#cap strength pull up bar

[drabblesandimagines]

Swingin'

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship, absolutely fluffy nonsense once again

“Stand here for me, ma’am.”

You giggle at the odd term of address as familiar hands maneuverer you forward into position by your hips, the owner of said hands stepping back in front of you when they seemed happy with your positioning.

“Now, put your left index finger on your nose.”

You roll your eyes. “You can’t seriously be making your girlfriend take a field impairment test.”

Leon crosses his arms, trademark smirk on his lips. “Oh, I’m serious, sweetheart. Left index finger – go.”

You swallow down a hiccup as you follow his order, finding your nose with ease and smile, triumphantly.

“Now with your right.”

That one doesn’t go as smooth, your finger sliding down the side and prodding yourself in the cheek before you reposition, finding it at last. “Oops.”

“Arms straight down by your sides.” You comply at once, straightening your posture as you do. “Place your left foot directly in front of your right, heel touching toes.”

That one is a little more tricky to follow, you admit, but you think you’ve nailed it after a little bit of shuffling, though your boyfriend doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Walk forward – heel to toe every step and count aloud.”

“Heel to toe…” You mutter, looking down at your feet. “One.” You swing your right leg round a bit too dramatically and your foot lands too far in front of your left but you persevere.

“Two.” Another big step forward has you throwing your arms out for balance.

“Arms straight down by your sides, sweetpea.” Leon chides.

You huff, dropping them back down and scoot your foot backward, before stepping forward with the other. “Three…”

Unfortunately, you step too far off to the right, nearly losing your balance completely before Leon steadies you with a firm grip on your elbow.

“Yep, you are 100% not riding on the back.”

“But I promise to hold on real tight.” You press your face into his chest then, wrapping your arms around his waist in demonstration and giving a firm squeeze to show off your strength.

“Not a risk I’m willing to take.” Leon wraps his arms around you in return and presses a kiss to your crown. All it would take was for you to let go around a corner and…

He shudders, can’t even bear to imagine any further. Nope, not happening.

“I’m sorry.” Your words are muffled, feeling like an annoyance. “I really didn’t think I’d drank that much.”

And you hadn’t, it had only really hit you when you’d exited the bar into the fresh air to meet Leon on the sidewalk. He’d parked his bike a block or so away from the venue and that short, stumbled walk had set alarm bells ringing.

“I’m sure you didn’t, little lightweight that you are.” He teases. “Come on, it’s not too far a walk from here anyway – might help you sober up.”

You pull your head back and look up at him, brows furrowed. “What about your bike?”

He looks at it – his prized Ducati, security lock already in place from when he left it to walk towards the bar – and shrugs. “I can get it in the morning.”

“Uh-uh,” you step back, Leon loosening his arms as you do but still keeping you close. “You take the bike and I’ll walk home. Ooh, I could jog alongside!”

Leon smiles in amusement, but shakes his head. “Not happening.”

You look down at your feet, double-checking you were in fact wearing flats and not heels when Leon doesn’t take you seriously. He’s in his military-grade boots, as usual. You’re not sure how they can be comfortable to walk in, steel-capped toes, but he never seems to complain.

“Okay, how about you wheel it home as I walk?”

“Why are you so concerned about me leaving my bike?”

“Are you kidding me? You have the worst luck with it. If you leave it here, it’ll get stolen or hit by a truck, or… struck by lightning.”

“And my insurance covers all of those.” He turns you, gently, one arm snug around your waist and encourages you to take a step forward. “Come on, let’s get home.”

You wrap an arm tentatively around his waist in return and only make it a few steps before your insecurities arise. “Leon…”

“Mm?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Not at all, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hip in reassurance. “Why would I be? You had fun, right?”

“Yeah, I did.” You nod, thinking back over the evening. You’d met up with your friends to catch-up over some cocktails, a rare evening where you’d all happened to be free. “It was so nice seeing them all. Tabitha’s been through two boyfriends since the last time we managed it.”

“She still dating jerks?” He frowns, familiar with her tales of dating woe.

“Sadly. Are you sure there’s no suitable guys at your work?”

“Oh, I’m one of a kind, baby,” he chuckles. “Don’t wanna set her up for disappointment.”

“Maybe this one will be diff… Ooh, look!” You point just up ahead, your attention span apparently at an all-time low. “They finally finished the renovations!”

The playpark had been taped off for a while – the equipment old and outdated and more than a little bit dangerous. You pull away from him and race through the gate, making a beeline for the swings. Leon jogs behind you, stopping a few feet in front of the swing-set and places his hands on his hips as you plonk yourself down and kick your feet against the fresh tarmac.

“I don’t think you’re the demographic they’re looking for, sweetheart.”

“Says you.” You tease, the agent having a handful of more years on you. “When’s the last time you sat on a swing anyway?”

“I dunno, 30 years ago?”

“Long overdue.” You jerk your head at the swing besides you. “Bet I can swing higher than you can.”

He tilts his head and smiles. “I’m sure you can.”

“Leon, come on.” You pout, scuffing your soles on the tarmac again as you swing half-heartedly back and forth. “Please?”

How could he ever say no to that face?

He rolls his eyes and walks over to the swing, sitting down heavily as instructed, wrapping his fingers around the chains. “Happy?”

“Uh-uh, not until you swing, Kennedy.” You kick your feet against the ground in demonstration, picking up some height and speed as Leon follows suit.

You look at him and grin as the two of you begin to swing in sync, getting higher and higher. Leon’s smile only grows wider as the wind rushes through his hair.

It takes him back for a moment – back to before he knew what Umbrella and BOWs were. He still has his jokes, of course, but it had been a while since he’d allowed himself to be a little bit silly.

You just make it far too easy.

He scuffs his boots against the ground to slow down his movement and watches as you follow suit, tilting your head in concern.

“You okay?”

“Mm-hm. Come here,” he pats his lap and you jump off mid-swing, somehow managing to keep upright. Leon rolls his eyes and stops his swing completely as you step over and drop yourself sideways onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck for stability.

“I can’t ride on the back of your bike, but I can sit on your lap whilst you swing, huh?”

“Uh-uh,” he lets go of the chain and cups your face. “I just wanted a kiss.”

He closes the gap then with a soft kiss, one full of utter adoration – not too firm, but one that makes your scalp tingle as his lips caress yours, over and over.

He pulls away to lean his forehead against yours.

“I love you, sweetheart. Thanks for keeping me young.”

You let go of his neck to pat his chest, chidingly. “Come on, you’re not that old. You were swinging pretty high.”

“Yeah, guess I was.” The cocky grin crosses his face then. “Higher than you, actually.”

“Uh-uh”, you shake your head, adamantly. “You just think that cos you’re a little bit taller.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

But he’s lost you, your attention fixed on something over his shoulder. “Ooh, they’ve got a new slide too!”

You make Leon try every piece of play equipment before finally heading home, but his smile never drops.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

Comments and reblogs make my whole day x

[worldofstoriesanddreams]

Is there an age limit? Part 2

“For me?” The annoying red-clad giant of a man who was all sunshine and diabetes-inducing puppies bounced around. He played with the communicator Batman handed to him as if it were a shiny new toy.

“I can’t believe I’m in the Justice League!” The Herculean man-child squealed, grinning like an imbecile. “Somebody, kick me. Show me I’m not dreaming!” 

Guy Gardner was too happy to oblige. 

