came screaming his name; the whole base probably heard this - my juices are spilling over his hand. His mouth left my nipple to capture the sweet sounds of my pleasure. "Fuck," he groaned, "you're so beautiful when you cum." He went down on his knees and started licking me clean.

"John, what are you doing?"

"I want to taste you," he murmured against my skin, his tongue swirling around my folds. He pushed two fingers back inside of me and started a slow rhythm as he licked and sucked on my abused clit. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I thought you said only three." I whined; I couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't he be more selfish?

"I lied," he said with a wicked grin. "But only because I want you to cum again." He continued to finger me while his mouth worked on my clit, determined to make me come once more. "I can't help myself; you taste fucking divine."

I was so overstimulated that I came in Seconds. He was pleased with my response, his arousal growing as he tasted my sweet nectar. "Fuck, Sun," he groaned against my skin. "You're so fucking responsive." He slowly pulled away, his fingers leaving me feeling empty.

"Let me take care of you now, John, please."

He helped me down on my knees. "Tell me if it gets too uncomfortable, okay?" 

"Please," I whispered as I wrapped my warm, soft lips around him, taking him deep into my mouth. I removed my lips from him and started to lick the precum away from his slit, tracing down his cockhead and kissing the veins on his cock. "The most beautiful dick I've ever seen."

John's breath caught in his throat at my words. He groaned lowly as I licked him clean and kissed his cock. "Fuck," he gasped, "you're going to drive me insane."

I just smiled and continued to worship his dick with small kisses. He reached down and gently guided my head, urging me to take more of him into my mouth. He couldn't believe the feelings coursing through him; the desire to feel my lips wrapped around his cock was almost overwhelming. "Goddamn," he whispered, "

I heard his plead and took him deeper almost completely, my nose tickling against his curls. John's hips began to thrust gently into my mouth, his hands tangling in my hair. "Fuck, love," he moaned, "you were made for this." He got closer and closer to the edge, his cock throbbing in my warm, wet mouth.

I bobbed my head up and down while playing with his full balls, squeezing them a bit. John groaned loudly, arching his back as he pushed deeper into my mouth. "Shit," he panted, "you're amazing." I fastened my pace, taking everything He gave me while gaging a bit because of His massive thickness.

He could feel me gagging on him, and it visibly only turned him on more. "Take it, love," he growled, "take every fucking inch." He thrust harder into my mouth, his pubic hair tickling against my face. He gripped my hair eagerly, not trying to hurt me but guiding me as he fucked my face. "Can I cum inside your throat, lovely?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

"Good girl," Price whispered before grabbing my face roughly. "Look at me when I cum." He groaned as I felt his cock pulsing, thick streams of cum shooting out into my throat. I looked at him with pure admiration and tried to swallow every sip of his cum as if it was the most delicious thing I had in my whole life. His cum was, in comparison, good, not salty; it tasted rich and bitter. 

His hips were bucking wildly. "Fuck, Sun," he moaned, "you're incredible."

After his orgasm, I removed my lips with a loud pop, and then I started to lick the remaining cum drops of his dick while moaning. John's eyes fluttered shut as he felt my tongue swipe over his cock, savoring every last drop of his cum. "God, Sun," he breathed out, "you did so good for me, beautiful girl." His eyes softened with pure admiration. 

He helped my wobbly legs up, drying and cleaning me up under the shower. It felt magical as he massaged the shampoo into my hair and washed my hair; it had such a romantic feeling that I felt truly worshiped. I put the body wash on his chest, playing with his hair, and looking at his scars, kissing them down. "Oh, love," he smiled, and I giggled, putting my head against his chest, and he wrapped me in a big bear hug. 

"John? I want more." He turned off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around me. 

"More?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "You want me to fuck you?" His voice was low and husky, filled with desire.

"yes " 

John smiled slowly. "Oh, love, I want nothing more, but I want to make it right, okay? After our third date, okay? It will be perfect, I swear, and I will show you how a man makes love to the woman he truly desires" He kissed my forehead. He was one of the guys to say make love, and a giggle escaped my mouth. I kind of liked it.

"I didn't know you were such a romantic."

John chuckled softly. "You know me better than that. But when it comes to you, I want it to be right. Our third date, agreed?" He wrapped the towel around his waist, pulling me close.

"Can we at least cuddle?"

"Of course, your room or mine?"

"yours"

"Perfect love." He helped me put on my yoga pants on my wet skin.

"And how do we get out without someone noticing?"

"I think after you screamed like this, it's too late with the descrition."

"Shut up, John!" He kissed me, while caressing my face with his thumb. He was so different from his Captain exterior, almost vulnerable around me.

We left the shower, trying not to draw any attention, and we didn't. Well, until the tall frame of Simon appeared next to us, showing us a death glare through his mask, but not saying a word since John was his superior.

His room was a bit bigger than mine and a lot cleaner, almost sterile, between some pictures and books. It smelled like tobacco and vanilla, and I could get used to that scent. He lay down on the bed, and I removed his shirt.

"I thought only to cuddle."

"I just want to steal your shirt; it smells so good."

"But then I do not have a shirt," he chuckled.

"Well, who cares? It looks better on me anyway."

"I suppose it does." He handed me his shirt, watching as I put it on. The fabric clung to my curves; the shirt was a bit too big, fitting me like a dress.

"You are beautiful," he said.

"You spoil me rotten with your compliments."

John leaned in, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss. "I can't help it," he whispered against my skin. "You deserve to be spoiled." He trailed more kisses down my neck and collarbone before nipping at my earlobe playfully and hugging me tightly, almost manhandling me with his sheer size.

"My legs are sore because of you. If you make me run tomorrow in training, I'll die." Maybe this was my free-of-running card."

He pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh really? Well, maybe I'll make sure to take it easy on you tomorrow." He grinned wickedly, knowing full well that he would likely push me to my limits.

"You never take it easy on anyone."

He laughed, leaning in to kiss my nose. "That's because I never want anyone slacking off. But I promise, I'll make sure you can keep up." He smirked.

"Mhm, maybe you give my thighs a massage; it would make me happy."

Price raised an eyebrow at my suggestion, amused. "You want me to massage your thighs? Consider it done." He sat up and reached for my legs, starting to knead the muscles gently. I rubbed his hair gently while he massaged my thighs, and after he placed his head on them, cuddling with the soft flesh, both of us fell asleep.

[thot-of-khonshu]

Say You Love Me (Joel Miller x f! reader)

1K Celebration | Masterlist

Part 2 - Coming Soon

Pairing: Joel Miller x f! Reader (pre and post outbreak)

Rating: M (18+, explicit smut)

Word Count: 6.2K

Summary: Red wine. Rage. Regret. Reunions. When pride separates you from the man that got away in 2003, you thought you’d never see him again. But when going to tie loose ends for Bill and Frank, you see him and a young companion.

Content: TLOU spoilers, slight changes to the story, age gap (~10-15 years), multiple sex scenes, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, cowgirl, creampie, oral (f), rough sex, alcohol consumption, grief, violence, mentions of death, the musical stylings of Fleetwood Mac

A/N: Happy TLOU day! This initially started out as a creation for my 1K celebration to "Maroon" by Taylor Swift, but as you can see it completely manifested into its own short story. Thanks to everyone for being patient for my writing. I hope y'all enjoy!

Every time you have a dream about everything before, you try to document it down in your ratty journal with your pen running on empty. Everything seems to run on empty.

You dream of your former life less and less as the years go by. It’s a hazy memory and you can’t remember how we were able to live on such luxuries and be comfortable and be happy. 

You dream of the man with his large hands and warm smile on your living room floor, warm with wine. 

Red lips. Red cheeks. Red wine. 

The bitter taste of cheap red blends on his tongue. 

Sticky Austin nights where you’d start outside in the thick humidity but end it in ice cold a/c. It never mattered anyway, Joel always ran hot like a furnace so you’d have to settle yourself in between thin sheets. 

You met through Megan who was dating his younger brother Tommy, a Gulf War vet that was more serious about holding his liquor than he ever was fighting in the war. One night when he’d had too much to drink, Joel, the responsible one, picked him up. A sleeping baby girl in the backseat. 

He barged through your front door. “Tommy, what the hell are you doin’ bothering these–” 

He stopped as soon as he looked at you. From that moment it was like the two of you had this instant communication. He didn’t have to say anything, all you needed to do was look into his eyes. 

“HI there.” He smile at you, that warm smile with that dimple on the side of his cheek. “I–uh–hope you’re not the girl my little brother’s been botherin’ “

“That would be my roommate.” You smile back at him. His smile grows even wider and you can’t remember the last time you had such electric eye contact with someone. 

Tommy bursts through the door, coming out of the bathroom with Megan hoisting his large frame.

“Please get him in bed and away from vodka.” She hoists Tommy onto Joel. 

“Tell me a bedtime story.” He slurs. Joel looks at you apologetically as he turns to bring him to the car. You and Megan exchanged a silent look as she could pick up on what was going on and she nudged you to go after him. 

“Hey wait!” You call out, you try not to focus on his broad back muscles. “I think it’s clear Tommy needs some chaperoning whenever he comes over here.”

He furrows his brow in confusion at first. “Y’know, his big brother to come over and make sure he’s doing right?” ‘You smile. 

“Just say when and I’ll tag along.” Joel winks at you. 

He was always a man of his word. 

The next weekend, Megan invited Tommy over and suggested he bring Joel along as well. Tommy came barreling in like a freight train and Joel laid back to greet you at the door. He held up a six pack of beer. 

“I didn’t wanna come over empty handed. It’s all we had in the fridge.” Joel said. 

“Yeah, Joel wanted to come right over after workin’ tonight. Even let Sarah stay at a friends house, ain’t that sweet?”

“Alright, Tommy. I still clearly gotta babysit you.” Joel rolls his eyes. 

“We’ll, thank you for the beer, Joel but we’re more wine drinkers here. Do you like red blend?”

“I’ll drink whatever you give me.”

————————

A few hours later, Megan and Tommy have gone off on their own adventure. You and Joel split the bottle of wine between the two of you and despite him stating he could handle his liquor, his large body was sprawled out across your living room floor with his empty glass tipped over. 

“Miller, I thought you said you could handle your liquor.” You grin at him from the couch. 

“I usually can. I don’t know what was in your roommate’s cheapass screwtop–” 

“Hey–don’t blame the alcohol for why you’re currently on our living room floor right now. And while she can’t defend herself.” 

“You saying I’m a sloppy drunk?” He leans closer towards you and you observe the patches in his beard. 

“I’m saying I don’t wanna hold your hair back above the toilet.” You grin at him. He looks at you, hard. You feel your heart rate rising and the moment is almost too much to handle. You need to ground yourself with something, anything. You turn to your vinyls. 

“You like records?” You ask him, moving towards the shelf. 

“Didn’t know people your age still listened to them.” He called out. You scoffed. 

“I’m not that much younger than you. Besides, this is timeless. CDs might come and go like 8 track players, but these? These are gonna last through everything.” You hold up a record and he nods in approval, Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album. You flip to side two and the sounds of “Say You Love Me” flood the living room. 

You join him on the living room rug and close your eyes, listening to Christine McVie’s voice. 

Have mercy, baby, on a poor girl like me

You know I'm falling, falling, falling at your feet

I'm tingling right from my head to my toes

So help me, help me, help me make the feeling go

“God, her voice is just so ageless. I know everyone always looks at Rumours as their best but this one is just cla–” Your breath hitches when you feel his hand brush your cheek. You feel the warmth of his face coming closer and closer as you finally open your eyes to see Joel ready to kiss you. 

But he forgot his wine glass in his hand as it spilled onto you with the remainder of his alcohol. 

“Shit, shit.” Joel stumbles up and looks around. “I am so sorry, I can clean that up.” 

You get up to him walking around your kitchen, looking for paper towels. When he turns around, you put your hand at his chest and look up at his beautiful brown eyes. 

“Why don’t you help me find a new shirt?” You ask him in a low voice. His jaw is slacked as he slowly nods. 

“Yes ma’am.” He follows behind you, taking your hand as you lead him into your bedroom. 

One thing about Joel Miller? He takes his time. He takes his time giving you soft, syrupy kisses and drawing the anticipation by pulling at your lip. 

He builds you up by meticulously touching every part of your body while peeling off your clothes, grabbing at the swell of your ass, the dips of your hips and pulling at the back of your neck. He wants to make you feel amazing.

Once you’re naked, he lays you on top of your bed and peers up at you as he pulls your knees apart. 

He drags the tip of his tongue over your clit, savoring your taste as he moans in relief. You tremble against him, dragging your hand through his dark curls as he begins to put his full mouth into you, his tongue entering you as his nose brushes your clit. You can’t help but squirm on top of him, rocking onto him as he moans below you. 

“You taste so fucking good.” Joel gets up for air briefly and dives back in. Kissing at your inner thighs, he takes one of his thick fingers and pushes one into you, your body instantly tightening around it. 

“So wet for me too.” Joel moans. He moves in earnest, putting his mouth back onto your clit and the pleasure is all you can concentrate on. He adds another finger, getting up to watch you squirm at his fingers as your wetness fills the room from his methodical thrusts. 

You feel yourself tense, your muscles tightening around him as your pleasure intensifies and your breaths go shallow. When he curves his fingers and moves his mouth back to your clit, you short circuit completely. 

You writhe on top of him as you cum, moaning louder than you’d expected and hoping Tommy and Megan don’t hear anything. Your shallow breaths fill the room and your eyes are shut. Pleasure still pulsates through your body as Joel is now on top of you, kissing at your throat as you feel his heavy, still clothed cock on top of you. 

When you release it, it springs from his boxers, thick and dripping at the top with precum. You rub the tip of his head as he lets out a hiss of air at your throat. You bring the liquid to your mouth and savor the taste. 

“I hope this ain’t too forward,” His hands cup and knead at your breasts. “But I’m desperate to feel you.” 

“Please” You beg. “I have condoms but I’m also on the pill. Whatever you need, just please don’t stop.” 

Joel lines himself up against you, rubbing his thick cock against your soaked walls. His eyes don’t leave yours as he gently enters you. It’s soft at first, him trying to fit in every single inch while also not cumming immediately while he was inside of you. You gripped him, wet and tight. 

During the pause when he’s finally deep inside of you, you both are riddled with heavy breathing. Your kisses are slow but hungry. You start to move below him and that’s what drives him wild. 

He begins to pump faster inside of you, rubbing himself against your swollen clit. You don’t think you’ve ever had something so intimate before. You’d had sex, but this just felt like something out of another dimension. Joel was entirely focused on your pleasure, hungrily pawing at your body as he rocked on top of you. 

When circled his fingers on your clit, you knew you were going to cum a second time. You grabbed at the bedsheets, another climax of pleasure making you arch. 

After you came twice, Joel was needier. He raised your leg so he could get into a deeper position and you had felt so incredibly full. He fucks you at a rapid speed and feeling you convulse around him for another orgasm wasn’t helping and the room filled with the noise of his balls slapping onto your skin. 

You loved that his broad body surrounded you, that all you could feel was him and all you could hear were his grunts into your ear. His hips began to stutter as he filled himself into you, emptying himself as much as he could into your tight walls. 

You don’t realize how badly you were gripping him until you rub his back, his head on your chest and you feel the claw marks. His breathing is labored, still feeling the impact of your sex as you bury your fingers into his curls. 

“This should go without being said,” Joel looked up at you. “But I would really like to take you out sometime.” 

You weren’t going to say no to that. 

—---------------------------------

You wake up, the motion of the car rattling you. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Megan smiles behind the steering wheel. Before everything, Megan was terrified of driving and now you’d catch her dead before she’d stop and pick someone up, choosing to run them over instead because they were likely a hunter. 

And wouldn’t you rather kill than be killed? 

It all happened so fast but so painfully, hauntingly slow at the same time. In one night, civilization as you knew it had ceased to exist. Megan came home, shaking, covered in blood telling you you had to leave tonight. 

You drove until you ran out of gas. You walked until you were able to rob some idiots that tried to give you a ride and take advantage of you. And that’s how you ended up at the Philadelphia quarantine zone. Somewhere far away from Texas and the sticky heat and long carefree nights.

There were a lot of men like that in this world, who thought they could take things from vulnerable women. Little did they realize, the vulnerable women didn’t make it. Not all of them were like that, though. Bill and Frank weren’t. 

You’d met Frank over the radio, talking over some music his partner BIll was playing as some sort of signal. Frank was incredibly kind, warm and worldly in a world with almost nothing left. He’d offered to trade things between you and Megan’s QZ and the Lincoln town he lived in with Bill. 