“My pleasure.”

His signature kick - a brutal, no-holds-barred move - would send a seasoned fighter flying across the floor. Guy delivered one of his specialties to Captain Whitebread.

Crack!

“My leg!” 

Agony ripped from his foot, up his leg, as he felt his bones shatter upon impact with that brick wall of a man.

“I broke my leg!” He hopped to the nearest seat, clutching his foot, hoping to earn sympathy points with Ice. 

The cold beauty looked away.

Instead, the Big Red Cheese hovered towards him.

“I’m so sorry.” The overgrown baby - who was made of concrete - had the audacity to offer him a hand. 

“Can I help you?”

“Nah, Guy’s just being Guy,” Hal pulled Justice League’s newest recruit away. “You must see our recreation rooms!”

Superman, one of the Big Three, intercepted them. 

“Wait, Cap,” he dangled a set of keys in front of Captain Whitebread. 

“You get the room beside mine,” Superman grinned as the big blue boy scout wrapped his arm around the cheesy red boy scout. 

He behaved as if Cap was his twin brother. “I’ll show you your private quarters!”

Guy’s jaw dropped as he turned as green as his ring.

While every member of the Justice League had a private room in the Watchtower, a cluster of four rooms were considered prime estate. Three of the four prestigious rooms were taken by the Big Three - Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman. 

Captain Whitebread gets the fourth? 

It is as good as telling the hero community that the dolt is one of the Big Four.

Guy knew he deserved that honour far more than that joke of a hero.

 *

“Holy Moley!” Captain Marvel’s gawked at his private quarters. “Is this for me?”

“All yours,” Superman grinned, spreading out his arms. 

His fellow Kryptonian’s childlike wonder was a welcome change from the jaded cynicism, or even worse, the self-important grandeur of some heroes.

“Can this room handle lightning strikes?” Captain Marvel ran his hand over a wall.

“Well,” Superman rock on the back of his heels. 

“We are in space, so there is no lightning out here. But it can withstand intense heat, radiation, corrosive environments and physical stress, so I’d imagine it can handle a regular thunderstorm.”

Marvel frowned, in thought. “Can it handle over a billion volts at more than 30,000 degrees Celsius?”

“I’m not sure if anything can handle that,” Superman replied.

“May not be an issue if….” Captain Marvel’s face lit up with a dazzling grin. 

“Never mind. I know what to do.” He chuckled. 

“Wisdom of Solomon,” he tapped his head.

Cap’s eyes bugged out at the fully stocked mini-fridge and pantry. He picked up a can of beer. “I’m sure you must be a certain age to drink these,” he frowned.

Superman wasn’t a fan of alcohol either. It had no effect on his Kryptonian physiology. He didn’t fancy the taste. 

“I don’t like beer or alcohol either. It might be a Kryptonian thing,” he beamed, more certain than ever that he was no longer the last of his kind. “I had mine swapped for milk,” he grinned. “I can arrange that for you too.”

“That would be cool!” Cap looked delighted. “Can I have chocolate milk?”

Cap behaved like a kid let loose in a toy shop as Superman showed him the room’s features.

“The bed and walls are reinforced, but cannot withstand our strength, if you toss and turn in your sleep,” Superman warned. “Do you sleepwalk?”

“No,” Cap pursed his lips. “I’ll power down before bed so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

Power down? Does Marvel have portable red sun lamps? 

That’s a brilliant idea he could adopt.”

For the rest of the morning, Superman had the pleasure of showing his new brother the rest of the Watchtower.

“Superman, this place is awesome!” Cap remarked

“Call me Kal,” Superman replied. 

“Okay Kal. You were saying you have Polar Bears in your Fortress of Solitude. Can I play with them?” Marvel pleaded with large, puppy eyes.

“Sure, Will-em,” Kal replied. 

Cap cringed. “I rather you call me Billy. William sounds so… old.”

“Bill, then?” Kal asked.

“Bill is good,” Billy replied.

Marvel prefers his civilian Earth name. 

He probably was raised on Earth too.

So civilian Earth name it is.

“Then call me Clark.”

Bill preferred flying to using the zeta tubes. He had a point. One can never tire of the magnificent view, flying on your power from the space station to earth.

“You keep your key where everyone can see?” Bill’s eyes widened at the large golden key outside Superman’s ice fortress.

“It’s made of dwarf star material and weighs millions of tons,” Clark smirked. “It’s not like anyone can pick it up and let themselves in.” He fitted the massive key into the keyhole.

“I bet I can,” Bill smirked. 

“Kryptonians can,” Clark replied. “But we’re almost extinct.” He handed the key to Marvel, who returned it to its place where it doubled up as an aircraft navigation marker.

“Holy Moley!” Bill’s jaw dropped lower as they walked into the fortress. “Are those your parents?” He pointed up at the statues Kal had created in memory of his birth parents.

“Yes. Jor-el and Lara Lor-Van,” Clark replied. “I was a baby when they sent me away. I don’t remember anything about them.”

“Oh,” Bill squeezed Clark’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay.” Clark assured him. “Ma and Pa Kent took me in when I landed on earth as a baby. They raised me as their own son.”

“That’s cool. I don’t have parents. I lost mine when I was five,” Bill’s eyes glistened with tears. 

“I can still remember them, though the memories are getting fuzzy.”He dropped his smile.

“You can always visit me and my family at the farm,” Superman patted his back.

“Farm?” Cap’s eyes widened. “You grew up in a farm?”

“Raised there. My folks live there,” he chuckled as he led Bill through the fortress' many chambers. “Talking about families, there’s a polar bear family I want you to meet.”

He opened a door that led into a natural cave just outside the Fortress of Solitude.

“My neighbours,” Clark gestured at a family of polar bears. 

The father and mother bears nodded at the men and chuffed their greeting.

Bill chuffed back. 

Then he whimpered like a playful bear cub.

Curious cubs approached Cap with their heads up and ears forward.

The biggest baby bear swatted the air in a playful mock attack. 

Captain Marvel pawed back as younger cubs rolled around. 

Their mother walked slowly towards Cap, and sniffed at him. 

The babies followed suit. 

Between the cuffs, whines and whimpers, the bears seemed to be having some sort of conversation with the man.

“Do you understand what they are saying?” Clark walked up to them, getting a growl in response.

“Oh sorry,” Bill replied. “I keep forgetting we aren’t speaking English.”

“Huh?” Clark frowned. Confused.

“Sasha here was telling me about your noisy machines driving their fish away,” Bill added. “She asks you to be a good neighbour and keep the noise down.”

Apparently, the mother bear was Sasha, the father bear was Phil.

“I’m hardly here,” Clark replied.

Bill chuffed at the mother bear, getting a series of growls in return.

“She says, you may not be here, but your machines still make too much noise. These two days, the sounds are more frequent and worse,” Bill explained.

Sasha chuffed some more.

“Then there are the newcomers in shiny suits that came through this week,” translated Bill.

“That’s not possible,” Clark had a nagging feeling something was wrong.

Phil roared. 

Sasha herded the cubs away.

“They are coming again. The bears smell them,” Clark translated for Bill. 

“Sasha is asking you to tell your guests to be more considerate.”

“What guests?” 

A sudden pain stabbed through Clark’s entire body. 

Kryptonite.

He searched for the source, but his super-vision failed him. A wave of dizziness hit him. Hard.