And Bill? He was…Bill. He wasn’t exactly kind and open to strangers, but he knew the both of you and trusted you after all of these years. Whoever Frank loved, he loved. So when you’d heard the 80’s distress signal coming from the radio, you’d decided to risk the trip and make sure everything was okay. 

When you had gotten to the gate, usually coded, it was wide open and the two of you exchanged looks in surprise. Without having to say a word, you grabbed your handgun out of the glove compartment. Megan pulled up to Bill and Frank’s, seeing their door open. 

The two of you had tried to get out of the car as quietly as possible. Crouching behind the car as you heard the crunch of footsteps. 

“It could be Bill and Frank.” Megan whispered. 

“When is it like Bill to ever keep the gate open?” You asked her. You heard the crunches coming closer. 

The two of you signal to step out at the same time, adrenaline pumping through your veins. After all of this time, it never gets easier doing this. 

Before you could pull the trigger, you hear a HYAH and see a small figure jump out towards you. 

Jesus, it’s a child. Before she could try to stab either of you, Megan pins her down to the ground, knocking the knife out of the way and the kid squirms under her. 

You see another figure jump into frame to defend the kid. A man with grey hair, a broad frame and a handgun. The two of you are in a standoff but something feels off. You know you’ve been to Lincoln so many times before but something about this feels entirely too familiar. 

“Do not hurt the kid.” The man drawls, looking down at her and then back at you. “She didn’t—“

And then his eyes meet yours. Still as piercing as you remember. And you realize that you’re standing in front of Joel Miller for the first time in twenty years. 

“…Joel?” Megan says something first. 

“Hi Megan.” He looks at her briefly to acknowledge her, but he looks back at you. The gun still in his hand, gripped tightly. 

“We’re not looking for any trouble.” Joel says. “We’re here to check on our friends.”

“Bill and Frank.” You finally say to him. “Our friends.” The look of confusion on his face is apparent. 

“You two knew Bill and Frank?” He asks. 

“How about ‘it’s good to see you two alive after all this time’, Joel?” You ask him, exasperated. You were tired of holding this gun, your hands were getting clammy and you had no intentions of shooting him. Even after all this time, you knew he wouldn’t shoot both of you either. 

Megan lets the girl up and she runs to Joel. She puts her gun down and you motion for him to follow suit. He looks at you for a long hard moment, his eyes scanning your body as you feel yourself redden with embarrassment, feeling fully exposed in front of him and looking like apocalyptic shit. He sets his gun down as you follow suit. 

“I think y’all should come inside, then.” Joel said. “Some things you need to see.” 

You follow Joel and the young girl-you find out her name is Ellie- into Bill and Frank’s house. You go to the same place that Bill and Frank would keep supplies, notes or any clothing that Frank had to spare - the second cabinet to the right. That’s where you see their note. 

Frank’s condition had worsened over the past few years. A degenerative disease you weren’t sure exactly what it was, but when he asked for a wheelchair from the Philadelphia QZ you were both more than happy to bring it to them. You knew it was only a matter of time before he went. When Bill decided to go with him, you weren’t surprised. Despite his exterior, everything Bill did was for Frank, the man he loved. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that kind of devotion to someone until today. 

The four of you sit at the table. An awkward silence between the four of you, the only sound being Ellie rocking her chair. One of the legs must’ve been broken and Bill hadn’t gotten to it ye–

Oh. Right. 

“I didn’t know Bill and Frank knew anyone else besides us.” Megan said. 

“Likewise. I guess that makes sense.” Joel said, his eyes still on you.

You agreed. “Frank, I’m sure, would’ve loved the extra company. More people to host garden parties and socialize for but if Bill had anything to do with it–” 

“He would’ve threatened to kill us.” You say in unison. 

“Trust me, he made sure to make us aware if we tried anything he had his gun right on the table the first time we met.” You said. 

“His reputation precedes himself.” Joel said. 

The two of you are silent for a moment. Megan and Ellie looking between the both of you. 

“Am I missing something?” Ellie asked, pointing at the two of you back and forth. 

“And I think that’s my queue to look around for some food. Maybe we can have some dinner, figure out what the fuck we’re doing and then call it a night before we go our separate ways, huh?” Megan quickly said. 

You sit at the table with Joel and Ellie, completely silent as Joel is now looking away from you and Ellie keeps looking at the both of you. 

“You can cut the tension with a knife, huh?” Ellie whistles. 

“Ellie, go take a shower. They’ve got hot water.” Joel says. She quickly gets up and runs down the hall. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice. But after I take one, you’re going in because man. And if we’re gonna be around company…” 

“Ellie.” He raises his voice into a stern inflection you haven’t heard since…

Where the hell is Sarah? 

—-------------------------------------------------

Later that night, you’ve hunkered down with Megan, Joel and Ellie. The four of you have rabbit along with some vegetables and rice from Frank’s garden. The tension has subsided as you’ve gotten into the wine cabinet. That’s when the memories flow back. The three of you share stories from Texas, your old lives that seem so long ago. Reminiscing on how things used to be as Ellie interjects with a question about the old world every now and then while reading a comic she snagged from Bill’s basement. 

Megan eventually stretches her arms up. “Well, I’ve been drivin’ all day and I’m exhausted. I’m about to hit the hay.” 

“Well I am gonna finish reading this in peace and quiet so I can read about this alien’s guts spilling out without interruptions. Goodnight! You kids have fun!” Ellie grins. 

Megan gives you a look etched in worry before she heads to the stairs. You roll your eyes at her because you can take care of your goddamn self. You have been for ages. 

You hear the footsteps go upstairs as you and Joel sit across from each other at the table. It’s like a lockbox with feelings you hadn’t had in years starts rattling in your chest, a monster of them waiting to come out and erupt.  

You look over at him, his hair slicked back from his shower, grays prominent in his hair and his beard. The swell of his lips was still prominent and had the ability to drive you crazy. 

“Bill and Frank.” You say to him, hoping to silence the voices in your own head.  

“Bill and Frank.” He repeats, his hands fidgeting on the table. 

“So, uh, I guess while we’re here–I’m gonna raid the liquor cabinet.” You head to the liquor cabinet to see if there’s anything strong enough to hold the awkward air between the two of you. You see a dusty bottle in the back of the cabinet, a red blend that looked entirely too familiar to pass up. 

You bring it to the table, setting it down in front of Joel. He looks up at you and shakes his head in disbelief, a small smile etched across his face. 

“After all this time, you still drink the same shitty red blend.” Joel says. 

“Can you handle your liquor any better, Miller?” You slide it towards him, he catches the bottle with one large hand. 

“I guess we’ll have to see.” He grumbles, slicing the wine bottle open with his knife. 

It didn’t take long for you to feel the heaviness of the wine, sloshing in your stomach as you and Joel took turns taking long drinks from the bottle. 

He tells you of Tess, his smuggling partner that had recently gotten infected while smuggling Ellie out of the city. While you admired her bravery and her sacrifice, you can’t help but feel a sting of jealousy. You’d had your partners every now and then, but none of them ever stuck around long enough. None of them ever mattered like he did. 

“She was like family.”  He stated. 

You knew you couldn’t just say sorry. “I’m sorry for your loss” almost seems insulting these days with teh weight of how much it happens. 

“Did–uh–you have any smuggling partners?” Joel asks, sipping on the bottle and looking away as if to play nonchalant. Twenty years and you can still tell when it’s all bullshit. 

“I did. None of them were exactly like family but they were enough to help Megan and I get by. I never trusted them enough to introduce them to Bill and Frank.” You said. 

“Oh.” Was all he could say. 

“I–I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let myself get too far with anyone after–” You can’t even bare to say it. But he looks at you as if you have, like you’ve just cut part of his soul open. 

“What the fuck happened?” You muttered, swigging from the bottle.

“You want the version they’re teaching kids in FEDRA school or the version we remember?” Joel asked. 

“Joel…” You give him a long look. He looks at you, briefly, breaking eye contact to look anywhere else and scowl. He chooses to grab the bottle from you, taking a large gulp. 

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” He says. 

“Maybe it doesn’t.” You say. “But I still wanna know. I just…we could’ve had this life.” 

His brow arches. 

“You and me. Tommy and Megan. Bill and Frank. We could’ve been a team. It would’ve been something.” 

“Tommy decided to fuck off and join the Fireflies. Pretend like he was makin’ a difference. And then when that fell through last I heard he was in Wyoming. Megan was better off.” He stated. 

“You were…” He silently mutters. 

“We don’t have to talk about any of it. I’ve done some shit I regret but I did it to survive. Because that’s what we have to do in this new world. I get it. But those first few years…I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

He takes a large drink of wine. “Or Tommy.” 

“Or Sarah.” 

“Well, there’s no damn use in thinkin’, is there?” Joel snaps back. You know you’ve clearly hit a nerve talking about Sarah. With whatever happened to her. Was she with the Fireflies? Was she with her Uncle Tommy? You’d hate to think it could be any worse. That brilliant, beautiful girl in any sort of trouble or not existing in this world. 

By the pain in Joel’s eyes, the exterior he’d tried to mask by furrowed brows and a hardened expression, you knew. Suddenly the air felt thick. 

“I’m sorry…I’m gonna step outside.” You rush to the porch as you feel the tears flood through your eyes. Sarah’s gone. You didn’t know that after all of the pain, after all of the violence, after everything this world has taken from you, that you could still feel this searing pain of loss. 

You suddenly hated yourself for not being there. For not calling. For running away from things when they had gotten too serious, as if some bullshit relationship problems would matter in a week’s time in that moment. You had no idea what was about to happen. 

If you’d known you would’ve lost everything and everyone in your life you had loved, you would’ve tried to hold on to the man you loved and his family for as long as you could. 

But then again…maybe it was better this way that you weren’t there. You didn’t hold him back, you didn’t hold him back either. This world isn’t for the weak. Love makes you fucking weak. Joel makes you so fucking weak, 20 years later. It’s infuriating, intoxicating and confusing. 

You hear the door open and footsteps come through. You wipe your tears away as you see Joel sit next to you on the bench. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, solemnly. “You didn’t know. It was that night of the…” 

“I know it’s so god damn insignificant now…but I’m so sorry I didn’t call.” You choke. Joel remains silent, his lips wavering. 

“You didn’t know.” He repeats himself. 

“So what happens now?” You ask him. 

“We do what we came here to do. Get our supplies, celebrate Bill and Frank and we drink.”  

“We drink.” You nod. 

And drink you did. 

You drank and remembered the good times, the times when he’d come over every Friday night that Sarah had a sleepover and you’d talk and touch each other until the sun came up. You drank and remember how even though Megan and Tommy had fizzled out, he had still come over to be with you. You drank and remembered the bad times, when you couldn’t handle the intimacy, you both couldn’t decide what this was. 

You can’t bear the way he looks at you. You need an escape. You head to Frank’s record collection. 

You dust off the record collection and see the familiar cover of Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album. You look up at Joel and his cheeks look like they sting with glee. He lets out a small giggle. 

“What was it I used to tell you?” You try to remember. 

“Records are timeless.” Joel says as you flip the vinyl to side B. “You were always right.” 

The room floods with the faint sounds of “Say You Love Me”. It had been years since you’d heard this song but you still remembered every word. Joel extended his hand out to you and you took it, fingers stroking his palm. 

You pressed yourself lightly against him, turning and looping over the hardwood floor as the music continued. Somehow, someway, you could still smell his subtle sandalwood scent. 

'Cause when the lovin' starts and the lights go down

And there's not another living soul around

You woo me until the sun comes up

And you say that you love me

The two of you giggled like children as you looped around Bill and Frank’s living room. The light of the moon shone on Joel’s face and the hardened exterior of the older man was gone for a moment, and you were taken back to 2003 where that gorgeous carpenter was leaning against your doorway for the first time. 

Your hand crept up his neck, feeling his peppered curls as he shivered. In response, he pressed his body closer to yours until you were cheek to cheek. 

He turns to face you. His eyebrows scrunched in worry and confusion of the feelings that were rising. He never thought he would see you again, and these damn emotions kept flooding through his body. 

“I showed up to your house that morning.” He whispered. “Right after we dropped Sarah off at school. My birthday.” 

“So do you still think it doesn’t matter?” You asked him. 

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But it would’ve given us one more good day. Before it all went to shit. And if that’s all we had, then I’m okay with that. Better than the alternative.” 

You pressed your lips onto his, slow and calculated at first. You gave him one small peck to test his willingness to kiss you. You looked back at Joel and his eyes were shut tightly. 

“I’m sorry–I shouldn’t have–” You try to break away but he tightens his grip around you. 

“I’m just trying to savor this moment.” Joel whispers. You meet his lips again, hungrier, needier. Both of your hands exploring each other as if to make sure this was real and you weren’t dreaming it. 

“Joel.” You break away as he strokes your cheek. “Let’s go to bed.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He says. 

It’s no shock that after all this time, you and Joel still fit together like a glove. Your body melts into his with a comfort that you haven’t felt in years. You didn’t know your body could ever feel that good again. 

You didn’t think your hair, greasy and damaged when you looked at it in the mirror, could be stroked like that again. As if Joel had gotten a spool of gold and he didn’t want to ruin it, Joel petted you with delicacy as he undressed you. 

Your stomach, somehow softened throughout the years with age even though you hadn’t had proper nourishment in years, being planted with soft kisses as Joel moved south, desperate to taste your pussy again. 

You climb onto his lap and grip him with one hand, still as thick and as long as ever. You take a moment to look at him through the moonlight, after all these years he’s still incredibly handsome but this world took the sparkle in his eye away. 

“Please, sweetheart.” Joel begs. “Let me feel you again. I’m desperate.” 

That word is what makes you sink down onto him, inch by inch until he’s all the way inside. It was probably a bad idea to attempt to do this without any prep work but you didn’t care, you needed him and it filled a part of you that hadn’t been taken care of in years. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Joel rasps. “You’re still so goddamn tight.” You can feel your inner muscles clenching at his thickness and the desperate groan that he releases makes you weak. 

You start to move, slowly, as his fingers dig into your hips. The pressure between the two of you is unbearable, you feel him and his full length but you’re desperate for more release. Joel’s ragged breaths concern you, though. 

“Are you gonna be okay if I go faster?” You ask him. 

“I ain’t that old, sweetheart.” Joel rasps under you, that damn smile back in action. 

And with that, you lifted yourself up and slammed yourself into him, grinding your clit against his cock at a fast and desperate pace. 

He moves forward, putting a mouthful of your breast into his mouth as his other hand rests on your lower back. You can feel the intense pleasure so blindly that you don’t know how long it’ll be until it boils over. When you contract around him and cum, Joel lets out an animalistic groan. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” He moans. “Milk my cock, baby.” 

You ride out your orgasm and just when you think you have time to recover, Joel begins to thrust upward deep and hard. His hips snapping up and bouncing you on top of him. He tangles his fingers into your hair, pulling you down to thrust his tongue into your mouth. 

You suck his tongue and desperately cling to him, unsure how much longer you’ll be able to go without cumming again. 

“I can feel it, sweetheart.” Joel groans. “Cum around my cock one more time, just give me one more. Please.” 

He breaks free from your tight embrace to rub your swollen clit as you grind on top of him again, trying to remain as silent as possible so you don’t wake anyone else in the house. 

You convulse and cum around him again, dizzy with pleasure as he takes one leg for leverage and begins to fuck into you harder than before. At this point, you can’t control the sounds coming out of you as he hits a spot inside of you that feels so good. His hips begin to stutter and Joel fills himself into you. He cums so hard that you feel it leaking out of you while he’s still inside. 

The two of you stayed just like that for a few moments, clung to each other as you heard his heartbeat hammering inside of his chest. You peppered soft kisses onto his body as you got from on top of him. The contrast of being full and then leaving him made you wince. 

Joel got up from the bed and you hesitated for a moment. Did he regret this decision? Was he going to sleep in his own bed? When he came back, he had a warm washcloth and he used it to wipe between your legs. Hot water will never be taken for granted in this world. 

The two of you then snuggled up together, the situation being better left unsaid. You knew that you both had to start preparing for the morning, so instead of talking, you just shut your eyes and tried to enjoy his strong arms around you. 

—-----------------

You heard a faint knock at the door and almost forgot where you were for a moment. When you felt Joel’s arms around you, his lips pressing against your cheek, you woke up with the biggest smile you’d had in a very long time. 

“Good morning, you two.” Ellie shouts throughout the door. “Knock knock. Megan’s making breakfast, wake your asses up, lovebirds!” 

“Don’t–don’t come in here Ellie.” Joel tries to exclaim, sleep in his voice. 

“I’m fucking good, man. I’m gonna help Megan with breakfast.” You hear her footsteps as she leaves the hallway and you turn to him. 

He was still there. And suddenly you were reminded of each and every time he’d stayed over, Megan making everyone breakfast as you’d talk and laugh through the previous night. 

This morning was no different. It felt oddly comfortable, the four of you enjoying each other’s company even though you knew it had to end. You’d spent the rest of the morning gathering supplies but then it was time to grab your backpack out of the bedroom. 

Joel was sitting on the edge of the bed. It reminded you of how things were the previous day, where he couldn’t look you in the eye. He was riddled with discomfort. In this world, you’re so used to not even having to say goodbye. That’s honestly not as painful as having to do it. 

You walk up to him, giving him a long hug. 

“Joel, if it’s true what you told me – if she’s immune – this is huge. It might give the world another chance. It might give us another chance.” You say to him. 

“You still have so much hope for the world. That's why I will always love you.” Joel whispers. You feel your heart crack. You feel the toolbox in your chest start to rattle. 

You know you shouldn’t say it. You know you’d be an idiot to say something so vulnerable and stupid in this world. But if you don’t say it, what else do you have? 

“I love you too, Joel. Take care of yourself, okay? Take care of Ellie. If you ever find yourself at the Philadelphia QZ you know where to find me.” You say to him. 

He presses his lips against you softly. As if to savor every moment, every feeling. Every curve and swell of your lip. He grabs at the back of your neck and you mimic him, grabbing the back of his. As if pushing further into the kiss could bring you back to those hot Austin nights. 

Because you knew this was the last time you’d get a good taste of home. 

You walk him out towards the car, Ellie already next to the passenger seat bouncing up and down because she had never ridden in a car before. You and Megan send them both off, his reflection in the rearview mirror never leaving your sight until the truck becomes a small blur. 

“You gonna be okay?” Megan asks you, with that same look of worry she had given you the night before. 

You’re not sure if you will be, but you have to forge ahead as you always do. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” You state. And the two of you get ready to go, heading into the car back to the QZ. 

“Talk about a blast from the fuckin’ past.” Megan says, starting the car. “It’s funny…I had actually heard about Nick – y'know the one that was in the Fireflies– talking about somewhere in Jackson. Small fuckin’ world.” 

You lean your head up against the car window. Your thoughts immediately go back to last night. 

Small fuckin’ world indeed. 

[graymanshoots]

I love you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Gn Reader

Tags: Reference to sex, angst no comfort, friends with benefits, no gender & appearance specifics, ghost not wanting to acknowledge that he actually has feelings and hurting reader

Part: 2-3

A/n: I couldn’t wait for the poll to end but I was going to post it regardless if I’m being honest 🙃

Lying in bed, you revel in the sweaty exhaustion you worked yourself into.

At your side your long time friend Simon laid eyes drawn to the popcorn ceiling of your bedroom that you both hated so much. His face was partially illuminated by your dim bedside lamp, dirty blonde hair visible and matted to his forehead with sweat.

You stare at Simon, admiring his features that seem all the more beautiful with the dazed expression he holds.

His nose is crooked from being broken more than once, his lips pink and pouty—something you teased him about on multiple occasions, comparing him to Princess Peach sometimes. Jagged scars cut across his face, which you find more endearing than distasteful.

You've known Simon since he joined the forces, and it's common for him to seek out your bed for comfort, shedding the heavy weight the military pushes on his shoulders. No matter how many times you two remind yourselves that it's just sex, you can't help but want him for more.

You couldn't help it when he helped you move into your new apartment, or when he comforted you after a tough mission, or when he kissed you during New Year's, spending the rest of the night in his arms. Simon is anything but just sex to you. He's your friend, a close one, and he's your lover, though he’d never acknowledge or say that for himself.

He treats you with the same yearning and longing that you feel inside with soft touches and promises that you know he never means.

He’d never burden you with the ghost of himself; Simon is the only name that he lets you call him.

Your hazy thoughts are whisked away when you feel an arm wrap around your waist, Simon pulling you to his chest, his pretty brown eyes staring down at you.

Locking eyes with him, you instinctively bring your hand up, resting it on the marred skin of his cheek, your thumb running over the rough scar tissue.

Your lips part like you want to say something, but your words die on your tongue when Simon initiates a kiss with you. His chapped lips press against yours gently, and his fingers press so deeply into your skin you feel as if he will melt into you.

You both hate and understand how you could fall so deeply for this man.

Is this what it feels like to have your heart bound so closely with another that they beat in sync? So deep in an ocean of a man who has but a stick to float on himself. A man whose back is burdened with the sins of his own and the many who followed. A man who would never acknowledge the heaviness in his chest when you were apart.

“What's on your mind, love?” He asks, pulling away, his hand coming up to smooch out the wrinkle between your brow before moving back down to your waist.

So many answers could have left your mouth that weren't the ones that did, and Simon would have stayed there and kissed your forehead before falling asleep in your arms.

But that's not what happened, and fear that it'd never have the chance to happen bubbled in your stomach when you saw Simon's eyes widen.

“I love you.”

Simon's face twisted into an unrecognizable expression as he sat up from the bed, letting your hand fall from him. His arm moved from around your waist quickly, as if it burned to touch you. He sat on the edge of the bed wordlessly with his back to you, reaching to the bedside table, grabbing his mask, slipping it on swiftly.

You hadn’t meant to say that. The thoughts you locked so closely to yourself bled out in your blissful stupor. Nausea simmers in your stomach as your chest begins to ache with waves of rejection.

Ghost stood from the bed, tension visible in the muscles of his naked body. He wasted no time dressing himself, not even bothering to look at you. You couldn't find anything to say to him, having no explanation for your words, no excuse that you were just in the heat of the moment, the sex long over.

What could you say to him?

Your eyes stung with unshed tears as the door to your bedroom shut, and soon the sound of your apartment door followed.

Was this your fault, or was it his for giving you an ocean when you’d originally been in a lake?

Was this your fault, or was this his fault for molding his fingerprints into the clay of your skin?

Was this your fault or was this his for filling you with a false sense of security when he told you that he’d be safe.

A week fades and you haven't heard anything from Ghost, he made himself scarce on base and couldn't even stand to be in the same room as you.

You didn't blame him; this was your fault. The line that you two had continued to blur more and more over the years had finally been crossed.

Fighting Ghost's choice to abandon him would only make the rift wider, so you had no choice but to accept it.

These are the consequences of loving a man who carried a mock heart in his chest.

______

Feel free to comment and reblog! Requests are welcome 🙏

Tag list:

@skulfan1 @thychuvaluswife (idk if you get the notif I don’t think you have tags on)

[brianwashere]

hello!! saw your writing today in my tags and got interested, read some more and you seem really cool :D i got one fic stuck in my head though, the one you posted earlier today with the 7 foot spider reader! it was really cool but i kind of thought about a follow up (and I made sure to check your rules before this)

i was thinking, m/n is really big, intimidating and generally a badass- however. in bed (nsfw) he’s inexperienced, shy af, and ends up just being really submissive (you actually didn’t specify if you prefer dom or sub reader, i assumed you mind neither, but if u don’t feel comfortable with this then just ignore)

thank you, and keep up your great works so far :D

Anon, you’re officially my favorite fucking person ever. Oh my god. This req. warmed my heart. Idek what. It just did. Thank you for reading my other fics too. Wow. I’m reeling rn.

Also you didn’t specify who with so I just did HCs for Noir and Miguel

Pls req again soon! You’re so sweet

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from marvel or sony **

Summary: look at req

Tw: explicit activities ehehehehe, language

-Miguel-

The first time you two try anything he’s expecting you to be all dominant and get his ass blasted

Y’all two are making out and he’s ready to take it to the next level

And you’re nervous cause you know he’s expecting you to be this super experienced “knows how to make you scream immediately” kinda guy

The truth is you haven’t had much experience because while people may be into the whole “huge man” thing they’re too scared to actually come up to you and even have a conversation

And you’re also scared of hurting your partner

Just a mix of things that led you to little experience

It doesn’t take long for Miguel to figure it out

As soon as you glanced at his face nervously he knew something was up

At first Miguel is surprised bcc he would’ve expected men and women to practically be hanging from you

Once he recovers from the initial shock he’s down with topping and showing you the ropes

It’s a bit of a boost to his ego, not to mention a massive turn on for him

He never lets you shy away from him/cover your face. He loves seeing you. He knows he’s not stronger than you but he’ll still pull your hands away/pull you closer

But sometimes he does wanna be on bottom

Queue very erotic teaching sessions

When you do something he likes he’ll definitely over exaggerate so you’ll know

He also loves marking you up in more…intense ways because he knows it won’t really hurt you

Clawing your back. He’ll claw the SHIT out of your back.

Biting you too. Sometimes he just can’t help it

He finds out you have god tier stamina and impecable recovery time and will definitely use that to his advantage

*cough cough* Overstimulation and denial *cough cough*

He’s down to do whatever you’re comfortable with but sometimes he really needs some stress relief i.e. getting a blowjob or just fucking you senseless

He won’t admit it but he likes when he’s the little spoon after you two are done

~Noir~

You got nervous and told him the first make out session that you had practically no experience

He was a little taken aback, again, you’re so big and so hot how could people not be lining up for a piece of you

It makes him feel even more lucky to be with you though

“Oh…that’s ok, dear. We’ll take it slow, then.”

Then he finds out your submissive too and he’s pretty sure he has a heart attack

Now he was pretty vanilla at first but then he found the internet and stumbled upon some kinks and did some…research

Behind. He loves seeing your back muscles move and twist under him

He likes tying your wrists together with some of his webbing

It’s strong enough that it could actually hold you if you tried resisting, maybe not for very long, but it wouldn’t snap like thread at the slightest pressure

He loves praising you. Praise. All the time. Always praise. You could breathe and he’d be on his knees for you

Every time he does something new he asks if you’re ok with it

He’ll be gentle if that’s what you want but he figures out that’s usually not the case

Usually you want everything he’s got, as much as he’ll provide you

He does love soft romantic nights with you though

Where he gets to enjoy your large beautiful frame and your contrasting shyness

When he gets to slow down and drink in ALL of you

The noises you make, the small movements, your incoherent mumbling

He loves ALL of it

He’s so down bad for you not even a joke

A little guilty pleasure for him is kissing you senseless

He loves being the big spoon for you, even if it just feels like a backpack is attached to you

[dmitriene]

ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ʟᴇᴏɴ ᴋᴇɴɴᴇᴅʏ ᴡᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ.

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ʟᴇᴏɴ ᴋᴇɴɴᴇᴅʏ x ɢɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴋɪꜱꜱ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ.

Captain Leon Kennedy — The mysterious leader of the pirate crew, who was initially skeptical of you when you first joined the crew, his rugged appearance and reputation as a ferocious and ruthless pirate precede him, making it clear that he is not to be underestimated.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Who, despite initial ridicule and bullying from the team, soon notices your determination and inspiration, he can't help but be intrigued by your tenacity and courage — qualities he values ​​in a world where only the strong survive.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Who notices how his crew overloads you with tasks and responsibilities as you settle into life aboard the ship, they force you to prove your worth by often assigning you difficult and physically grueling duties, it's a rough start, but you persevere.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Who is always the observant captain, begins to notice your difficulties, he sees the toll the heavy workload is taking on you and decides to intervene, one day he intervenes when he sees you on the verge of exhaustion and orders the crew to give you a break.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Who privately offers you guidance and support, he teaches you the basics of pirate life, from navigation to fencing, his stern exterior softening when you show dedication and a desire to learn.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Who late one evening, after a particularly grueling day at work, invites you into his cabin, you're tired, your muscles are sore and you need a little relief, and he, ever the discerning one, starts massaging your shoulders, his strong hands easing away the tension.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Whose touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine, and you lean into his assistance, whining softly in pleasure as he moves closer to your hips, his touch firm but gentle, and it's clear that he knows exactly what he's doing.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Whose lips brush against your earlobe, making you gasp softly, he peppers kisses along your neck, the feeling soothing and exciting at the same time, his fingers continue their journey, now massaging your thighs, making your breath hitch.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Whose hands work wonders as your exhaustion gives way to desire and you find yourself unable to resist, so you turn to him, meeting his hungry gaze with yours and he captures your lips in a passionate kiss, sealing the unspoken bond that grows between you.

Captain Leon Kennedy — Thanks to which in this intimate moment you understand that behind his gruff appearance as a captain lies a man who is not only a formidable pirate, but also a caring and passionate lover.

Captain Leon Kennedy — With which the two of you give in to the desires that simmered beneath the surface, the boundaries of the pirate life giving way to a forbidden yet irresistible connection that neither of you can deny.

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @valsthea, @kennedyswhore dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist.

© dmitriene - my masterlist or ao3 please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me. reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

[corrodedbisexual]

@steviesbicrisis your Steddie Eurovision brainrot never left my brain, so now I'm thinking about Eddie going for the ultimate love confession by learning Stefano's song (Duolingo lessons paid off somewhat, he's got the pronunciation down at least and the lyrics can be memorized). He rearranges it into a beautiful metal power ballad, rents a studio, and they record the cover overnight (bless his bandmades for indulging his insanity when they could be out partying like the rest of the Eurovision crowd, but they end up having fun with it, too). Eddie uploads the song to their Spotify before he can chicken out and goes to bed to scream into his pillow.

Steve wakes up to about a hundred notifications of people texting him and tagging him in posts about Corroded Coffin's new cover track. He listens to it several times making sounds absolutely unbecoming of a grown man that he is, and kicking his feet, and texting Robin in all caps and heart emojis because he's absolutely GONE for that low gravelly voice singing HIS song. (Robin, who's currently in the US, texts him back a picture of her bedside clock showing 4AM, with a deadpan emoji. But then also "go get your man dingus" and an eggplant emoji.)

Later that day Eddie attends Steve's concert at a club, hoping to blend in with the crowd, but Steve notices him just as he's about to close with his Eurovision number, grins wide and says, "I think there's someone in the audience who might help me put a twist on this one. Hey Australia, get your ass on stage."

Before Eddie's brain even catches up with what's happening, there are lights on him, the crowd recognize him and all cheer and whoop and whistle; news travels lightning fast in the village, so all the Eurovision fans present have heard his cover already and are thrilled about what they're about to witness. Eddie's being pushed forward, his feet helplessly dragging him towards the stage, and there's an electric guitar shoved into his arms by someone.

It's only thanks to years of experience and muscle memory that Eddie manages to tune the guitar while his brain short circuits about being right next to this gorgeous man, hair a mess, neck all sweaty and shiny from the stage lights. And then he's playing, Steve's band follow his lead, and Steve sings the verses himself but pulls Eddie in for the choruses. They are both singing into the same mic, pressed together back to back, Steve's face and LIPS so fucking close the entire time, their cheeks almost touching, making Eddie buzz from more than just stage adrenaline.

The whole audience joins in on what was supposed to be the final chorus, Steve and Eddie turned around now to almost face each other; Steve throws an arm around his shoulders and grins so wide and dazzling as he sings, eyes moving between the crowd and Eddie, and Eddie can't stop grinning back at him; holy fuck, the man is so beautiful like this, Eddie never wants this to end. He repeats the chorus tune on the guitar over and over, changing up the rhythm to go faster and faster on what was initially a slow ballad, matching his own accelerating heartbeat. Steve's grin is absolutely brilliant as he matches Eddie's pace perfectly in this little improv, despite the lyrics going so fast now Eddie would never be able to do that, but Steve practically breaks into a rap by the end of it and he's ON FIRE. The crowd is going wild, everyone jumping up and down and just high pitch screaming when the lyrics get too fast for them to follow, too.

Eddie ends it with a quick improv guitar solo, Steve's eyes on him the entire time, wide and shining as he not quite headbangs, but keeps nodding to the rhythm. Then, with the final chord still ringing out, Steve leans into the mic to sing the chorus one last time a capella, slow and soft. The club immediately goes quiet as everyone listens, mesmerized, and so does Eddie. God, this man has a beautiful voice.

Steve's eyes are closed for the most of it, but they open on the final line and land on Eddie as he sings it, and Eddie remembers the translation of it. "Would you let me love you like it's our last night on this planet?" He is so gone, gone, GONE. When the set ends, and they both bow to the audience whose cheers are near deafening, it's only the fact that every single person has their phones out to record the performance that stops Eddie from kissing the guy right there on that stage.