“Are you okay, Clark,” Bill caught him before he hit the ground.

“Kryptonite,” his vision turned blurry as an armoured figure bearing a large chunk of Kryptonite stalked past the bears, towards him.

“I got this.” 

Bill’s voice was the last thing Clark heard before he blacked out.

*

“Batman! Superman’s poisoned!” Captain Marvel strode into the Watchtower carrying a limp, green-faced Superman.

“What happened?” Batman led Marvel to The Infirmary.

“Kryptonite bomb exploded in our faces,” Marvel grimaced. “Shards of Green K pierced his skin. I removed as much as I could but I don’t have X-ray vision, but I think he breathed particles of Kryptonite, so can you check his lungs?”

“Hmmph,” Batman scrutinised Marvel. “Why aren’t you affected?”

“Kryptonite doesn’t bother me,” Marvel replied. “We were attacked in the Arctic. Who do I hand the culprits over to?”

“Bring them here for interrogation,” Batman replied. If these guys infiltrated Superman’s fortress, he wanted to find out more. “Local authorities don’t have the facilities or security to store technology that is advanced enough to take down Superman. Bring everything here for safekeeping.”

“Yes, sir!” Marvel did a chipper salute and disappeared in a red blur.

So, Captain Marvel is immune to Kryptonite. He doesn’t have X-ray vision either. The man is clearly not a Kryptonian.

As he applied the ultrasonic vibratory device to Superman’s chest to loosen the kryptonite particles in his lungs, Batman pondered on the new information that Marvel had revealed about himself.  

Marvel may not be a Kryptonian, but he could be a Daxamite. 

These are descendants of Kryptonians who left Krypton to explore space. They have the same powers as Kryptonians but do not have x-ray vision. 

Although they are not affected by Kryptonite, Daxamites have a fatal sensitivity to lead.

Batman set up the portable lung lavage system to wash out Superman’s lungs. 

Then he headed to his private quarters where he kept his contingencies against every member of the Justice League.

He removed the Kryptonite from Marvel’s box and replaced it with lead bullets. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Great Escape

Warnings: allusions to non con/dubcon, kidnapping, drugging and other possible dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Here is another wish! This one with Lloyd.

Please leave some feedback so I know you want me to do more of the wishes I got. Otherwise, I find it hard to keep my motivation.

Wish Corrupted: I wish Steve or Lloyd (dealers choice - I'm feeling indecisive today) would save me from my crazy, stress-filled job and give me more free time to enjoy my hobbies (reading, crocheting, quilting, or baking).

You hit the bar on the door. It doesn’t budge. You look up frantically at the beaming red EXIT sign above. You hit it again, again. You throw your body against the metal barrier, the calm footsteps closing in beneath the rampant puff of your breath.

“Real cute to see ya try, princess, but I’m doing you a goddamn favour,” his voice rolls down the hallways towards you.

You turn, pressing yourself to the door, pushing your elbows back as you continue your struggle to find some give. His shadow is skewed by the emergency lights, the stale office made sinister by the outage. You whimper. Who is this man?

“Aw, you don’t gotta be scared,” he silhouette reaches up with his pistol, scratching his head nonchalantly with the barrel, “but I can’t say it doesn’t fill my balls with joy.”

“Who are you?” You breath, choking on a sob as he struts closer, steps slow but startling. He doesn’t hurry, he knows you have nowhere to go. “Please, I… I didn’t do anything. Don’t hurt me.”

“I told you, kitten, you don’t needa be scared,” he coos, “I’m not gonna hurt you… much.” He snickers, the hall darkening the closer he gets, “I’m gonna do you a real big favour.”

You sink down to your knees. The door isn’t opening. You’re trapped. You put and arm up as you slump against the metal, waiting for the end. This psycho is going to murder you.

“Just don’t move,” he slithers as he stops before you.

He crouches and brings the silencer under your chin forcing it up. You bat your lashes and peer up at him. His face is lost in the dark. He tuts as pushes the barrel firm against you.

“Such a pretty face,” he purrs, “all you gotta do is hold still.”

There is no sudden explosion of gunpowder, no bang, just a prick. You slap your neck and he pulls away, chuckling as he holds up the long syringe. You brace the door with your other arm and whine.

“What was that?” You croak.

“Shhh,” he says, “deep breaths.”

Your muscles slacken, your lungs grow heavy, and your head wobbles. You lean into the door as the strength drains from you, eyelids drooping as the world tilts dangerously. The blackness of your subconscious swallows you up before you collapse.

💉

You come to slowly. Your body is stiff and your head is muddy. Your eyes open bit by bit, taking in the expanse of the strange room. The unfamiliarity fills you with dread. What is this place? How did you get here?

You can’t remember. You groan and touch your head, your hand clumsy, seeming almost detached from the rest of you. It takes all your effort to sit up. You gape at the pink skirt across your lap, the scalloped hem, and the tight cinch of the belt around your waist. You never wore anything like that.

You plant your hand on the cushy mattress beneath you and lean on your arm as you steady yourself. You let your eyes explore. The wooden bedframe, the frilly edge of the sheets poking out from beneath the duvet, the round rug beneath the bed, the matching night table; every piece pristine and exact. Like the replica of a fifties sitcom.

You turn your head. There’s a double-wide dresser with a mirror over it. Your reflection gives you a start. You shift your body to face yourself. You watch as you stand, as if you’re looking at someone else. The pink dress buttons up the bodice, cap sleeves top your shoulders, and a round collar frames your neck. 

You lean forward, hands on the dresser as you gape at yourself. This can’t be. Where are you? Who are you? No more stiff-cut blazer, no tucked blouse, no tailored pants. It’s a twisted joke.

The door opens but you can’t bring yourself to move. You glance at it from the mirror. A man enters but you can only see to his shoulders. He stops just inside the door.

“You’re awake,” he says flatly, “nice to have you back in the land of the living, buttercup.”

The voice sends a shiver through you. You know it. You close your eyes and see the flashing emergency lights, the nearing shadows, feel the cold barrel on your chin. You spin to face the man and look at him head-on.

His hair is slicked back, his sides buzzed, a trim of bristly hair across his lip, a singular flaw in an otherwise handsome face. A stranger, like the woman in the mirror. You grip the edge of the dresser and stare at him.

He laughs and reaches for you. You cower as he caresses your cheek.

“I couldn’t figure out the makeup so you’ll have to do all that,” he says.

“What– what is this?”

He snorts and tilts his head, letting his hand fall down your throat. He inhales as his eyes follow his touch and he plays with your collar.

“Not much of a thanks,” he hooks his finger under the top of your dress and draws you away from the dress. He keeps you close as he watches you placidly, “you’re free, sunshine.”

“What? Free?”

“That corporate wheel was grinding you down,” he intones, “it’s your turn to do the grinding.”

You shake your head. You don’t understand. He sweeps his other arm around you, groping your ass as he pulls you flush to him.

“Keep me happy, and I’ll do the same,” he rocks you with him, “eight hours at a desk or a couple minutes on your knees, I know what I’d choose.”

You blink at him in horror.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have more than enough time to catch up on that book,” he affirms.

“Book?”

He nods towards the bed and you notice the familiar curled corner. The same book you’ve kept on your coffee table for months, the one you never had the time or energy to finish. You gulp and look back at him.

“No more spreadsheets, cupcake,” he winks, “but you’ll damn sure be spreading those legs.”