Steve drags him backstage and slams him into a wall the moment they're out of sight, and it's kinda funny how they are making out like horny teenagers before they even had a single conversation, but after all, music speaks louder than any words.

[ynscrazylife]

Clinging Onto You

Request: “HIII idk if your taking requests rn but I thought id put in an idea for a peter parker x stark!daughter fic where theyre in a secret relationship and they get exposed somehow? im thinking kinda angsty like he walks in to the compound all bloody or something AHH IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT but thats pretty much it but yeah! i love your stuff btw!!”

Summary: The Avengers unexpectedly find out that Tony’s daughter Y/N and Peter are dating.

Authors Note: Set during No Way Home, in an AU that everyone survived Endgame.

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

Peter felt his heart practically lurch out of his body when saw Y/N falling. In a snap, he forgot about his mission, he forgot about the other Peters, he forgot about everything. The only thing concerning him was his girlfriend’s safety. It was so high up his priority list that it consumed him, and to see her safety be threatened lit a fuel he didn’t know he had.

He didn’t think, or hear, or speak when he ran and leapt, diving after her with his arm outstretched. Faster, he thought to himself, as the image of complete terror overwhelming Y/N was burned into his mind, her bone-shattering scream sure to leave his ears ringing for days.

The tips of their fingers were inches away, he was nearly there, just about to lock his tight grip on her shaky hand when bam—the wind was knocked out of him as he was thrown off to the side, too far away from Y/N for his liking.

Recovering quickly, Peter’s spider sense directed his fingers to scrape at and clutch the edge of the construction site. Using all his upper body strength, he pulled himself up and scrambled across. His eyes were wide as a bug’s as he searched the abyss of construction for his falling girlfriend, about to send a thwip of webs in her direction when he didn’t see her.

He panted. Had she fallen? Was she—?

From his position, Peter didn’t spot that the other Peter had caught Y/N with tears in his eyes about the girl he wish he could’ve caught. On the tip of a spiral of hatred and despair, his saving grace was found when Peter 3’s voice came over their shared comm system.

“Peter, Peter 1, I caught Y/N. She’s okay, just a little shaken up.”

After the initial shock were off, Peter’s influx of grief was replaced with waves of relief. His ability to breathe became easier and he felt his muscles lose their tension. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he croaked in response.

Later on, when Peter saw the back of Green Goblin standing mere feet away from him, a desire for vengeance flashed through his eyes. He narrowed in on his target and walked towards him, arms outstretched to do something—anything—when he was stopped.

“Eh eh eh, don’t do anything too quickly,” his sneaky, drawling voice came.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, watching as the man slowly turned around. Then, his eyes widened, seeing the person who was with the villain. None other than the love of his life, his girlfriend Y/N, the daughter of one of the most famous heroes ever. Green Goblin had an arm around her, tightly holding her back. Fear was in her eyes as she struggled in vain.

“Let her go, Goblin,” Peter ordered in a low voice, slowing down his movements. In the back of his mind, he wondered where the other Peters were. This was very inconvenient.

He had the nerve to laugh a sick laugh and it made Peter’s blood boil with anger. “I said, let her go!” He repeated, raising his voice to yell.

Green Goblin ignored this and took a step forward, dragging Y/N along with him. “I observed your reaction when she fell, Parker. Quite distraught you were when you didn’t catch her, hmm? I’ll let her go . . . when you admit, in front of the cameras, who the daughter of Stark is to you and why you hid her from the public like your identity!” He said.

For the first time, Peter’s eyes flickered up and he noticed the cameras circling the air above them from helicopters. All news stations, most likely, broadcasting the footage to the entire globe. And, if the entire globe was seeing it, that meant the Avengers were watching, too.

(And, back at the Avengers tower, the team was watching in half-shock, half-fear. They had known that this was a fight Peter needed to do by himself, so they refrained from suiting up, but the involvement of Y/N changed it at all.)

His eyes flickered over to Y/N anxiously, who was still determined and not giving up in her fight for freedom. He couldn’t trust that Green Goblin would stay true to his word. “Why do you want me to say this?” Peter questioned.

Green Goblin pursed his lips. “Oh, Peter, I thought you were smarter than this,” he began condescendingly. “Don’t you know that my goal is to cause you as much pain as possible? You’re hiding something. You’re hiding her. And I will force it out of you, one way or another.”

When Peter hesitated, still not trusting him, Green Goblin took it a step forward. Reaching into a pocket, the young hero only saw a flash of what it was in his hand before he injected it into Y/N’s neck. Gasping, Y/N began to fight even harder, although it didn’t do anything.

“This, son, is a poison I developed. It’s quick-acting. She gets the antidote when you tell me what I want to know,” the villain threatened.

Peter’s eyes went wide. He opened his mouth, prepared to spill it all, when he caught sight of the other Peters stealthily approaching from behind Green Goblin. Within a split second, they attacked. Peter 3 pulled the man back with his webs while Peter 2 administered the cure.

At the sudden loss of his grip on her, Y/N stumbled forward. Peter leapt to catch her, wrapping his arms wound her protectively and pulling her close. “The antidote!” He yelled to Peter 2. “It’s somewhere in his pocket!”

Peter 2 jumped into action, reaching into Green Goblin’s pocket. When he grabbed the antidote, he tossed it to Peter. Peter caught it and injected into Y/N. For a split second, her eyes widened, but she soon relaxed. “Thank you,” she murmured into her boyfriend’s shoulder.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the comfort that Y/N just being safe was bringing to him. He only opened his eyes when he felt the wind hit his face, blinking and making out the Avengers’ Quinjet arriving before all the team members stepped out. While the other Peters returned to their own universes, Tony led the team towards the embracing teenagers.

“Y/N, Peter, are you guys alright?” He asked worthily, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

Turning around, Y/N gladly fell into her father’s arms. Meanwhile, Peter blinked at the sudden loss of her touch. It felt like he was missing something. “I’m—I’m fine. Just cuts and bruises. But Y/N—” he began to say, as the rest of the Avengers crowded around them.

Y/N shook her head, melting back into the safety next that was her boyfriend, leaning against him. “I feel—I feel . . . I’m fine, okay? Don’t worry about me,” she mumbled into Peter’s shoulder. No one was convinced.

Before Tony could start an argument with his daughter out of concern, Natasha stepped in. “Let’s get you guys on the Quinjet. Bruce will have to check you both over just in case,” she directed softly, leading them onto the Quinjet.

Peter and Y/N stayed to the back, away from everyone else. Although Tony had wanted to join his daughter, Steve had steered him away, whispering about how they needed some space with each other to process everything. On the Quinjet, everyone took their seats. Normally Natasha and Clint would pilot, but this time they put it on autopilot. Peter and Y/N settled into seats next to each other, with Y/N wrapping both arms around one of Peter’s.

Bruce was able to clean and disinfect Peter’s cuts, but then he had to switch to Y/N. “I want to have F.R.I.D.A.Y do a medical scan and take a sample of blood just to be sure. We couldn’t really tell what happened with Goblin from the T.V, but it was obviously something,” he said.

At that, Peter looked around. Everyone — except for Tony that is, who was looking at the teens intently — averted their gaze at Bruce’s words. He had wondered if they heard what Green Goblin had said, and it was obvious by now that they had. He silently thanked them for not bringing it up, even though they wanted to.

“He poisoned me, but Peter gave me the antidote. ‘M fine,” she mumbled tiredly.

“P-poison?” Tony coughed out, his eyes wide. He wasn’t the only one shocked and concerned, but the others hid it better.

“Let’s go over to somewhere where there’s more light so we can make sure,” Bruce instructed softly, before standing up and moving to the center of the ship, where the light from the ceiling was shining down.

Y/N went to to follow him, her grip on Peter never lessening. Peter didn’t mind, he was more than happy to hold onto her. He joined them both, and thankfully FRIDAY was intelligent enough to be able to scan Y/N without needing Peter to step aside. He patiently waited for Bruce to take Y/N’s finger prick, and the couple watched as he analyzed the incoming scan.

“You seem okay, the antidote worked quickly . . . But the poison and antidote has some side effects and has weakened you. You’ll need to rest like Peter,” Bruce concluded. “I’ll analyze your blood just to make sure.”

As soon as she was given the green light, Y/N wasted no time in during around and plopping herself in her seat. Peter gladly joined her.

When the Quinjet reached the compound, everyone began organizing themselves. Natasha took it upon herself to wake the now-sleeping teenagers, who had wrapped themselves around each other. Y/N’s legs were thrown over Peter’s lap, her head resting in the crook of his neck. Peter had his arms wrapped around her, his head resting against her own.

Everyone had noticed — except Tony, that was, who was too worried about his daughter to notice anything else. However, no one said a word, wanting them to sleep. 

When Natasha approached the teens, she reached her hand out to shake Peter’s shoulder, when Y/N shifted. After a moment, she settled, but her mumbling came not long after. Natasha didn’t catch what she said, but when she moved around more, it woke Peter up.

“Wha—” Peter started to mumble himself, blinking a couple times before turning to Y/N. Recognizing the situation, he shifted, pulling Y/N closer. In response, Y/N kept moving around, but couldn’t go anywhere in Peter’s arms.

“Catch me, please,” she whispered in her sleep, making Peter’s and Natasha’s eyes widen.

“Y/N, Y/N, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up,” Peter said, his voice loud but still kind, wasting no time in gently shaking her shoulder. This got everyone’s attention, stopping what they were doing to turn to the teenagers and the Widow.

“Pe—ter, catch me!” Y/N yelled, kicking her leg out and hitting the air. She tossed and turned and Peter had to tighten his grip on her so she didn’t accidentally fall onto the ground.

“Y/N, wake up,” he repeated, pausing before ultimately cupping her cheek in his hand. The comforting touch instantly drew her from her restless sleep, and as soon as she became aware, she was looking around hurriedly. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Y/N relaxed, wrapping her arms around Peter and pulling herself closer to him — if that was even possible. He adjusted himself so she was sitting in his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist, head nestled into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her back, his chin on his shoulder, glancing at the other Avengers.

After a few minutes of small mumblings from Peter about how he was here for her and how she was safe, Steve cleaned his throat. “We’re ready,” he announced to the team, although it was clear who his intended target was. Everyone but Peter and Y/N had their stuff.

The team stood up, Tony and Natasha grabbing Y/N and Peter’s belongings, while Peter stood up, carrying his girlfriend. No one said a word about it until they reached the compound’s living room, where Y/N had fallen asleep and Peter had laid her carefully on the couch.

“What was that?” Tony asked, coughing. His voice was thick with emotion and hoarse.

When Peter turned around, wearing a tired, concerned, and sad expression, Tony opened his mouth to retract the question. He was about to say that it was fine, he could hear about it another time, but Peter already started talking.

“During the fight, she-she fell. I dived after her but was knocked out of the way. I assumed the worst, but one of the other Peters caught her,” he explained, averting his gaze and ultimately squeezing his eyes shut as he recalled the utter fear that ran through his blood. He let the team adjust to this for a couple seconds, since he wasn’t done speaking. “Then, Goblin must’ve grabbed her. He wanted me to . . . to admit who she is to me because he wanted to hurt me. I was reluctant, how could I trust him? So he poisoned her, but the other Peters arrived and we got the antidote for her and cured him.”

Tony’s gaze fell to his daughter. “Oh my god,” he whispered, gravitating towards her and kneeling down. Reaching out to brush the hair away from her face, he looked up at Peter as he pieced the puzzle together. “Are you two in a relationship with each other?” He asked.

Peter slowly looked around at everyone in the room, all still processing what he had just revealed. “We were going to tell you,” he admitted. It was the truth.

Tony nodded, taking a deep breath before standing up. He turned to Peter and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest, Pete. You did great today,” he said.

Blinking, Peter nodded a little numbly. However, he couldn’t hide his tired, goofy smile as he let himself flop on the couch next to Y/N. He pulled his girlfriend closer to himself, knowing that it wouldn’t wake her up. Steve threw a blanket over them and the team all took their seats, beginning a quiet conversation. Closing his eyes, Peter continued to smile as he was holding Y/N and feeling her warmth, letting his team’s soft and low voices lull him to sleep.

It would take a while for them to be okay again, but they worked through it together. And now, at least, they didn’t need to hide it from the Avengers anymore. (Although they did have to deal with Sam and Bucky’s constant teasing).

[secret-third-thing]

I’m offering 2 for the 500 word prompts 💕💕

Azris meeting in the autumn forest (sfw or nsfw👀👀)

Nezriel or neris in a cafe/bookshop (one place if that makes sense like bookshop with a cafe)

HELLO! I have one for you. I got a fair amount of Azris Requests so I'm going to do all those together for a fun Azris themed evening. I will be sure to tag you when your drabble is posted!

BUT here is Nezriel in a bookstore. This ship holds a special place in my heart. I took some creative liberties (where's the cafe STT?) with this one aka there's a wee bit of smut in it! 😈

It also lives on ao3. RATED E

“As many as I want?” 

“As many as you can fit intothe bag,” Azriel said. The low timber of his voice was almost enough to make Nesta want to return home. Almost. 

They both stood at the front of the largest bookstore in Velaris, the shadowsinger holding a tote out to her. It wasn’t a special occasion, yet Azriel had insisted they go out, or at least get out of bed and stop fucking for a moment to get fresh air. 

Nesta had initially resisted, twisting herself in the blankets of their bed. Azriel unwrapped her until she had lain there naked from where he had taken her the night before. She still smelled of him and the parting of her thighs tested his resolve. 

He leaned over to give her a chaste kiss, but she pulled him closer, kissing him deeper, with the promise of more if he’d only allow her. Azriel pulled her up, so that she kneeled before him on the bed. He meant to get her dressed, but she reached down to trace the muscles of his abdomen. 

“Don’t make me leave,” she had murmured against his skin. Azriel only sighed as she made her way down his chest until she reached into his pants and pulled out his semi-hard cock.

He groaned as she slipped the swollen head into her mouth, teasing the underside with her tongue and working him until he was fully erect in her mouth. Azriel had grabbed the back of her head then, tangling his fingers in his hair and moving his hips just enough to encourage Nesta to take him deeper. But then he uttered “bookstore” and Nesta stopped abruptly, stood up, and went to get dressed, leaving the Azriel dazed and needy.

Now, at the bookstore, Azriel wasn’t sure if this had been a good idea. Nesta looked at him through her lashes. “That won’t be difficult,” she said with a smirk. She took the canvas tote from him, her fingers lingering on his, and wandered to the romance section of the store.

Azriel followed dutifully, admiring the way Nesta walked with purpose to a shelf and began scanning the titles. It was moments like this that Azriel cherished. The cuddling and the sex were great. But Nesta at peace, and lost in her own world? That was a sight to behold. She bit her lip and crouched to view the shelf below. Her finger ran across the spines of the books almost reverently until she found one she wanted and pulled it from the shelf. She gently placed it in the bag and began the process again until she had filled the tote, the cover of a salacious novel peeking out from the top. 

Nesta grabbed one more book and turned to face Azriel, a brow raised. 

“You think it’ll fit?” Nesta asked. Azriel didn’t miss the way her gaze faltered, dipping low before meeting his eyes again. 

“I can make it fit.” He took the book from her and deftly tucked it between Taken by Two Generals and something with a shirtless man riding a pegasus on the cover.

 “You always do,” Nesta said, just loud enough for only him to hear.

[imrowanartist]

The other day I was thinking about Gaz being a few weeks post-partum and not feeling great about himself and Price telling him how gorgeous he thinks Gaz is, so I ended up writing a snippet for it :)

Tags: past trans pregnancy / mention of c-section and post-partum body / (mildly) suggestive, but still SFW / mostly fluff but with a dash of self-image issues on Kyle's part.

Set in the Rosie AU

-

John looks up from the news article he’s reading on his phone, to see Kyle walk into their bedroom, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

Kyle’s skin is still damp from the shower and John lets his eyes linger on him for a moment, taking in his partner’s body and all its scars and blemishes.

They’re beautiful to John, they’ve always been beautiful to him. Even now, with the way Kyle’s stomach is still soft and stretched from carrying their baby, John thinks he’s the most beautiful man he has ever seen.

Kyle seems to notice his staring and turns away, his cheeks flushed a dark red. He quickly steps towards the dresser and switches the towel for a pair of boxer briefs, pulling out a t-shirt too.

“Why do you do that?” John finds himself asking and Kyle looks over his shoulder at where John’s sitting on the bed, shirt still in his hands.

“Do what?” he asks.

John puts his phone away. “Hide from me,” he says, resting his hands in his lap, “you never used to do that.”

Kyle doesn’t say anything, staring at the shirt in his hands instead. He’s never been shy about his body before, not with John at least. Has actually always taken pride in it, the way he has honed his body to be a perfect weapon. Even the top-surgery scars were something he’d never shown any shyness about with those he’s close to.

Kyle sighs. “I just feel…not great about myself right now.” He hesitates, then adds, “Kinda flabby?”

John hums, then gestures for him to come over. “Flabby,” he repeats as Kyle steps into his space.

He pulls his partner in closer, until Kyle’s standing between his legs, the shirt forgotten on top of the dresser.

“Yeah,” Kyle nods softly, allowing John to ghost his hands along the sides of his legs, then rest them on his hips.

Searching Kyle’s eyes for permission first and receiving it with a slow blink, John then leans forward to place a kiss on the soft bump that still graces Kyle’s lower belly, the pink line of a fresh scar underneath.

“I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” he mutters against his partner’s skin, and he feels Kyle’s stiff posture relax a little under his touch.

“I also think,” John adds, sitting back and looking his partner in the eyes again, “that it’s only been four weeks and you should cut yourself some slack.”

He knows how tired Kyle is of his body limiting him in what he can do. First by the pregnancy itself and now by the barely healed incision site of his c-section. He has never enjoyed sitting still for too long.

Kyle hums, resting his hands on John’s shoulders. “Can you repeat that first part, boss?” he asks, and John can’t help but grin at his cheekiness.

“I think you’re bloody gorgeous, Sergeant,” he repeats, “Now more than ever.”

He’s about to say something else, but Kyle interrupts him by pressing him down on the bed on his back and kissing him deeply. John shifts his arms to his partner’s back, feeling the muscles shift under his hands as he returns the kiss, savoring the feel of Kyle’s soft lips.

John can feel Kyle’s intensity as he gasps into his mouth, and John realizes how much he has missed Kyle’s touch. He can feel the warmth between them as Kyle explores his mouth, and John moves his hands lower at the appreciative moan Kyle lets out.

With the baby, their focus has been on her wants and needs, overshadowing their own. This is the first time that Kyle has initiated anything beyond a kiss, and John can’t deny the heat he feels at the thought of having Kyle completely again. He knows they can’t go all the way yet -doctor’s orders, but there are certainly other things John can do.

When John teases the edge of Kyle’s boxers, Kyle grunts and John pulls back for a moment.

“Can I?’’ he asks, pulling his hand back, and Kyle takes a deep breath before nodding at him.

“Please,” he mumbles, before grabbing John’s hand and guiding it to his hips, giving him all the permission he needs. John noses at Kyle’s collarbone, taking in his sweet scent, then dips his fingers below the waistband.

He’s about to pull the fabric away, Kyle’s breath hot against his neck, when a cry interrupts them and they both freeze.

John pulls his hand back as Rosanna’s cries grow louder, and Kyle sinks his weight on his chest with a sigh before rolling off him with a chuckle.

They lay next to each other for a moment, both still flushed, then John looks at Kyle and they burst into laughter together.

“This is gonna happen all the time now, isn’t it?” John grunts fondly, and Kyle snorts before pressing a kiss to John’s shoulder, already moving off the bed to tend to their daughter.

“Yeah,” he says with a grin, holding out a hand to help John up, “Yeah, it is.”

[xx-vergil-xx]

sanctus dentes/canem dei

okay u know what –– I just answered an anon ask that brought up the old cori fic I talked about writing months ago, so in the spirit of recollection I was excavating some drafts and I found a part I like –– all that to say, here’s the first vignette of sanctus dentes / canem dei for your consumption :) this is the prologue to the whole kit and caboodle, and it’ll probably get edited and expanded before I post it in earnest, but I really truly haven’t posted writing in so long and today I'm on a good wave of productivity and hey, seize the moment ride the urge etc etc

a TW for gore, blood, violence, and body horror (which I'll also put in the post tags)

SANCTUS DENTES / CANEM DEI (draft, WIP)

EPIGRAPH

“Epopteia, completed sight––meaning the sight that brings us beyond initiation (which only ‘understands’) to ‘contemplation,’ a ‘super-sight’ that is a ‘devouring of the eyes’ (the eye devouring its very self), a grasping and finally a touching: the very absolute of touching, touching-the-other- as being-touched, each being absorbed and devoured in the other.” –– Corpus, Jean-Luc Nancy

GENESIS I: THE PARABLE OF THE DINING ROOM FLOOR

“You don’t love me.”

The blood bubbles in tongues between the split lips. The young man has the eyes of a doe, his pupils blown wide enough they swallow the tawny ring of his shivering iris. His terror is so thick from his pores it might be swiped up with a finger, swept against the tongue, tasted in all its viscous splendor. He reeks of panting sweat, the tar and velvet of post-arousal pheromones crashing into summer-lightning adrenaline that crackles in the nose.

The Corinthian hums into the plate of the sternum. He cradles the tender cheek, licks the soft skin of the purpling undereye, where the threads of capillaries have split beneath the epidermis. The taste is not iron –– such a banal simplification, to call blood near-spilling only, reductively, “metallic”. It’s a bouquet of honeysuckle plasma, fatty satin like good gruyere, platelets of sour rhubarb pie and fresh raspberry. When he bites the thin skin, it tears easily, only so much wet tissue under perfected incisors.

“I don’t?”

"You––" The tears season the meat well –– the Corinthian appreciates the gesture. "You said––"

"Baby," the Corinthian murmurs into the open wound, "didn't your momma ever tell you not to trust a stranger?"

Languorous and immovable, the Corinthian pins the young man's wrists above his bleeding head. In the dark, all things become more and less than what they are. The thick cords of the neck pull taut, strung fierce enough that their columns emerge from the dimness as the spine of some deep-sea horror cresting the sea. He scrapes his teeth against the jaw, where the bone runs close to the surface, and prophesies the sponge of marrow under molar. The body shudders –– glorious, isn't it, how the rigid little mind might strive to save itself from that which thrills the flesh.

"Please. Please."

"Little lamb, what're you begging for?" The Corinthian lays a kiss against the mouth. From the man's overlapping palms issues the hilt of a thin blade –– the other is buried, arrow-like, between his second and third rib. The rasp of the voice is laden with lung collapse, breath that no longer fits into smothered struts. In the valley of the tendons, the heart courses, torrential.

“Mercy.  Merciful God, I can’t die like this.”

The Corinthian sinks his teeth into the muscle of the shoulder, at the point it meets the neck. A slobbery gasp surges from the open mouth –– no better music, thinks the Corinthian, as his canines meet the granite edge of the scapula. The heart is racing, ever the traitor. They are all like this. The space between suffering and ecstasy is so minute he could not slide a fingernail into it.

He severs, at last, the tendons, and a slop of meat comes free. The sheets of the hotel bed will be irrecoverable –– mark of a real good night. It's hot and fresh down his throat. He thinks about getting sashimi after he's done here. Though it'll be a long time until the meal has ended.

The man's mind is fading, even while his body yearns after the teeth that destroy it. He babbles, warbling prayers so loose-limbed and slurred they are only a horsehair bow drawn across untuned vocal folds.

"Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, hallowed be thy––"

"Shh, shh shh shh, baby." He chews and swallows, and when he kisses the hollow of the throat it's only to rip the skin loose from the clavicles, to see those nubs of bone glow pearlescent in the night. "Be not afraid."

"––thy king–– thy kingdom come–– thy––"

Once, when he was young, he had eaten only the eyes. He had popped the tart cherries of sight, reveled in the liquor of the vitreous humor, the plasticky chew of the cornea –– he'd gnaw on the lenses for hours, like wads of clear gum. But his life had been long, and his maker had sculpted him from famine, and famine knew no sating. Famine, blooming low in the gut, scaled the spine and hung from the jaw. It grew, and grew, and filled him with gaping mouths. There was no moment he did not hunger. He couldn't satisfy himself on eyes, these days.

"You fear what you don't understand," says the Corinthian. The man's arms are slack enough that when he releases them, they slump limb and immobile. He drags his hands down the flanks, sinks his fingers between two mirrored ribs, and the flesh gives so readily it seems almost eager. "I don't love you?"

With a squelch and groan, the intercostals split apart. The Corinthian curls his grip around the bone, on either side, and grins, threefold.

"––thy will be–– done–– on Earth, as it is–– in Heaven–– give–– give us––"

"Sanctum corpus," he breathes. "Baby, don't be cruel."

"––this day, our daily bread–– forgive–– forgive–– forgive––"

He snaps the ribs apart. The hull of skin and muscle is rent open, and the smell, sacramental wine, bursts forth in heavenly plenitude.

"Hoc est enim corpus meum. Eat of my flesh, and drink of my blood."

The man buckles, chokes. The whites of his eyes shine liquid, pale shells, spilled oil.

"I love you," murmurs the Corinthian. He does.

The Corinthian buries his face in the guts, and takes communion.

[amatchinwater]

WIP Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @edgy-girlboss 💚

Rules: If you’re tagged, make a new post and share a few sentences from your most recent unposted WIP(s) with zero context -- Let your followers guess!

---

Snippet 1:

“Excuse me.” “Jesus,” Stiles startles up from the counter. He didn’t even hear the bell go off. “Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Stiles is lifting his gaze, ready to lay into the stranger. Who just calls someone by a pet name when you don’t even know them? It’s gross, and he’s not a fan. Until he’s staring up at gorgeous blue eyes, a sinful smile, and a jaw that probably cuts diamonds. Then, he’s more than okay with it. Stiles’ tongue dries up so badly that he has to actively focus on removing it from the roof of his mouth. The scratchy muscle fails at wetting his lips, but they drag along them just the same.

Snippet 2:

“You’re not serious,” Isaac states, all panic in his chemosignals gone. Only to be replaced with disbelief. “So we’re obviously not in the same part of the preserve you thought we were.” The wolf tries to take a step forward, only for Stiles to stop him again, “no. I’ve been coming here for months, Is. Months. There’s no way this isn’t the place. See?” He points to the tree beside the wolf, “carved my initials and everything. What the hell-” All of the flowers have begun to sway, bumping into one another, causing small particles to dance above them. “Whoa,” Isaac muses, Stiles too busy looking at the flowers to notice the wolf getting closer to them for inspection. “I gotta say, they are pretty though,” his voice sounds off, like he’s not quite himself. Transfixed by something, Isaac’s hand reaches out before the fox can stop him, and he touches one of the vibrant petals. The reaction is instant. The flower shudders before releasing a plume of shimmering, purple smoke into the air. Isaac sneezes, coughing the intrusive substance from his lungs.

Snippet 3:

Victoria rolls her eyes, “and here I was told you were the smart one. Did you really think I would let my daughter be friends with one of your kind?” The huntress sneers at him. “I’d never hurt Alli,” the wolf argues, yanking on his restraints. “Please, just let me go. I won’t talk to her anymore if that’s what you want.”

Snippet 4:

Stiles has never even seen the gates of Olympus. What hurts even worse, the reason Stiles is laying at the bottom of his pool, is he was promised a place behind those golden gates. With his husband. Other than Hades’ children, Stiles has always been skeptical of any descendant of the big three. It’s a tale as old as time, Stiles was blinded by a pretty face that spoke even prettier words. Only to be betrayed by beauty that rivals Aphrodite herself. Which kind of makes sense considering his husband is a son of hers. His father being Zeus himself. Theodore, a beautiful man with a wicked heart. Bringing his hand to his face, Stiles looks at the branded ‘T’ on his ring finger.

I have so many more, but I restricted myself to 4!

No pressure tags: @msmischief101 @saphire-blue @ksbbb @robo-dino-puppy @colethewolf @theoraeken

[blissfulalchemist]

WIP Wednesday

Been a hot second but I have not been too much in the throws of writing and have been focusing on gposes. So have some little pieces/ideas of gposes for the next month and at least 2 little writing bits I don't think I've posted before. Sending tags out to @belorage @florbelles @unholymilf @statichvm @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @unholymilf @jackiesarch @shellibisshe @shallow-gravy @confidentandgood @leviiackrman @thedeadthree and anyone else that wants to!

To start though! a little game of Spot the Difference!

Then prepping things for crossover day for Febhyurary coming up! Guess who’s making appearances!

And speaking of have two little previews of Demos! and then have some writing below!

Have some Carly that was part of one of the ffxiv write prompts:

The sounds of metal cutting through flesh breaks her free of the latest victim and to the face of another, a woman, who shares the same colored hair and eyes. Watching and smiling as the blades sang their way through muscles and bones, the blood coloring the walls, and her mouth begging for her own flesh and blood to stop. Revels in the weight lifting as the number of breaths dwindles and anticipation building as freedom ticks ever closer. The laugh she can’t hold back as the chakram rests against her mother’s throat and Carly utters a single question. “Are you happy with me now mommy?” The gurgled final breath isn’t her mother’s but she’s yet to leave this memory behind. Inhales the metallic tang of blood and sand, the clang as she drops the circular blades, eyes opening to a room of varying shades of red and a clock that tells her she’s been at this for well over an hour. A calm as she collects some few remnants of her childhood that will lose their meaning after a few years, and makes her way out into a silent night. By sunrise she’ll have put enough distance to make it to the ocean where she will then fall into the water, hoping the salt will scrub clean her act of justice. Bounce between the choice of swallowing more of it or kicking her way back to the surface, question where to go now that she can be anyone and anything, remember that she didn’t even think to get something to sell, calm in the thought that hunger won’t be too much of an issue seeing as she was never granted enough food to begin with, and curiosity grow as a red glow catches her eye among the rocks. The same glow that brings her back to the present and she looks down upon a man that felt the need to state his opinion on how a young woman could come into such a position to make war plans with her heart considering she was a half breed Garlean that was no more a citizen than those that were living here before the occupation. A tragedy young Fordola wanted no part in delivering punishment, She muses as the dark glowing red crystal brightens as the man’s soul gets tucked away within, Oh well. Her loss is my gain in the end.  Carly looks up beyond the mess to an even younger woman, no more than sixteen, that stands with slightly darker hair, green eyes, and a body on the borderline of malnourished that’s clad in a off white tabard with chain metal arms, skirt that was short enough to allow freedom of movement, and scratched worn brown boots that were initially bought for a dance performance. “You don’t approve?”  The young woman glances down at the two bodies, “They were a threat. Not against us but a threat nonetheless.” “I do not question you. You are meant to protect afterall.”  Carly crosses her arms, “Then why are you here?” “You can feel it can’t you? Feel that there’s something coming.”

Then have a little Shadowbringer's Demos so spoilers there!

“Oh my beloved sapling, you mortals spend so much time looking towards the future, always preoccupied with what lies ahead, it should be of little wonder why we pixies muddle your vision with fog and glamour.” Demos looks up, wiping away at the last of the tears, “But it's so easy to see through such trickery. You were always able to see through such things, that's why I picked you.” “What do you mean?” “The way to see through our trickery is to stand very very still, think not of where you need to go, but where you are right now in this very moment, this time, and this place.” The pixie’s smile grows, “Looking at the present, living within the moment, seeing the world around you for what it is, that’s your strength Demos. It has saved you and your friends many times, it has brought them comfort, it has brought on new perspectives because you were never so preoccupied with what was to come. A steady heart and mind that looks towards the ground is one of the best ways to find the way forward when one is lost.” When he doesn’t respond and turns away once more, Feo Ul places their hand on his, “You feel lost and confused about your place in all of this, do what you do best and look at the people around you, listen to them, and you will find your clearest clue. You may even find your answer.” “The answer to what?” “To my earlier question of course; What do you think needs to be done? What would my precious little sapling Demos choose to do in this situation?” He takes a deep breath, “Must be the end of the world if I’m taking the advice of the Faerie King.” He chuckles when Feo Ul gives him a cross look, “Thank you. Truly. I mean it.” “Anything for my beloved snaeyak.” The two smile at one another a moment before the pixie’s eyes light up, “Would you want me to look at the girl? See how she fares and if I could offer any insight to the little snag in your thoughts?” “That…would be very helpful actually.” “Then consider it done.” Feo Ul waves, flying in a loop before vanishing without a trace. He lets out a heavy breath waiting for the pain to subside long enough to stand. It's slow going as he makes his way down the tower, unwilling to aggravate the light further lest his companion suffer. And it's not like he wants to encounter anyone else just yet, he doesn’t need another lecture when he already knows what he should do. “Demos.” Ryne’s voice is soft and timid with a matching expression when he turns to find her waiting at the bottom of the stairs, which he somehow missed.  “Hey kid, everything okay?” “I-I came to make sure you were okay.” She looks away from him, hands wringing, “I heard you fighting with Y’shtola earlier.” “Right. Look Ryne-.” “Is it true what you said? You’ve been taking on some of the it for Siberite?” “Something like that. It’s….complicated.”