[thegnomelord]

Ripping the sheets at the thought of prompt #25 with Draconic Price with Mage!reader who can't handle alcohol that well ❤️‍🩹

Sure thing anon, sorry it took so long getting to your prompt 😅 Play the game HERE

Prompt: Drunken confessions

CW: SFW, GN reader, Monster AU, Gn Reader, Dragon Price drinking, drunk confessions, fluff.

To say you're a lightweight is to say the sky's blue. It's an endless source of amusement to the lads; all they have to do is sit back after a stressful mission, give you booze, and watch the fireworks — literally, when your magic sparks across the bar, little sparks crackling along the ceiling, growing wilder with each shot you take down.

Price smirks behind the rim of his beer as he watches you and Soap knock back shots of liquor in a drinking game, not even trying to understand the slurred tangent you're on; mages are nerds at heart, and the booze has melted your tough guy act and leaving you rambling on about the intricacies of magic. It's one of the things he likes about you, how passionate you are; a good treasure to keep in his hoard.

But Price figures it's time for you to go when you nearly set a trashcan on fire in the corner, your vision long since doubling, the alcohol burning in your mind so strongly a bit of your original eye color peeks out beneath the unnatural glow of mana in your eyes.

"Come on you muppet," He signs, tugging you up by the back of your clothing like you're a wet kitten. You whine and attempt to struggle, but his draconic strength far surpasses yours. "It's far past your bed time." He adds, a little rumble in the back of his throat making liquid heat pool in your belly.

"But captain-" You grumble, the world spinning like a kaleidoscope as Price pulls you out of the bar, enough sense in your brain to throw a middle finger at the rest of your team when they wolf whistle and holler.

"Not a pipe out of you." Price sighs, wing stretching out like a shroud around your back, trying not to pay attention to the way his draconic blood sings when you lean in close; trying not to think how well you fit against him, like a treasure he can hoard. "C'mon, I'll drive you home."

You mumble a few curses under your breath as he helps you into the passenger seat of his car, your inhibitions so lowered so that when he leans over to buckle your seatbelt you tilt your head, burying your nose into his neck and taking in his scent, the smell of musk and cigar smoke filling your senses. Price does his best to reign in his draconic blood, a flash flood of desire burning in his head.

"Easy there mage," He huffs and shakes his head, pushes you back into a seat with an amused snort, settling into the car. The drive back to base is like a blur to you, spent rambling about something even you can't remember as Price just hums in acknowledgement, occasionally having to swat away your wandering hands trying to grope his thigh.

Price has to carry you to your room as you're so drunk you can't stand straight, head nodding as you slowly fall asleep in the car before you even reach the gates. Price tries not to think of how well you fit in his arms as he hoists you up, holding you close to his chest. You head ends up laying on his chest, face buried in his neck.

"Hey cap?" You mumble against his skin, squirming a bit as he carries you.

"Yes?" He asks, heart beating just a little faster as you clumsily wrap your arms around his neck. You mumble something into skin, so soft and low even his advanced hearing can't pick it up, making his ears strain to hear you as he enters your room. "You need to speak up there, mage."

"I love you cap." You slur, so honest and loving, and Price nearly topples over, feet catching on a random piece of junk you've got strewn around your room. But you choose that exact moment to squirm and he ends up tossing you onto your bed, your hangs clutching him tight and pulling him down too.

"Fuck-you bloody muppet!" Price grows, shifting to put the tension off his wing from how awkwardly he'd landed. He attempts to get up, but you're stronger than you look when you want to be, clinging to him like a little koala with your arms and legs wrapped around him.

"Nooo-" You whine, burying your head into his chest, squeezing your arms when you feel his skin is as warm as yours, your mana and dragon fire so similar it's like there's no barrier between your chests. "Mhm, love you John," You say again, making his head short circuit for a few moments, draconic instincts sparking up, wing and tail wrapping around you.

"You-" He sighs as he catches himself, embarrassment blooming in his chest at how he's acting like a young welp. By the time he's calmed down, you've already fallen asleep and using his pecs like a pillow, snoring lightly as you drool over his chest.

"You. . ." Price hums, a small smile tugging on his lips. He shuffles in an attempt to get comfortable, your bed isn't made to house two people but you're cuddled up to him so closely it's like you two are one person. "Bloody mage." He huffs under his breath, his clawed hands carding through your hair, sharp fingers scratching your scalp.

A happy little rumble leaves his chest when you nuzzle closer, your body so warm thanks to the mana in your system. It feels. . . nice, more than nice, his draconic ancestry purrs in his ears and he pulls you closer so your head rests buried in his neck, your and his scents mixing together.

Chances are you won't remember any of this. Chances are you'll deny your words, say it was just belligerent nonsense. But for now you love him, and he leans in to nuzzle his cheek against your hair, big burly arms wrapping around your middle, whispering lowly in your ear— a statement. "Love you too, you muppet."

[ssaemilyhotchner]

Hey congratulations on the milestone 🥳

Can I request letter A 🫶🏻

hope you enjoy & ty for participating! 🌹

OTHER 1K DRABBLES | Read on AO3 Join the celebration by requesting a letter!

letter: A | prompt: adrenaline | wc: 2.1k | cw: alcohol, mostly just them making out bc Emily doesn't get her way lol | a/n: Post-ep for 7x15, "A Thin Line."

Please do not repost (reblogs welcome) or otherwise claim as your own.

--

“Prentiss.”

Without looking up from her desk, Emily simply made an unintelligible noise in response.

“Come on, Emily.” Hotch’s voice was gentle yet insistent. He’d been watching her stare blankly at her after-action report for nearly an hour, her leg bouncing rapidly all the while. Idly, he wondered if she’d even be able to bear weight on the leg and found himself moving in a little closer in case he needed to steady her. “I’m taking you home.”

Emily finally raised her gaze to meet his. “I don’t want to go home.”

He nodded knowingly. He had expected as much, knew what the weight of silence in an empty apartment felt like, especially after a case like this one. “Then let’s get a drink. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Emily studied him for a long while: the strength in the set of his jaw, the sharp angle of his body, his hand heavy on the back of her chair. What she really wanted was to be reckless, anything to stave off the dread that had weaseled its way under her skin. Running herself ragged at the gym, maybe, or getting into a fight, or fucking a stranger.

But, she conceded, in lieu of those, there were worse ways to cap the evening than at O’Keefe’s with Hotch. 

--

From the moment they set foot in the bar, their eyes were everywhere but on each other. Even with the bass of the unrecognizable song pounding through them like a heartbeat, silence pressed pointedly between them as Hotch’s mind raced. As he thought about how everything had narrowed to the sight of her emerging from Hilary Ross’s home, blood snaking bright red down her fingers. As he thought about the way fear had dried his mouth, tasting bitter on his tongue.

She had been quick to reassure everyone that she was okay, of course, a demonstration of overcompensation that had only made him more apprehensive. He knew she could feel his eyes on her during their flight home, especially as Morgan had moved to sit by her, clutching her good hand in apology. He had watched Emily’s lips twist teasingly as she once again assured the other man that San Bernardino was not an echo of that warehouse in Boston just a year before.

He had watched as Morgan rose and returned to his previous seat, and Emily’s careful mask crumpled ever so slightly around the edges.

He had watched as her gaze found his and held it, a challenge.

“I’m okay.”

Hotch blinked in surprise; he hadn’t expected she would be the one to broach the topic. He took a long pull of his beer. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

That earned him a trademark Prentiss glare. His lips twitched at the sight, glad her fight wasn’t gone entirely. “I know,” she replied testily.

“Do you? Because your thumb is bleeding from where you’re picking and I don’t think you’ve noticed.” He watched as she snapped back into her body and reached across their small booth for a napkin to staunch the small crescent of blood. “Your first injury in the field since Doyle, and with Morgan as your partner nonetheless,” he said carefully. “What you’re feeling is understandable, Emily.”

“Hotch,” she warned, before downing the rest of her negroni. “Your projecting isn’t exactly making me feel better.”

He raised his hands slightly. “I’m not projecting. I’m just looking out for a friend.”

She knew he was right, of course; no amount of overcompensating could make her do Morgan’s healing for him, but when she closed her eyes, she could still see the all too familiar look on his face as he registered her injury. She didn’t want to be thinking about any of that right now, though, and she certainly didn’t want the play-by-play of her boss profiling her in real time. 

Emily grumbled something that sounded a lot like who died and made you my therapist then pushed herself up onto her feet. “I need another drink.”

--

“I want to dance,” Emily said, several shots later. “And I want you to come with me.”

Hotch frowned pointedly at her sling. “Emily, you need to go home and rest.”

“You’re so serious,” she whined. “Come on, Hotch. Loosen up for a night,” she said with a devious smile. She traced a slender finger around the rim of his glass of whiskey, toying with the idea of getting him another drink—anything to get the tension out of his body. “Please? For me?”

Hotch eyed her pretty pout warily—he had always been a sucker for her doe eyes, and he was beginning to think she knew—then stood and extended his hand. “One dance.”

“Excellent.”

They both knew it wouldn’t just be one. 

Emily hummed contently as they moved in tandem to the beat of the music. His touch was light and respectful but warm, and she found herself leaning into it more and more. Inhibitions blissfully lowered, she dropped her fingers to the curve of his arm to trace a vein there, causing his hip to stutter accidentally against hers. Her gaze snapped up to his then, and her heart pounded at the look of obvious want in his eyes. Her resulting smile was beatific.

“What’s making you smile like that?” Hotch murmured, the low thrum of his voice only stoking her need.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly, biting her bottom lip and watching as his eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up.

He chuckled. “You’re not a very good liar when you’re tipsy.”

“But you have to admit, I’m a pretty good dancer for someone who got shot less than 24 hours ago,” she said brightly, before looping her good arm around his neck and closing the space between them—the space he’d been trying diligently, if not half-heartedly, to keep.

“That you are.”

Fuck, she felt good as she moved against him. He vaguely registered the alarm bells sounding at the back of his mind at the heat building between them, but Hotch couldn’t think beyond the fact that this was Emily and she was in his arms, just like he had wanted for years. Every glance through his blinds at her in the bullpen, every cup of coffee delivered to him with a smile, every swish of her ponytail when they were paired together in the field, all of it building and cooling and culminating here.

“You were right, by the way,” he said eventually. She made a curious noise in response, the sound turning into a giggle at the shiver she pulled from him as her thumb traced mindless little patterns at the very top of his spine. “I was projecting. I didn’t want you to be alone this evening…but I didn’t want to be, either. I needed to see that you were okay.”

Emily looked up at him, besotted, then took his hand in hers and placed it over her chest. He clenched his jaw at the action; he could feel her heart, strong and racing at his touch, and was instantly consumed by the need to find every way he could elevate her heartbeat. To feel her heartbeat at every join of her, every join of them.

“Feel that?” she whispered, cutting through his reverie. “I’m okay.”

--

He hadn’t meant to kiss her back. Really, he hadn’t.

One minute, they were dancing, their bodies moving in sync as they toed the line of propriety with stolen touches, a nose against a cheek; the next, she was silencing his laugh by pressing her lips to his, rejoicing at the groan that rattled in the back of his throat as he felt her tongue coaxing his mouth open.

Hotch’s grip on her hips tightened, but the taste of gin and campari in her sweet mouth made him channel all of his restraint and pull away. “Emily—”

She moved her lips to the corner of his mouth. “If you even try to stop this,” she whispered, “I will break your jaw.”

Hotch barked out a surprised laugh. “Sweet talker,” he said dryly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Emily grinned widely. “I like the sound of that.”

As he piled her into the car, Hotch felt a pang of guilt at the victorious expression that had flickered across Emily’s face. He knew what she was craving; she needed a release, she needed him, but no matter how much he wanted the same, he knew he couldn’t follow through. Not tonight.

Finally reaching Emily’s place after much giggling and wandering fingers at stop lights, Hotch watched amusedly as she threw herself onto her couch. “Can I get you anything?” He eyed the Bialetti on her stovetop before sitting down beside her. “Some espresso to sober you up?”

“I’m not drunk,” she countered unconvincingly.

He snorted. “How about a different method? Dave shared a hangover trick with me when I was still fresh out of the Seattle field office. You’d just need amaro, which feels like something Emily Prentiss would keep around.”

She gave a throaty laugh at that and the sound sent a coil of pleasure through him. “I do have amaro. You are not the only one Dave has ever plied with expensive alcohol and gotten drunk. But,” she said, holding his gaze, “I don’t want to talk about Dave anymore.”

And at that, she straddled him. 

Hotch’s eyes fell shut at the press of Emily’s body against his. There was something about her that triggered the most visceral reactions from him, his throat constricting and chest tightening as her teeth found the shell of his ear, the sensitive spot right below it. Perhaps it was that he had imagined this so many times before: imagined unraveling her carefully constructed exterior and coming undone to her, with her, imagined finding her pulse point with his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, only now he was actually doing it and she was whining and it was the most exquisite sound he had ever heard. 

Emboldened by the sear of his mouth on her neck, Emily reached for him with renewed determination and urgency, fisting a hand in his shirt and making to tug it upwards over his head. It was the jolt to the present that Hotch needed, and he forced himself away, panting heavily. He wanted her to keep going, wanted to feel her, wanted to press his mouth to more of her, cut through her anxiety and adrenaline right to the core of her and make her fly apart; but instead he dropped his face in the curve of her collarbone and left a kiss there. “Emily, you have no idea how hard it is for me to stop you right now,” he ground out, “but we shouldn’t do this tonight.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea how hard you are,” she purred, rocking her hips against his and rejoicing in his resulting whispered fuck. “I want you, Hotch.”

“And I want you, too. I have for years.” Hotch smiled a little at the pretty blush that colored her already ruddy cheeks at his words. “But regardless of how eloquently you protest, I’m going to feel like I’m taking advantage of you right now,” he said as she opened her mouth to interject, “and I don’t want this to be something you regret tomorrow morning.”

Ghosting her lips against his in a barely-there kiss, Emily slowly shook her head. “I could never regret this,” she whispered. 

“Please, Emily,” Hotch said a final time, stilling her hand as she tried taking her own shirt off this time. He rose to his feet, Emily still wrapped snugly around him. “Not like this. We need to get you to bed.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time,” she said cheekily; but she followed him obediently, flashing him an inviting smile once she had stretched out across her bed. She watched him hungrily as he raked his gaze over her and swallowed thickly. 