[phillippadgettwrites]

Prompt: in the throes of passion...

Mulder: "God, I want to get you pregnant so bad"

Scully: c*ms instantly

Old Fashioned

Rated X \ 1435 words \ Posted on AO3 \ Tagging @today-in-fic

He’d been resistant at first, and rightfully so. Mulder is a good man—the best. Her best friend. The intended father of her child, a child she now knows is not meant to be. He is not the kind of man that would take advantage of someone who is heartbroken and vulnerable, their cheeks still wet with tears.

“You’re upset,” he’d said, breaking away from the kiss she initiated, though he’d certainly kissed her back, and not altogether briefly. “This isn’t right.”

Her heart had shattered anew. Rejected first by her own body, and then by the only person on this planet that could possibly make her feel anything but bereft. 

Even as her mind told her to retreat and lick her wounds, she’d advanced. It wasn’t about want, she needed him. Her hand dropped from his shoulder, her palm sliding over the front of his pants. He startled, but didn’t pull away as she felt him half-hard through denim. He swelled under her touch, a staggered breath huffing out through his nose. 

“Scully,” he pleaded, the muscles of his back tensed and rock solid under her other hand. 

“Please,” she whispered, her voice raw. 

He slid one hand off her waist and placed it on top of hers over his groin. She expected him to pull her hand away, but he didn’t. He threaded his fingers through hers, their joined hands resting along the thick ridge of his erection. 

“I’m afraid you’ll regret it,” he’d said tightly, though he was actively pressing her hand more firmly against his cock.

She shook her head softly, her eyes locked on his communicating the degree of confidence she had in her answer. He must have been satisfied that he wasn’t taking advantage, or else he just wanted her enough that he was willing to take the risk, because now he’s walking her slowly to her bedroom, her jacket discarded haphazardly on the floor. 

It isn’t exactly out of the blue. They’ve kissed before, more than once, held back from taking it further only by the fear of the unknown. For months it’s felt less like if and more like when. When will they stop lying to themselves about what this really is? When will they be brave enough to name what is plainly obvious to any casual observer? When will they finally let themselves love each other?

Her overture is having the intended effect. The painful pit in her chest is still aching, but the rush of blood to her pelvis drowns it out. She claws at his shoulders, resenting their height difference more than ever until she falls back onto her bed and they are equalized. She lets herself get lost in sensation, in discovery, in excitement as she learns the taste of his tongue and the feel of his muscles rippling under her palm as she slides her hand down his belly. They are on top of each other, beneath, beside, clothes slowly discarded to reveal new expanses of skin, new places to see and touch and taste. 

He hitches his fingers under the waist of her panties, the last piece of fabric on her body, and pauses, looking at her face. 

“You’re sure?” he asks, and she feels a wash of fear. What if he doesn’t want this?

Her eyes flash down to his lap, taking in the hard line of his cock protruding out and slightly up. Could he summon himself to do this for her against his own better judgment? Is it possible that this is an act of love for him, but not an act of want?

“You don’t want this,” she says softly, drawing her legs closer together. Her eyes drop to the side, shame burning in her gut. 

Mulder crawls back up the bed, cupping her jaw in his hand and gently turning her face toward his. She looks at his mouth, watching it blur as her eyes well with tears, and waits for him to let her down easy. 

“I do,” he says gently, his thumb swiping at a tear that rolls quietly down her cheek. “But if you end up regretting it, I don’t think I'll ever forgive myself.”

She drags her eyes up to his, and there is so much affection there, so much trust, so much love. For the first time since learning the news that she will never be a mother, she feels some glimmer of hope that things might be okay. 

“I won’t regret it,” she tells him, and he sighs. 

He kisses her as his hand wanders down her belly, slipping under the hem of her panties. Her body is tense with anticipation, muscles rigid and waiting. One finger trails down her lips, gliding effortlessly through her slickness, until it is poised at her opening. 

“I wanted to give you a baby, Scully,” Mulder whispers against her mouth as his finger sinks into her cunt. 

She feels herself quiver around him, desperate for more. She grabs his upper arm, digging her fingernails into his bicep and feeling it flex as he pumps in and out of her slowly. 

“I wish I could,” he adds, his voice mournful, and she groans. 

“Please,” she whispers, reaching for his cock. 

He divests her of her damp panties, settling himself between her thighs. She’s panting, though as of yet she’s done nothing to exert herself. He looks at her face one last time, watching for any sign that she’s having second thoughts. Then he is inside her, stretching her open. 

It hurts, and she wants it to. To feel physical pain, something tangible that can be healed. To feel it fade with each thrust, replaced by pleasure. The weight of his forehead resting against hers, the rough of his pubic hair on her clit when he pushes into her, the bump of the head of his cock against her cervix: he envelopes her, surrounds her, dampens the ache of her loss. 

“I wish I could, Scully,” he repeats, his breathing labored and his words punctuated by the hitch of his thrusting. “I wish I could give you a baby.”

Tears sting her eyes, but she also feels acute joy. Even if she can never have it, knowing that he would have wanted that with her is like a balm on her broken heart. 

“I know,” she whimpers, though that knowing is only minutes old. 

He increases his pace, shifting his hips up. His shaft brushes against her clit with each thrust and she digs her fingernails into the back of his neck. 

“Can I come inside you?” he asks through clenched teeth, the side of his face pressed against hers. “God, Scully, I want to give you a baby. I want to try.”

Pain and pleasure swirl from her chest to her cunt. It’s impossible, for so many reasons. Her broken body, the fact that she’s not at a fertile point of her cycle, the cruel insistence of the universe that she be denied this very wanted thing. But buried deep beneath all that, there is hope. It’s irrational and foolish, but hope often is. 

“Yes,” she keens. “Come inside me.”

He grunts, turning his face to kiss her firmly as their skin slaps noisily. They’re both frantic, harried, so close and so piqued. Mulder stiffens, his mouth dropping open. 

“I’m gonna come,” he whispers. “I’m gonna give you a baby. Fuck, I want to, Scully.”

She breaks. The height of pleasure lifts her up high before she plummets to the bottom, spasming and whimpering, clutching him to her as he moans and sacks up against her over and over. As she begins to come down, her throat closes up and her chest tightens, one sob erupting from her mouth. 

“Hey,” he says, alarmed, as he pulls away to look at her face. “Hey, it’s okay.”

He withdraws from her, ignoring the spill of his cum as he rolls to his back and pulls her to him. He pets her hair, kisses her cheeks, tries, futilely, to make it better. 

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, feeling embarrassed and guilty for souring the experience. 

“No,” he says firmly. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

He holds her for a very long time, and while she still feels raw and shattered, she also feels so safe, and so loved. She begins to drift towards sleep, but Mulder’s voice rouses her. 

“Never give up on a miracle, Scully,” he says, and she wonders if this is what he’d meant the first time he said it. 

She gives him a squeeze, nuzzling against the downy hair on his chest. 

“I won’t.”

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters - Chapter Three

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The training begins, and with it, Leona can finally experience an intimate moment with Ghost. And none of them are subtle.

Trigger Warning! The chapter describes the use of weapons and violence. There is violence in the tags, but I thought it would be better to give a warning here as well.

I.M.L. – Infected Mammalian Lifeform

(I proofread myself before posting, so sorry if there are mistakes! I write the story in my language first, and I translate it after. English is not my first language, so help is welcomed! Just be nice, please! )

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Three

......................................................................................

"Come on, lass! Just pretend you're runnin' from enforcers!" I hear the deep voice of a man from the edge of the practice obstacle course, who has been my number one cheerleader for the last week and a half, and I only respond to his kindness with an irritated grunt. Of course, MacTavish doesn't get discouraged by this but watches with unbroken glee as I finally get a hold of the rope and pull myself to the top of the concrete wall, then swing my legs over and jump down with far-from-graceful movements in order to drag myself toward the next obstacle.

When the possibility of my training came up, based on Laswell's words I assumed for some reason that we would get right into the middle of it and that I would acquire skills that would help me survive my potential little visits to the field. Instead, my hopes were crushed on the first morning, and Price cheerfully informed me that, considering my lifestyle and experience so far, they would present me with their treats for newbies. Thus, with the help of MacTavish and Garrick, I was immediately able to dive into the mysteries of endurance training. And while at first, it seemed that my stamina was surprisingly good, based on how suspiciously well I did on the first day, I soon had to realize that they can and want to invent new ways to show how untrue my initial feelings were.

Of course, I do not argue that my survival should not depend on the condition of my body, which is used to laboratory chairs and tactical scavenger hunts for blood, but even then, this does not ease the frustration and annoyance that is still simmering inside me. Even though slowly every day, every minute, previously unknown parts of my body start to ache, my stubbornness and pride do not allow me to let even an iota of my silent suffering surface. Because I know that everyone secretly expects that the arrogant and terribly dangerous little bitch will shit herself from the pain that these fun little daily exercises gift her with. But I won't give anyone, not even myself, the pleasure of this being even a possibility. That's why every day I swallow the hundreds of insults that threaten to come out of my mouth and the agony in my muscles, and face every stupid shit these two come up with for me, from running for several kilometers and carrying rucksacks, to the current obstacle course. And I hate to admit it, but the enthusiasm and witty comments of the two Hunters help in a strange way.

Of course, the fact that the two of them seem to feel comfortable around me does not mean that the suspicion and mistrust towards me has disappeared even for a minute. It does not escape my attention how the other soldiers serving in the unit continue to eye me cautiously, and no one dares to get close enough, because maybe I'll be true to my word and turn them into foaming-mouthed corpses with one touch. Which could be very amusing, but it quickly became boring, and now the many stares scrutinizing me, which come at me every step of the way, just dance on my nerves. And despite the fact that they are not openly hostile to me, it is also quite obvious, that the four members of the small group that I was thrown into do not let their guard down around me either. But why should they? It's only logical that they won't just miraculously become my bffs, when we all know that they cooperate out of necessity, and I feign obedience out of constraint. However, despite these facts and my suffering, I am having fun and let out a wry smile every now and then when my two trainers encourage me or get into some entertaining verbal sparring with me. I would be lying if I said that these moments do not move my twisted little soul, because until now I have kept everyone within the comfort of indifference and distance. Because someone who wants to maintain a disguise won't let anyone close enough to make their life exciting.

Ignoring the screams of my body, which aches from bruises, abrasions, and muscle soreness, I get on my stomach and start crawling in the sand under the next part of the course, making sure that the complicated system of barbed wire above me does not rearrange my back. For once, I'm glad that I'm smaller than those for whom this obstacle course was originally designed because at least I don't have to fear that to crown it all, I'll be enriched with abstract patterns ingrained in my skin. It's a different story that instead I inhale, swallow, and embrace the amount of sand that would be enough for a lifetime, which sufficiently strains the fragile fibers of my nerves. But out of spite, I drag myself on with my lips pressed together angrily, because if the many young halfwits stuck here managed to go all the way through this stupid course, then I won't be the first to give up just because the fucking dirt is crunching under my teeth.

At first, I questioned why was there a whole training ground with an obstacle course at the base, when in theory official bodies at the colonies, but even private units only hire trained soldiers, but Garrick kindly enlightened me that in recent years they accept almost everyone who turns eighteen. Since eradicating infected lifeforms and protecting the colony is not a job one can possibly retire from, they cannot afford to wait years until replacements are produced in place of the people who have been lost. That is why they are forced to train the new recruits themselves so that they are able to perform their tasks as soon as possible. In any case, they have a hard time luring experienced soldiers or even new recruits from law enforcement to an infected lifeform liquidation unit, because no one wants to venture outside the walls of the colony unless they suddenly have a mad desire for adventure. Or unless they end up becoming a loser like me and get the unique opportunity as a punishment.

But before my heart could be moved by their struggle to fill this whole place with monster baits, I quickly moved past this small detail, because my own misery became my focus again. And even now, the only thing pounding in my head is that if all this crap called endurance training can be done by little scumbags younger than me, then there's no way in hell that I, who has been enjoying her days with the delusion that she's a predator, won't be able to succeed. Leona, you naive little fool. Now you'll find out what it's like when the real predators take for a ride to fuck-around-and-find-out land.

When I finally pull myself out under the last barbed wire, I straighten up and head toward the last section of the course, and the only thing floating in front of my eyes is that soon I will finally be able to put my pretty ass down for a fleeting moment. And as I survey the first wooden beam that appears in front of me, which according to Garrick and his companion's earlier explanation I should get through by swinging my lovely body through above it, I suddenly feel the insatiable need, that maybe it would be a marvelous idea to make a dead man out of one of them in a creative way. Because now I am absolutely certain that each and every task was chosen with full awareness of my physical handicaps, to test how tough of a girl I really am. But they won't be disappointed, because I may still not be a well-built gazelle, but thank heavens I have the brain capacity to compensate. And no one said I can't cheat anyway. And I, if nothing else, am very good at cheating.

I take a few steps back and prepare to perform my stunt, then I try to jump onto the first beam, and when I manage to climb onto it quite skillfully, I give myself the impetus to continue with my small success. Keeping my momentum, I jump to the next beam, and I manage to surprise even myself with how springy my movements are as I continue to jump around. My body seems to be reacting unexpectedly well to the mixture of adrenaline and frustration raging inside me. Because although I expected that I would overcome this obstacle more easily by cheating, I also did not anticipate myself to leap from log to log so elegantly. And when I reach the last damned beam, I hop down from it with a more satisfied smile than necessary, not even caring about how all my limbs scream in unison from the movement.

As I lean on my knees with my hands and try to finally catch my breath, being my own best friend, I give a proud mental pat on the back to thank my humble self for helping my sanity through this miserable ordeal. Because the universe is my witness I have come dangerously close to losing it many times.

"Nice work! The runtime is good too!" Garrick shouts from the side of the track, looking at his watch, and I smile as if it has been clear to me from the beginning that this would be the case. I suppress the voices deep within me that remind me that my irrational loathing of embarrassment and failure is what actually deserves credit for my surprising success in training today and the past few days, because my self-esteem cannot take any realistic self-criticism right now. "You moved like a cat. Like a handicapped, chased cat!"

"I didn't expect anythin' else from an outlaw!" MacTavish too chimes into the quality check of my work with a grin, and I only give him a rather piercing look from the corner of my eyes. I should make peace with the idea that the Hunter will never let go of the fact that he was the one who ended my silly little escape attempt, and that he is happy to remind me of this fact every chance he gets for his own amusement. "Although I could send you back because of that last part!" He remarks, and this suddenly revives me from my fatigue, and I fix my light eyes on him with such speed that is quite amazing in itself.

"Try it, and I swear I'll stab you in the heart with your own hand..." The words break out of me before I can stop myself, my murderous gaze still on the man, who bursts into enthusiastic laughter at my threat.

"I like that you are so fiery, Woods!" He answers easily, alleviating my annoyance for a moment, as a sincere and perhaps proud smile appears on his face. MacTavish seems to be the kind of person who easily steals his way into the hearts of others with all his sociability and directness, and so, despite the fact that I know the circumstances and purpose of why I ended up here, I find it difficult not to soften up in his direction from time to time. Especially when he acts like he's really trying to treat me as his comrade. "Take a breather!" He advises, and turning back to Garrick they engage in conversation, most likely brainstorming about the details of my torture tomorrow, and I take this opportunity to finally rest my tired body a little bit.

When I finally feel that the tachycardia caused by physical exertion will not end my earthly career, I straighten up and stretch my tortured muscles with a rather tired groan. And as the pain awakens in my body in completely unknown places, I pull the corner of my mouth in an annoyed grimace and examine my latest creations on my outstretched arms. Not a day goes by that I don't add something artistic and beautiful again to the scratches and bruises that have accumulated so far, and I don't have to be disappointed now either, because the new injuries are blooming on the tender skin of my forearm in such a way that it's a joy to look at.

At first, it occurred to me that perhaps in my own interest, it would be worthwhile to heal my wounds, but then logic dismissed the idea. Although Laswell assured me that from now on I wouldn't have to worry about blood, she slyly didn't mention how often I would be enjoying my little snacks. But it was enough for me to think about the problems that hospitals face in managing the blood supply, and it already became clear that I would not be spoiled. And although there is not much chance that I will accompany one of my new friends on one of their adventurous missions in the near future, they can still request my services at any time. I would rather suffer like this than be weakened by hunger and beg someone for a tasty morsel. So I opted for the more difficult and uncomfortable option and took up with the idea that from now on pain, fatigue, and injuries would be my close friends. And looking back, I don't even regret my decisions, because they motivate me to complete the newest delicacies of my training in an unexpected way.