Needing the distraction, Hotch slipped away to find ibuprofen and fill her a glass of water. When he returned, she had dressed down and removed her sling, and was staring at him as if he were stupid, but he just shook his head and sat in bed beside her. “You’ve had a really hard day,” he said gently, running a hand through her silky hair. “When the alcohol and adrenaline wear off tomorrow, I’ll be right here, okay?”

“Sometimes I hate that you’re such a good guy,” she said with a concessional sigh; but when she looked at him, all he saw reflected in her gaze was admiration.

Hotch couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “I’m sorry.”

Emily laughed then, lolling her head to the side to peer at him with tired eyes. “Thanks, Hotch,” she said softly.

“Of course, Emily.”

She was out in a matter of minutes.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Tainted Love 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: The stars seem to align for the first time when you and Ross Colton meet up for drinks while the Colorado Avalanche are in town. But it's a dangerous game you're playing because the spark is still there and is hard to ignore even with the both of you being spoken for. Kinks & Tropes: CHEATING (putting this in all caps because I want to make sure it's clear. It is a very prominent theme in this fic), alcohol consumption, car sex, unprotected sex, no forms of contraception used, pull-out method, dirty talk Word Count: 4.5k+

I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me.

The cold, caught somewhere between a fall and winter wind, reddened your cheeks more than blush ever could. It stung as you walked through the quiet streets; you head down and the collar of your jacket popped in a desperate attempt to stay home. It was late, the only life seen in the bars and restaurants on either side of you as you passed. The streets were empty, the bustle of traffic long forgotten. The only vehicle was a single cab picking up patrons or dropping them off. There were still four hours until closing time. 

This, usually, was late enough for you to crawl into bed. You'd throw on a Netflix show, or listen to an audio book until you fell asleep. But you made plans. With your boyfriend out of town, you shouldn't have, but you did. 

You felt like you had to, because this might have been the only opportunity you had to see Ross. 

In town for one night only, and with his curfew broadened just because they had granted him more time to spend with his family, you couldn't say no. You never had said no to him either. The two of you shared a connection like you couldn't describe. Ever since you had first met on a dating app after one casual swipe in the right direction, you had clicked.

And even after the first date didn't work out, the encounter lasted no more than 5 minutes. You still kept in touch. You would get the occasional check in text. But beyond that, the two of you had gone your separate ways. 

You had your boyfriend, and months later he had his girl. And your respective relationships remained unbroken, fully committed. But in time, even after months of not speaking to one another, you always ended up in each other's messages. Just to catch up, nothing more, always innocent - or at least, that was what you told yourselves. 

And that's what meeting up in a bar you'd never been to would be. Just catching up over a drink. Nothing more. 

That was what you told yourself when you stopped at the front door, her head tipping back to look up at the dimly lit sign. Your body quivered with a shaky breath. 

Nerves? No. Ross never made you nervous. 

You knew what you were feeling, but you couldn't admit it to yourself. It was wrong. Yet, you did it anyway. 

You were greeted with a gust of warmth, a smile spreading over your face as you entered the busy bar. Bodies crowded around the bar top, music blared, and each television was broadcasting one sports event or another. 

Finding a table near the back, the broadcast talking about tomorrow's Devil's game was a welcome distraction. You watched it as you draped your jacket over the back of your chair, and as you glanced over the menu, you had pulled up on your phone with the help of the QR code stuck on the tabletop. It was a distraction more than anything. You almost always ordered the same drink, no matter where you went. You just wanted to look busy until Ross arrived. 

He announced his arrival discretely to not draw the attention of the surrounding people. He did it simply by speaking your name as his hand caressed over the small of your back in a featherlight touch. 

Your smile was too wide as you answered him, “Ross.”

Without thought, you stood up from your seat and threw your arms around him in a brief embrace. And he returned it, the strength of his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. And for a moment, the two of you just stood there - just long enough to enjoy his embrace, but not long enough for it to be awkward. Then, your limbs fell away from him so naturally as you perched yourself back up on your chair. 

From there, you admired him as he rounded the table to sit across from you. Ross was over dressed in every sense of the word. He wore a white button down, your eyes drawn to the black buttons that trailed down his chest, and he shrugged off his sports coat, the color one you couldn't quite make out under the dim multi-color lights of what you deemed a dive bar. 

He draped the coat over the back of his chair, and his eyes that were bright with his smile found you. 

“I'm a bit over dressed, huh?” His question laced with a chuckle as he sat. 

You nodded. “Just a bit.” 

“Just came from dinner with the family,” he explained, as if you needed one. You weren't going to complain. He looked good in a suit. There were worse things you could get stuck looking at. 

“How was it? They must have been excited to see you.” 

And that was how the conversation began. So effortlessly, so naturally, as you moved from one topic to the next. His family, yours, how he had settled into Colorado, his girlfriend, your boyfriend. You talked about it all over a drink that quickly led to two. 

Once you finished sucking back nothing more than melted ice cubes from the bottom of your glass, you were cursing yourself for being such a lightweight. You could feel the buzz of alcohol coursing through you. The jitters in your hands, and the racing of your heart in your chest. One drink more and your brain would have fogged, but there wouldn't be another. 

It was late, and Ross was already asking for the bill. 

He paid it in full. 

“Thank you, you didn't have to do that,” you said as you stood up from your seat. Thankfully, you didn't waver on your feet. 

“You can cover it next time,” he said in such a way you believed him. 

But you knew there wouldn't be a next time. He would be flying back to Colorado after the game, and he had a girlfriend. You had a boyfriend. It couldn't happen again. It shouldn't. 

Together, you shrugged on your coats in the first awkward silence of the evening. Was this where you should say goodbye? Should you let him go on ahead and order yourself some water?

“Let me walk you to your car?” Ross’ voice cut through the silence. He had made up your mind for you. 

You nodded. “Yeah, sure. That'd be great.”

Keeping your head down, you left the bar together. Ross’ frame leading the way through the crowd that was now dwindling. It would be closing time soon. 

Stepping out into the cold air, you took in a sharp exhale. Its harshness almost left you light headed - or maybe that was the alcohol. 

You should have drunk some water. 

“I'm parked just up this way,” you told him and began the walk along the sidewalk with a casual stride. 

You walked together, your arms bumping up against one another with each casual stride. The contact left a soft smile on your lips, your gaze rising to look at him out of the corner of your eye. His hands had dipped into his pockets, and his collar popped to keep himself from the cold. And you stared for a moment, admiring how the city light reflected off his features. And how it ignited his too-perfect smile when he caught you staring. 

“You look amazing tonight,” his voice cut through the silent street, sending goosebumps to rise on your skin. 

Your smile tugged a little tighter at your cheeks. 

He shouldn't be giving you a compliment like that. You shouldn't have liked hearing them. But you didn't stop them. 

“Thanks, but I feel a little underdressed.”

Ross’ smile split wider, and a laugh erupted from his lips as he threw his head back. It was a laugh so comforting, so familiar, that it warmed your entire body as you came to stand in the empty parking lot where your vehicle sat alone. 

“This is me,” you gestured to the mid size SUV with the lazy sway of your arm. 

“Well,” he sighed out almost hesitantly, “it was really nice seeing you-”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah it was.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, smiles on your faces and your eyes fixated on one another. Unmoving. Not quite wanting to leave. 

Then, he was stepping forward, his arms encasing you in his embraces, and your arms winding around him in return. Your cheek rested against his chest, his warmth radiating to you as he held you. You stood there, your eyes shutting for a moment as you relished in the feeling of him. The feeling of his arms wrapped around your body. The feeling of his hands on your back, and one dipping down. Down to where your ass peeked out from the edge of your jacket. There he gave it a gentle squeeze, and you could feel his gentle exhale as your own was trapped in your own chest. 

He shouldn't have touched you like that. 

You shouldn't have let him. 

And you shouldn't have liked it. 

Drawing back slowly, you tilted your head back to look up at him. And Ross was looking back down at you. His bright eyes were half closed in a dreamy gaze and the corners of his smile had gone soft, leaving his lips slightly parted as he let out each exhale. 

It washed over your face in a blossom of heat, and smelt of the sweet alcohol on his tongue. Ross’ face was so close to yours you could practically taste it–no, you just wanted to. 

“Good luck tomorrow,” you muttered out a quiet goodbye, your limbs not ready to recoil away from his body yet. 

“You should come, I can get you a ticket,” he offered, his words a breath into your hair that ignited your skin as he spoke. 

“I might take you up on it,” you told him, but you wouldn't. 

“I'll see you soon,” Ross sighed, his words igniting your skin as he spoke. 

Yeah, sure you will. Was what you wanted to say. To mock him with those words and a hint of a laugh. Because you knew how this would go. You would go home tonight, and Ross would go back to the hotel room. He would ask if you made it home safe, and you would answer. But then you wouldn't hear from him for days, weeks, maybe months until you crossed his mind again, or he was left with the lonely opportunity to message you. 

Instead, you said nothing, and you smiled a soft, tired smile. 

It was then his hands fell away from you, his touch trailed down your curves, ghosting over the peaks of your hips before you were void of his touch, his warmth, and left numb by his absence. 

So suddenly you felt cold, empty as you stood there in the parking lot. Your head spun, your eyes shutting tight as you tried to process a single thought. But there, as you sought for reason, for logic, there was only action. 

Your arm lurched out before you could stop it, and your hand found what it was looking for as fingers wrapped around Ross’ wrist and dragged down to coast over his palm. Your fingers traced over each crease slowly until you could feel his fingers so close to slipping away, but then his hand captured your hand in return. 

The sudden grasp of your hands together had his body recoiling into your own. There was a moment of tension in your arms before Ross stepped back into his place in front of you. Then, he took another step, forcing you to step back again and again until you were trapped between his body and your car door. He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. You didn’t have to. You could see all of what he wanted to say in the look of his eyes and how they searched yours so desperately for what you wanted from him. 

But what was it that you wanted? 

You said your goodbyes, yet it didn’t feel like enough. It never did, and that was probably why you so desperately clung to any kind of relationship with him. To fill and satisfy a void your boyfriend left in you, but also in hope that one day have the satisfaction of being with him the way you always thought you might but never could be. 

You had always run to Ross in a sense, especially during hardships. He knew you better than most, and he knew more of your secrets than anyone - and you were the same for him. Through tears and through laughter, the love you shared was unique. Unlike any other. Tainted. So close to friendship, but there would always be more. 

And for the first time, it truly felt like you could finally cross those lines together. With his girlfriend back in Colorado, and your boyfriend away on business, it almost felt like fate that the two of you were left alone in New Jersey together. 

His girlfriend didn’t know you existed, but you knew about her. 

Your boyfriend didn’t know he existed, but Ross knew about him. 

The two of you knew every little detail of each other's lives with your partners and helped each other through problems in your relationships that no one else seemed to understand. And it all seemed to be for nothing as you stood there in the night just waiting, hoping that he would kiss you. 

You held your breath as Ross’ hand came up to stroke over your cheek. His touch was so warm, so gentle, that it left your every thought melting from your brain. You held no worry, only anticipation that coiled in the depths of your stomach and left your limbs to tremble. All you could focus on was his fingertips and how they traced every angle of your cheek, down over your jaw, and finally to your lips that quivered with an uneven breath. 

It left your chest aching as you held the softened gaze of his eyes as they moved in as he closed the distance between you. You managed a single jagged breath before it was stolen from you, the warmth of his mouth all consuming as the kiss started in what was the careful brush of his lips against your own. 

Then, it was like a dam broke. 

There was no innocence in how Ross kissed you. His teeth moved hungrily against you, mouth open, and tongues gliding along one another before teeth clashed and desperate inhales were taken before you both dove further into self indulgence. It left you dizzy, your body pressed firmly back into the dirty door of your car. There, Ross knocked your legs just a single step apart and wedged a single leg between yours. You could feel him against the inside of each of your thighs, and so close to their apex. With just the single tilt of your hips, you could have ground yourself against him. Instead, you fumbled in your coat pockets for your keys. 

Your fingers moved over the buttons blindly in your pocket, moving over one button and then the other until the lights flickered and you heard the locks disengage. The loud thud was like the gunshot at the beginning of a race. You couldn’t move your hands fast enough, and neither could he as you both reached for the same door handle, his hand gripped your, gripping it and pulling open. It sent you stumbling away from the door and into his body that helped you into the backseat of your car. 

It was a spacious SUV. One you had slept in the back seat of on a road trip years ago. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was what you had, so it would do. You crawled up the length of the bench seats, giving Ross room to climb in behind you - but there was no space left between you when you heard the door shut firmly behind him. 

His hands were quick to find your body, his grasp so firm on your hips to draw you back into him. Your bodies were a knotted mess as you tried to get situated in the back, the driver’s side seat digging into your front, then your side, and finally your back as you threw your leg over his to straddle him. With his warmth back between your thighs, you stripped off your coat to try to ignore just how hot he made you. Tossing it aside, your hands were freed to explore. Your hands found his body, your touch stroking over the angles of his own face as you kissed him, tasted him. 

You were sure you had kissed him once before, but it had been so long you had forgotten the taste he left on your tongue. It was intoxicating, coaxing a moan up your lips as your hands found their place to rest knotted in the dark wisps of his hair. You toyed with the locks that would threaten to curl if they were only a little longer, as his hands trailed down the curves of your body. Ross caressed just under your breast, his thumb curiously reaching up and grazed just shy of your pert nipple that was pressing into the inside of your bra with the desperation of wanting to be touched. Then, his hands dipped lower over the circle of your waist, the rushed movement wrinkling the fabric, leaving the small of your back exposed. 

Touching your skin was like adding gasoline to an already raging fire. It sent Ross’ lips wandering from yours as his fingers stroked your soft, exposed flesh. His kiss traveled down over your chin, tickled your neck, and found your collarbone with a playful nip. It sent your heart racing. 

He knew you would like that. 

But you had to be careful. 

“No marks,” you breathed out, your eyes shutting as you tried to ignore why that had to be. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out quickly, “yeah, got it.”

With your exchange, it brought you both to a pause. Your chests heaved for breath, and your eyes seemed to look at everything except at each other. A decision needed to be made. You could stop before things could get any more complicated, or Ross could take off your shirt as he so desperately seemed to want to as his hand dragged along its delicate hem. 

You bit your lower lip firmly as you tried to look out the already fogged window. You could see the rainbow of colors that were the city lights shining through each drip of condensation. Focusing on a single droplet, you followed it down to the edge of the window and took a breath that escaped you with a sigh.