Of course, this doesn't change the fact that I feel like someone who has been run over by a tank and then thrown into a spin dryer, and my clothes sticking to me from sweat and dirt don't help my situation either. It's true, right now my physical torment seems like a much more pressing problem, but the fact that I'm probably a stinking pile of filth can't be ignored, which also helps my mood to hit rock bottom.

That's why I decide to ditch my t-shirt, judging that the rays of the spring sun are already warm enough that I don't have to fear for a delightful case of pneumonia over my basic torment if I stay in a thin tank top. And as the pleasant breeze finally caresses my burning muscles, I close my eyes with relief, crumple my t-shirt into my pocket, and enjoy the momentary peace, which will probably soon be broken by another torture idea of these sadistic madmen.

It almost doesn't surprise me when it happens, and I feel the heavy gaze settle on me that has been following my every breath since I arrived here. I allow myself a few moments to let the visceral urge to escape that awakens in every fiber of my body subside, because I don't want to give away the fact that whatever intimidation tactics he's using seems to be succeeding in making me uneasy. I don't blame myself for the instinctive feeling that wants to move all my limbs towards defense and flight, but my sanity knows that this is just part of a test, which I seem to be passing with flying colors so far. Much to his chagrin, I suspect.

I open my eyes lazily, and it doesn't take much to catch the owner of the stare inspecting me on my periphery hiding in the shadow of one of the buildings. I turn my head towards him with deliberate slowness, making sure all expression is gone from my face because I'm sure this man would spot the first signs of doubt or fear on my features. And as soon as our eyes meet, we begin the silent battle yet again that we always indulge in for a few moments, ever since bad luck brought me here.

My senses were right about that Riley would see me as real prey, because from the moment I first came under the searching weight of those dark eyes in that briefing room, he took every opportunity to study me further. Unlike the other Hunters, I haven't exchanged a single word with him yet, but even without that, I know that he is the one who until now was only waiting for the opportunity to strike and send me packing. It would be hard not to feel the mistrust and cold hostility emanating from him, but fortunately, he does not affect my soul enough to let myself to be intimidated. No matter how close he gets to igniting that tight feeling in my stomach that sends the message of danger in every fiber of my being like an alarm. He could fool anyone that he just harmlessly observes his surroundings as he casually hides with his tall figure leaning against the wall of the building, but I'm not stupid. Because every single muscle reveals that he is only looking for an opportunity.

And I know that this show is just for me, which would make me feel honored if I didn't know that this game could quickly turn very bloody if we both didn't have our leashes restricting us. While the others have tried to somehow establish a rudimentary relationship with me, this probably hasn't crossed his mind, because he's still waiting for me to make a mistake and do something suspicious like a tiger ready to pounce. I don't even blame him, because I would do the same if someone threw a poisonous snake into my peaceful little nest, which I don't know when is going to bite me.

He's not surprised by how bravely I'm making eye contact with him, and at this point, I think he almost expects me to give him that attention. It occurs to me that I might as well ignore his existence for a change, but I'm not so flippant as to lose sight of him until our little duel is over. Because the possibility immediately flashes in my mind that he will use this one opportunity to stop the watching and spring into action. Although I know that he could catch me at any time just as easily as he appears out of nowhere when he feels like it. I probably wouldn't even stand a chance to defend myself, which makes me even more curious, if he doesn't like me this much, why doesn't he just cut to the chase and kill me. He could set it up as an accident and no one would suspect a thing.

Still, it reassures me when he continues to stand still with the immobility of a statue and glares at me from behind his mask, since we both know that nothing can be done because I was tossed into this den of wolves for a reason. He also knows that he needs my little services, no matter how much he hates the thought of letting a viper like me near him or his teammates. He can't get rid of me, and the thought brings a nasty little smile to the corners of my mouth.

It appears that I finally manage to startle him because those dark eyes narrow dangerously when they discover the mocking serenity on my face. Although he is far away from me, I can still see how his posture changes and he straightens up, which makes his tall figure, which already commands authority, become even more threatening. And as much as I know I'm playing with fire, I still enjoy getting a reaction out of him, because this man is mystery incarnate.

If someone is skilled at observing their surroundings, then anyone becomes an easy-to-solve puzzle in their eyes. All they have to do is study the other's facial expressions, movements, and words, and the mystery will be solved. But Riley comes across someone who has earned his code name, as he behaves more like a ghost than a real person. It's almost impossible to figure out what's going on in his head, and I probably wouldn't have an easier time without a mask either. And I hate the feeling that I can't work out the mystery because it takes away the only weapon from my hands that has helped me keep my quiet little life in order. Because up until now I have reached my goals by deciphering others, and now I have an inkling feeling that he wants to eliminate this practical little trick of mine. As long as I can decode people, I feel safe. And he's quite adamant about pushing me into the deepest uncertainty.

And that's why I become reckless and provoke him, because even if I only earn his anger, that tells me plenty about him. Anger is a very identifiable emotion, and although it can make the opponent unpredictable, it at least shows the shortest path to their weaknesses. But the ones who don't show anything other than cold indifference need to be teased a little. Because everyone can be solved sooner or later, you just have to push them in to right direction.

I raise my head higher, turning towards him fully now, and with every inch of my body I communicate to him to come and do whatever ideas he conceived in his mind after seeing my attitude. I'm sure my behavior is irritating enough that it makes him want to show off his dazzling abilities in creative ways. Yet how sad it is that while I would probably suffer hell at his hands, he would still get the short end of the stick. And as he takes a step towards the training ground, I flash my teeth triumphantly at him, as a grin appears on my face to crown my sarcastic expression. And it seems that it has its effect, his whole body tenses as he moves forward, and I prepare to analyze what his anger will lead him to do.

"Hey, Woods! You've rested enough! You have one more lap before you're done!" The moment is interrupted by Garrick's voice, and I reflexively turn my head in the direction of the voice, thus jolting me out of the romantic little moment I shared with my favorite Hunter.

"The fuck are you talking about!?" This rather sophisticated question bursts out of me as a combination of indignity and disbelief, and as only a mischievous grin appears on Garrick's face, I feel that my previous vigour ready for provocation and action disappears like a shipwreck in the sea.

"This is the punishment for cheatin'!" notes MacTavish, pointing to the problematic section on the obstacle course where I had executed my previous cunning solution, and I feel the kind of rage light up inside me that whispers ideas in my ear in a fierce voice about how I could help the two Hunters cross to the other world. "And I'd make it quick if I were you because tomorrow's gonna be a busy day for ya!"

"What the hell are you implying?" I ask rather annoyed, and as they exchange a telling glance accompanied by a suspicious smile, I almost immediately regret that I wanted to be curious at all.

"Starting tomorrow, Ghost will be joinin' your training." Reveals MacTavish and this one statement is enough for a mixture of surprise and anxiety to set up camp in me again. If I had forgotten about him until this moment, now my attention is diverted back to the mentioned Hunter, and I turn my head back to where he has been resting previously with such speed that I am afraid I will break my own neck. But Riley disappeared into thin air, leaving behind nothing but the foreboding that was slowly creeping into my mind.

"He won't be as cool as us! So get movin', because you'll need the rest before he gets his hands on you!" Warns Garrick, and I, somewhat overstepping the ominously tight lump in my stomach, direct my revived murderous gaze toward the man. But before I can throw some sassy remark back, I swallow the insults that threaten to come to my tongue, and with a rather irritated sigh, I head towards the beginning of the track, not caring how the pain gnaws at every part of my body with inceasing enthusiasm at every step. There's no point in arguing because the later I can leave these two oafs here, the less time I'll have to mentally prepare for tomorrow. However, if I have deciphered one thing, it is that the ghost's feathers can be ruffled, and I can finally reap the fruits of this tomorrow. And I can't suddenly decide whether I should be happy or rather uneasy.

⃰*

I rub my shoulders tiredly and try to breathe some alertness into myself as I follow MacTavish's directions towards the base's shooting range, because the shower doesn't seem to have helped one bit. The two bastards did not spare me today either, and tormented me until the afternoon, with the kind remark that they only wanted to help, because they saw the stage fright that plagued me before my first joint training with Riley. I might even have been moved by their sympathy if it hadn't been fake, and if they hadn't enjoyed it so obliviously as I was suffering. But at least as a reward, they let me find my way to the range alone, without any bodyguards. I could even try to escape, but everyone knows I have more sense than that. Their suspicions have not subsided yet, and for the time being, I don’t want to give a reason to stop the endlessly calm process of my little integration.

They weren't mistaken in that I had mixed feelings about this little meeting, and I've spent the whole day trying to sort out these very tangled threads. It's clear that Riley doesn't like me, and there's nothing wrong with that, since he certainly didn't manage to sneak his way into my heart with his attitude which could only be described and mocked as distant with great benevolence. At the same time, this hunch is not enough for me to have sufficient information about him, and I have to understand him so that the doubts disappear from my mind and the control is back in my hands. In this current situation, I'm backed into such a small corner that I'm willing to gain every advantage, at any cost. It is difficult for a person to get rid of old habits, and even though I am now locked in a tiny cage and dancing to my captor's tune, the time will come when I will need my observations to manipulate my way out of here. After all, I still don't want to wait here until they turn me into a used commodity. Because even though there are light and funny moments, I haven't forgotten why I came here.

The roofed building of the shooting range appears before my eyes, and I immediately start searching for my playmate today. I half expect him to pop up out of nowhere to surprise me again, but I have to be disappointed because he doesn't seem to be in the mood to continue our usual duel now. My gaze immediately finds him, as if his tall figure had its own, magical gravitational force, and I reluctantly admit to myself that it is not that far off from the truth. The entire base treats him with awe-filled admiration when he honors his surroundings by making an appearance, and the many busy little workers follow him as if the Queen of England had come to life again from the pages of the fucking history books. And there is in fact something dark and authoritative about his aura that attracts the curious eyes. But it only awakens the hold of the disgusting iron grip of the unknown in me and encourages every cell in my brain to invent new ways to break his rigid mask.

"How kind of you to prepare." I throw my comment at the man when I get within earshot, carefully measuring the wide array of weapons lined up at one of the firing positions with my bright eyes.

He's not surprised by my arrival, and I am sure he had heard me approach before I could even notice him. For a minute it seems that maybe he will purposefully ignore me, but when he turns towards me from the threshold of the room at the end of the shooting range and fixes his penetrating gaze on me, a small, cheeky smile creeps into the corners of my mouth. He closes the door behind him with a slow movement and stalks towards me with firm, springy steps, reminiscent of a big cat that is about to break the neck of an unsuspecting gazelle. Even though he's wearing a simple pair of jeans and a hoodie, his aura is menacing enough that I have to consciously steel every nerve that screams it's time to defend myself because danger has arrived.

He stops a few steps away from me, and it's the first time we are so close that I can sense the ridiculously powerful strength emanating from him. He doesn't have to do anything, just tower over me and glare at me like I'm an ulcer spreading an infectious disease, and I wonder for a fleeting moment how easily he could snap my spine like a twig. And that immediately brings out the desire in me to somehow get under his skin, and thus to see the anger shining in those brown eyes rather than the icy indifference that he is currently radiating towards me. Because I can't see through this apathy, and it scares and upsets me, to put it mildly.

"Let's start." He finally speaks briefly, and his deep voice is exactly as controlled and monotonous as his entire being. Still, there is a hoarseness hidden in it, which, together with his hard British accent, gives it a very individual color, and he sounds exactly like a real Hunter. Determined, strong, and calm with a touch of superiority.

"He can speak." I note almost only to myself, and there is no evidence that he heard me, but despite the fact that I do not provoke any reaction from him, I know that his sharp ears received my comment. His entire kind is famous for its heightened senses, so he deliberately ignores it, which could even annoy me, but for me, it's just another sign that I'm on the right path to a breakthrough. Because if I hadn't managed to start the road to his anger so well before, he wouldn't be trying so vehemently to deal with my existence as little as possible. Of course, it's also plausible that he just despises me, but I'd like to think that he reserves his persistent coldness as an honor just for me.

He puts on protective earmuffs and walks towards the shooting stall where he prepared the table full of weapons, grabs a pistol with his gloved hands, and I observe curiously as he loads it and positions himself ready to shoot with practiced movements, as if he has been doing this since he was a newborn. And with a little exaggeration, he has. If not since he was in diapers, but he has been prepared to be a Hunter since he became potty trained. One might even feel sorry for the unfortunate fools who are trained without a choice to be the dogs of colonies and governments, but my sympathy is short-lived. There is no such loophole that cannot be found with enough dedication.

He pulls the trigger again and again with almost untraceable movements, and he empties the magazine before my brain can even comprehend it. I look at the target on the other side of the shooting range, and genuine shock fills me as I process the holes in every vital organ of the human figure on the white poster. As much as I expected the Hunters to have such a wide repertoire of abilities, it still takes me a few seconds to process just how quickly he could eliminate anyone based on this, especially if he actually activated himself. Because to be fair that's only the tip of the iceberg of his abilities, and I'm sure whether it's another weapon or even his bare hands, he handles them all with similar cold efficiency. And that's exactly why this guy rouses the uncomfortable whisper of dark thoughts in my head, because his talent for killing and his controlled behavior make the most dangerous combination possible. And I dare to risk that he is more lethal than his other three little friends combined.

"Your turn." He says with a tone similar to his previous impassive comment, and after replacing the empty magazine, he hands me the pistol. It seems that he wants to preserve his verbosity for the duration of my training, which of course will not make this whole ordeal easier, but there is no doubt that this is exactly his goal. He does what he's told, but no more than necessary, because he clearly doesn't care enough about me to take this daunting task seriously. And from this, it is not difficult to conclude that he denies reality just as much as I do, because he is not willing to even entertain the idea that I will be here long enough to be able to make use of his teachings. How observant.

With similar enthusiasm, I snatch the gun from him and put on one of the earmuffs, and after loading the weapon, I attempt to take the position suitable for shooting while recalling what he showed me with his little performance. The last time I held a gun was when I completed the mandatory military lessons during my school years. Although at first, I thought this parade was just an unwarranted annoyance, that is forced on every young teenager in the colonies, I soon had to realize that maybe I was enjoying the violence a little more than I should. I also liked the way the cold metal pressed against my hand with its weight, and I felt strong and powerful when I shot the imaginary enemy. But in the end, I stuck to my cunning tricks, because they could eliminate the potential victim more quietly and less conspicuous than this.

Raising the gun, I aim at the human figure on the paper opposite my shooting position, looking for my little buddy's head in the opening of the rear sight. When the pistol finally settles on the target, after a last breath, my index finger pulls the trigger, my hand tenses to resist the force of the recoil, and the excited tingle I experienced when I was still a teenager moves to my stomach. And the perverse joy that the sound of the gunshot caused at the time also appears in my little noggin once more, especially when I see the hole in the head of my little printed human figure.

But my joy is shortlived, because unfortunately the outside world soon finds its way back to my senses, and with it comes the feeling of Riley's heavy gaze, which almost burns the skin of my face. I don't even have to look at him to know that my activities are being watched with critical eyes, and when I receive no feedback, I take it as silent consent to continue. Of course, it's a lot harder for me to enjoy shooting when he's monitoring and analyzing my every move and twitch, no doubt silently listing the flaws he can throw my way afterward. And this irritates me enough to fire the next couple of shots as quickly as possible.

When the magazine is empty, I shove the pistol on the table with more violence than necessary, and I take off my earmuffs to look at him questioningly, already eagerly waiting to hear the affectionate and encouraging observation he wants to give me. Undoubtedly, this whole situation could be really constructive, but I doubt that I can expect such niceties from him. I expectantly study his features emerging from behind his balaclava mask, and no matter how much I want to, I still can't find anything worthwhile there that would be even a little more than indifference.

"The hold is too tense." He begins after what seems like decades, and I stay silent as to let him continue because I'm pretty sure he wants to pick me apart with his words. "Your hands are too high, your breathin' is not even, and it takes too long to find the target. You wouldn't stand a chance against an I.M.L." He sums up his criticism briefly and concisely. His voice is harsh, and I cock my head to the side with a small sigh at his sudden stream of words, still bravely keeping eye contact with him. Even if he hurts my self-esteem and feelings with his detailed opinion, I won't let my pride speak for me now, because I have enough self-criticism to know that he is correct. Of course, this doesn't change the fact that his nasty little comments give me additional motivation to continue.

"What a generous evaluation." I answer simply, and turning my body towards him, I rest my hand on the rough surface of the shooting station's table. "I was starting to think that you wouldn't grace me with your excellent communication skills." I begin my sneaky little tactics because it's time to get back to our little dance. He certainly doesn't feel that way, seeing that his eyes only narrow as a warning, and I'm sure this would make people with a weaker mentality than me withdraw in fear. And although I know I'm stepping into dangerous territory, unfortunately, that's not enough to make me back off when a clear goal is set in front of me.

"I'm here for your training. Not to chinwag." He states his opinion quite bluntly, and it seems that he wants to cut the flood of possible comments coming out of me short because he is already turning back to his weapons in search of another one to continue my little tutoring. Of course, it's obvious that I should do as he suggested because it would be beneficial to learn as many useful and inventive tricks from him as possible, but considering that his every movement shows that he would rather hang me instead of the practice target poster, I don't think I can acquire anything valuable today. It's obvious that he wants to get this whole chore done with as little interaction and as quickly as possible, and I could be legitimately offended by that. But since in today's little session becoming a master sniper is not the goal for me either, I don't mind if he still writes me off as monster food right now.

"How sad. And quite rude." I note with feigned innocence, then purse my lips with exaggerated sadness, and at my tone, his hand reaching for the chosen weapon stops in midair. "I thought we had to warm up to each other during training. Won't Laswell be disappointed when she finds out how poorly you treat me?" I inquire cynically, still with pretended hurt in my voice, which seems to be enough to get him out of his peaceful task.

Now he stops looking busy for good, and straightens up as he turns to me, focusing all his suffocating attention on me. I raise my head, and continue to study his face with my eyes, but I still manage to spot how his shoulders tense up under his hoodie, and I have to forcefully hold back the sparks of insidious pleasure that are growing inside in my belly. Keep calm, he doesn't need much.

"Shut your mouth and do what I say, if you know what's good for you." He warns, and there is an edge to his voice that inexplicably makes my stomach jump from a mixture of fear and excitement. I could ponder on how normal it is to feel so comfortable in this whole near-suicidal situation, but unfortunately, it would be too late to turn back from here. I've already decided to follow this path, because now I'm honestly curious about what he really thinks, what makes him lose his composure, and what causes the mask he puts on so enthusiastically to the public to fall. I want to know how to get under his skin, because that's the only way I can make him careless and exploitable. And that's all I need.

"Oh but, how can we become a team like this? Don't you want me to be a good girl and fit in?" I keep babbling to him, putting an evil little mask of disbelief on my face, enjoying our little conversation from the bottom of my heart, because I can finally express in words what I've been trying to convey to him with my gaze all this time. And I know how terribly it annoys him that duty has brought us together here, because even though he would rather bend my neck like a pretzel, he knows he has no choice. An order is an order, and obedience is coded into my little Hunter friends. "I'm supposed to be your Healer, but how will I fulfill my duties when one of my teammates is so hostile to me?" I inquire, pressing the last words with deliberate mockery because although he doesn't reveal much about himself, I can see how he behaves with the other three Hunters. A real happy bunch, who stick together through thick and thin, blood and mutant guts. And even I'm a little jealous of that.

Even though the balaclava covers him, I can still see how his face becomes tense, and in my mind's eye, I imagine his teeth clenched in his mouth as he tries to swallow his anger and keep his cool. And his self-control is truly remarkable, but if the menacing aura emanating from him in slow waves toward me were not enough of a telltale sign of how difficult it is for him to do so, I would still know that I am close to my goal. Not because I'm poking some hurt into his harsh little soul with my words, but because every single long glance and look we've exchanged so far was a nice little warm-up for this moment. He's reacting like this because I've been dancing on his nerves ever since I set foot on this fucking base. And he can't wait to take out this frustration on me.

"Don't fuck with me. I wouldn't trust you with a bloody dog, let alone healing." He retorts, and his voice becomes hoarse and dangerously deep, as he spits his venom-soaked words at me. The anger slowly starts to seep into his whole body, and as he takes a threatening step toward me, a mocking half-smile crosses my face and takes the place of my previously award-winning portrayal of despair.

"Oh, but you're going to have to let me treat you, because that's what Laswell brought me here for." I remind him, subtly referring to the reality, which it seems both of us still struggling to accept. With the difference that it's more bad luck for him than for me. Because while unlike him, I'll get blood for myself if I need to, he'll have a much harder time maintaining this tough guy demeanor if he loses his mind after running out of power and slaughters half the base in his suddenly resurgent bloodlust.

"Laswell brought you here because he took pity on your pathetic life." He states cruelly highlighting this small fact, pointing one of his long fingers at me, and I just blink back at him with an annoying calmness, because that's true. Aside from the obvious fact that his and his team's Healer-usage habits also contributed to this. "You should be glad you got away with only a slap on the wrist. For years you hid yourself in the colony instead of doing the one fuckin' job you're good at. So shut up and cooperate so we can get some use of you now." He seethes, and even I am surprised at how effectively he can squeeze so much hostility into his voice, while his words snap at me like the lash of a whip. And I feel the cold grip of anger rising in me, even though I managed to get him to finally give me a small piece of his opinion. Yet I loathe to admit how well-aimed are the blows he hits my soul with, because he precisely delivers those insults that I abhor the most. I let the poison caused by his words run through every fiber of me, and it helps to maintain my incentive. What's the point of holding back my tongue now? If he can so comfortably state that he sees me as a fucking object, then why can't I hit him back? If we've come this far, now is not the time to be delicate and fear that he will crush my skull with his bare hands.

"It's interesting that the one talking about hiding is the one hiding behind a fucking mask." I hiss, coming forward with the insult that I'm sure will hit too close to home just as much. And I let the sarcasm permeate every single word, because I find it really ironic that a guy who hypocritically conceals his face behind a freaking skull is trying to preach to me. Because I have no illusions about what I did and how much I have become a reprehensible individual because of them, but he can be quite delusional if he thinks that a mask protects him from what made him wear it in the first place.

And when, almost spectacularly, his entire body stiffens with surprise, I know that I've really succeeded. But my triumph is short-lived, because he quickly gets over his shock, and in the next moment, one of his huge hands reaches me with such speed that before I can even understand what is happening, his fingers are already around my neck, and my head bangs loudly as he shoves me up against the wall behind us, like a rag doll. All air suddenly escapes my lungs as my back meets the hard surface, and if I were even a little bit closer to an average person, I'm sure I would have passed out. The burning pain in my head is splitting, and I look at the man through the vividly dancing spots in front of my eyes, in whom the murderous temper is now surging unstoppably.

"Say that again." He commands, and the warning grip of his fingers reveals that if I do so, he will show how easily he can snap my neck. Despite this, a morbid glee awakens in me, because although it might be a pitiful sight as his body, swelling with strength, corners me and towers over me, but it does not change the fact that I have become the winner of our dangerous little game. And by losing his cool at the end of my long-drawn provocation and gameplaying, he finally proved to me that despite appearing to be the paragon of an untouchable and stoic Hunter, he is just as frail as any wretch he has sworn to protect. There is a path leading to his weaknesses as well, and he offers it on a silver platter when his brain is overwhelmed by fury.

One of my trembling hands reaches for the collar of his hoodie, and despite the increasing pressure on my throat, I grasp the piece of clothing to drag him closer to me. He doesn't pull away and doesn't resist, but leans down to me with the momentum gained from the movement, and so I finally have the opportunity to examine him from an almost intimate proximity. A mean little smile spreads across my face, as the sharp line of his jaw tightens spectacularly even under the mask. And when I feel his hot breath on my face through the black textile painted with white lines, the strange tingling returns to my stomach, which urges me to run away from him and continue to tease him at the same time. And even though I know there's nothing healthy about it, I still enjoy the way the anger glows in those dark eyes that are like melted chocolate.

"Come on, kill me." I taunt him easily, and a muffled and pain-filled moan escapes my lips, as the rough material of his glove bites harder into the sensitive skin of my neck, slowly putting suffocating pressure on my trachea. "Do it, and let's see who's worse off..." I spit with clenched teeth, almost squeezing every word out of myself, struggling with the lack of oxygen that is slowly settling on me. "You…you can't do anything… because…. your team needs me."

A knife could cut through the tension that resides in the heavy silence that has settled in, and even though instead of the man's eyes I can only see black spots floating in front of me, I still know that I won. For a moment it really occurs to me that he's going to kill me, but then as quickly as he pounced on me, he loosens his vise-like grip just as suddenly. And when he finally takes a step back and releases me, I fall to my knees coughing, enjoying the air flowing into my lungs with incredible gratitude. One of my hands instinctively goes to my neck, which is throbbing with dull pain, and I am sure that soon the print of his palm and fingers will appear on my skin, resplendent in several colors, as a souvenir. But the courage given by adrenaline is still bubbling uncontrollably inside me, and this prompts me, despite the recent near-death experience, to curl the corners of my mouth into a sarcastic smile when I look up at him lying at his feet.

We don't need to exchange a single word to know what each of us is saying to the other. Even though I kneel in front of him after he narrowly ended my life, it's clear that he walked into my trap and did something that probably went against his orders. He gave into the teasing of the cowardly little bitch who had strayed into his home, and threw away his practiced cold composure to give in to his temper and attacked me. And I got what I wanted, and I saw why and how he lost his self-control. Which is a triumph, even if he will definitely make my life hell from now on, and even if this moment will never happen again if it's up to him. Because I can clearly see the message from his dark gaze. I can enjoy my morbid little joy all I want, because there won't be a next time, and he will really break my neck if I try anything funny again.

He doesn't say a word when, seemingly endless moments later, he marches towards the exit of the shooting range with heavy steps, and I don't try to stop him with further witty remarks. But I absently massage my neck with my fingers still lying on the floor, as I watch his receding figure, wondering what he's going to do next. The sneaking suspicion awakens in me that the fight between the two of us will not end, but will only venture into a much more dangerous area. But I look forward to it. Because I can already see that he is not perfect, not untouchable, and most of all pathetically human.

[drgrlfriend]

Fanfiction Deep Cuts

Tagged by @there-must-be-a-lock and copying their text because I'm lazy: okay apropos of this post —

tag a writer if you’d like them to share a never-before-seen playlist/moodboard/bit of background lore from one of their fics!

Here's one for Freedom's Reach -- The initial characterization of Bucky as a survivor of Andersonville (Civil War prison camp) was heavily inspired by this @muffinshark fan art:

https://muffinshark.tumblr.com/post/639680255788974080/a-ghost-story

Go give it some love! And here's a summary of Freedom's Reach for the curious:

Clint is about to move on when his eyes drift up to the lettering at the top of the window.

FREE PASSAGE TO THE WEST!

Clint knows that the circus folk mock him — call him too trusting, too soft-hearted — but even he knows nothing in this life comes free. The words puzzle him, and he reads them again carefully to make sure he hasn’t made a mistake.

His eyes are drawn to one posting at the very bottom corner, different from the others. This one is sun-faded and starting to yellow, curling at the corners. Clint crouches down, brow furrowing and lips moving as he sounds out the unfamiliar words.

Western Man Seeking a Husband — I am a kind and unassuming man of good financial means seeking a helpmate and companion. I have lost my arm in the service of our Union, but am otherwise free from disease. I am not particular as to looks, but am seeking an individual of equal youth and vivacity with whom I can share my affection and devotion. I am a man of quiet habits, moderate temperament, and kind disposition and would seek the same in my husband.

I tag @there-must-be-a-lock right back because I want some background on A Muscle The Size of Your Fist, as well as @kangofu-cb, @thepartyresponsible, @flawedamythyst, @1000-directions, @mariana-oconnor, and anyone else who wants to do it. :-)

[haldenlith]

So, I'm rewriting the time-skip fic I was working on with Astarion and scrapping a lot of what I had, approaching it with an entirely different plot instead (same setting, though). However, I wrote a scene that I'm still fond of, and I'd hate to see consigned to the void, so I'm sharing it with you guys.

I'll give some background context: The premise was that, flung ahead a few centuries after the events of the game, the story is that a now much older spawn-Astarion is still alive and well in turn of the century, Edwardian-themed and Industrial Revolution-hitting Baldur's Gate. Astarion's made something of a name for himself as a faux-mercantile-lord, being the purveyor of a fairly successful perfume enterprise which is, publicly, the source of his wealth. As far as the public is aware, he's just some eccentric high elf dandy, with an ornery human assistant named Charles usually tagging along. None of that is the whole story, of course, (he is a Charlatan, after all) but it's how he gets by. At this point, his beloved (my Tav, Tannivh) that he fought alongside has passed on, leaving him to manage on his own. Which is... fine... until he encounters his reincarnated self and sees the man carted off to jail. Needless to say, Astarion's instantly invested and interested in getting said reincarnated man out of jail and into his hands. Cue the scene I thought was amusing.

--

As the guard led the two men through the jail, there were a few catcalls from the rowdier inmates. Not to Charles, of course, but to Astarion. His eccentric fashion tastes seemed to always catch people’s eye, though not always in a positive light. A few glares cut through the bars from others who were less vocal. Either way, Astarion merely lightly sneered in their direction with utter disdain. He wasn’t there to be afternoon entertainment.

The guard stopped near the end of the hall, leading them to a small cell where the wood elf from earlier sat, knees bent, arms resting on them. His barely shoulder-length black hair mostly obscured his features, and the firelight glinted off the unique manacles on his wrists. It seems they didn’t trust him to not sling spells while in the cell. The guard lifted his clipboard and flipped through the pages. “Ah, yeah, here he is. Yeah, we just booked him. Said he was a nasty bugger to try and drag in. Let’s see… Felaadan — which is about as much as we got out of him for a name. Age, unknown. His charges are ten counts of vandalism, four counts of assaulting a Flaming Fist officer, one count of public disturbance, eleven counts of unlawful use of magic, and two counts of trespassing. I’m sure there will be other minor infractions levied against him when the magistrate sees him.”

Astarion plopped a hand on his hip, cocking his head to the side, peering into the cell. “Well, aren’t you a naughty boy.” The man in the cell glanced up at being addressed, but initially paid them no mind.

Initially.

There was a pause, and he did a double-take, piercing emerald eyes snapping onto Astarion’s face and meeting his gaze. A flicker of recognition passed over Felaadan’s features.

That was all Astarion needed.

“How much is his bail posted for?” 

Charles blinked at the question, and leaned in to whisper through gritted teeth, “You cannot be serious! If you want hired muscle, we know where to find it for far cheaper!”

As Astarion gently pushed Charles away, the guard sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t know, m’lord. He’s caused a lot of trouble over the past month. I doubt he even has a bail set for him, thanks to him trapping — accidentally or not — Lady Caldwell in her manor a week ago.” Astarion arched up an eyebrow, a bemused smile appearing on his face. Someone terrorized that old bint? Good.

“I think we could… work something out. You’re all so busy with… the rest of the rabble. Besides, imagine how the press would react if you flayed the skin off some poor boy for making plants spring up hither thither.”

“Well, lashes weren’t really — ”

“And wasn’t the big push going to be that The Gate was heading in a ‘new direction’ with our laws? To become a beacon of a new age? Surely denying citizens bail, exacting archaic punishments, and preventing proper rehabilitation would run counter to that ideal.”

“I mean, I guess you’re — ”

“I feel like it is my duty as a noble lord — no — a noble citizen to aid in bettering our society. I am more than willing to do my part to help clean up the streets and rehabilitate this man! Put him to doing good, honest work! So! I ask you again, my good man, what is his bail set at?” 

Charles and the guardsman both stared, a bit stunned (though for differing reasons), at Astarion.

“I, um, I’ll go talk with the Warden and see what I can do,” the guardsman replied, jerking a thumb behind him as he stepped away. Shortly after he left, Astarion jerked his chin in the man’s direction, his gaze on Charles.

“Make sure someone gets paid.” With a begrudging sigh, Charles followed after the guardsman. Once they were essentially alone, Fel’s voice finally spoke up from his side of the bars.

“... You have a lot of faith that I’ll come along quietly with you after I’m out.” A wolfish grin spread across Astarion’s face as he returned his attention to Felaadan.

“Darling, if you’re even a third of the man you were in your past life, you’ll not only do that, you’ll feel obliged to return the favor owed.”

--

And scene.

I just thought it was an interesting little scene that I had written, and that I'd share that incomplete snippet before I shove it into a folder and scrapped.