You knew what you wanted to do, but before you could say anything, Ross’ voice filled the air, “We don’t have to-”

Your head snapped to look in his direction. “You don’t want to?”

“That’s not what I'm saying,” he answered slowly, his teeth biting his own lip as his eyes fixated on yours. 

You knew what he was getting at. You were nervous, hesitant, but you knew you wanted this. You just needed the assurance that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him. 

“Ross…” you breathed out his name. It was the very beginning of the thought that threatened the very tip of your tongue, and that was left strangled in your throat as you felt Ross grip the swells of your hips. 

He held you firm in each hand, and with that hold, he guided you back and forth over his lap. Your hips angled instantly, grinding your needy core over the expense of his lap. You moved to and fro with his moments, and quivered at the feeling of his stiff cock beneath the thick seam of your jeans. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked you, his words slow and clear. He knew what he wanted, but he needed to hear it from you, too. Ross needed you to make the decision on your own, and to hear it from your own lips, even if he had already made up his mind for himself. 

“I-” you gasped out, your heart beating up into your ears like drums. It pulsed through your body, right through to your core that throbbed against the stiff outline of his cock. 

You should have told him to stop. 

You should have pulled your coat back on and sent him on his way. 

But you didn’t. 

“Don’t you dare,” you answered him after a moment, your voice stern, “just,” you took in a long inhale, “let’s be quick - unbutton your pants.”

Your bodies strained in the tight place as you both fought close quarters to undo your pants. You leaned back against the driver's seat to try to get the angle just right to work your jeans down, while Ross pressed down onto his heels and lifted his hips up high to work his hands just low enough for his cock to spring free. 

And while his pants rested around his knees, and that’s all he needed to do to be ready for you, you struggled. You let out a frustrated huff as the head of the driver’s seat dug into your back, and your arms fought the tight denim down your hips. The awkwardness left you slipping. Ross’ hand was quick to catch you before you could fall awkwardly onto him and his stiff cock that was so exposed, hard and ready for you to take him. 

“I got it,” Ross’ words were a rushed promise, his hands gripping the fabric and pulling them down your legs until they rested on the floor of the car with your shoes - but your panties they remained. You watched as Ross admired them for a moment. The simple pale colored lace that looked gray in the darkness. 

Your core clenched as his finger toyed with them, pushing and tugging at the fabric as he lured you back in close to him. And when you were a mere breath away, his finger dipped beneath the fabric and dragged along your slick core, if only just to tease you as he pulled the damned fabric to the side. 

“I wish I could enjoy you, the way you deserve to be enjoyed,” Ross hummed out, his hand guiding you forward to hover above the very tip of his cock. 

You nearly quivered at his words. Many times, he had told you how he would fuck you. How he would enjoy tasting your sweet cunt on his tongue before leaving you moaning as you took his cock like the slut girl you were. But there was no time for those luxuries. 

Angling yourself over his cock, you took hold of it in your cold hand carefully. The hiss that left his lips left your grinning, but it was him that was left with the last laugh as he thrust up into your wet cunt, leaving you overtaken by a pathetic whimper that came with the feeling of taking his cock inside you for the very first time. 

“You like that?” Ross asked you in a whisper, his hands remaining firm on your hips to guide him along his cock with the slow roll of your hips. 

You nodded feebly, your mouth opening to tell him just how good his cock felt, only to unleash a moan instead. 

“Look at you,” his grin grew, “so pretty as you take my cock, and taking it so well you don’t even have the words to tell me - and you’ve always been so good with your words,” he purred, “such a shame really.” 

Ross reached up with his hand, his fingers stroking over your lips as you were left on the verge of another moan. One you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having just yet. 

“I like when you tell me what a dirty slut you are,” his thumb tugged at your lower lip playfully as he thrust up hard into your cunt, coaxing that moan you had choked back into the depth of your throat, “but you sure do have a pretty moan.”

Your core clenched around his cock at the compliment, your hands lurching forward to grip at the leather head rest behind him. 

“Shut up,” you spoke through grit teeth. 

“Oh?” he raised a brow up, his heels digging into the floor again and thrusting so deep your body couldn’t physically take him any further. “You don’t like when I talk dirty to you?”

Your core clenched again, then you gasped, “no, I-”

You moaned again, your entire body reverberating with the sound. 

“You’re so close, I can fucking feel how desperate you are on my cock.” Ross didn’t bite his tongue. He liked to see you so close to the verge of pleasure, practically melting in front of him, and your cunt flexing around him. 

With weak legs, you met every single thrust, but it wasn’t enough. Not for him and not for you, either. 

Ross gripped the fleas of your ass firm in both hands and used it as leverage as he lifted you up and guided you to lay out on the leather seats all without leaving the warm wet embrace of your cunt. With you sprawled out, Ross gripped your hips and guided your legs to wrap around his hips just right. Every thrust made you tingle, made you moan, and soon your toes were curling, your body near recoiling with pleasure. Yet, he thrust through each wave, through every flex of your core, sending his eyes rolling back in his own pleasure. 

“I’m close,” he choked out, your heart suddenly racing with panic. 

“Pull out,” you told him, voice stern, “I’m not, fuck I’m not on the pill. Pull out.”

“What?” he seemed shocked, his cock still buried deep inside you for a thrust, then another before he pulled out and found the warm embrace of his own hand. 

You lay there, panting, legs still quivering, as he worked himself through his climax. His face softened, his body arching over you as he painted the inside of your thighs and the leather seats with his cum. 

“Should have given me a heads up,” he panted out after a moment. 

“Would it have changed anything?” You countered. 

His head shook, “no, but I would have gotten you to suck me off or something-”

“You wish,” you shoved him playfully, “now, get your pants back on.”

Ross settled back into the seat the two of you had started in, but you remained laying there for a moment. You were seeing stars as you stared up at the ceiling, your one hand dipping between your legs and swiping over your cunt to make sure there had been no accidents before you put your panties back into place. Then, each of your moments had to be deliberate. The cum on the inside of your thighs had already begun to dry, but the cum on the seats was still hot and sticky. You couldn’t risk getting it on any of your clothes. It would have to be something you had to clean up before you got home, but first, you had to say your goodbyes. 

You pulled your pants up slowly in silence, then your shoes before you heard the door open and the cold night air infiltrated the car. It sent a shiver coursing through you, your hands desperately reaching for your coat as you slipped out of the car behind him. 

“Are you good to drive home?” Ross asked slowly, his hands in his pocket. 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Message me when you get in?”

You looked to your empty driver seat, “yeah, just-” you sighed gently knowing you would be going back to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend even if it was empty for the next week, “don’t be surprised if you’re blocked in the morning when you try to message me.”

Ross’ feature faltered into a frown. “Regretting me already?”

Your heart sank. You didn’t know how to feel, or how you would feel in the morning when you had the night to fully comprehend the choices you had made. 

“Regret you? Nah, never.” You gave him a reassuring smile as you stepped in, your hands on his chest as you pressed up to give him a goodnight kiss. It was a soft, gentle kiss, one that had you pulling back like the gentle rise and fall of waves until he pulled you back in with both hands and kissed you deeply, making sure that you left with the taste of him on your lips. 

Then, you got into the driver's seat of your car, and brought the engine to life with the turn of your key. It reeked of sex, of cum, but it was nothing a good wash and a new air freshener couldn’t mask - but even then as you sat there, your eyes fixed on Ross as he stood there in the parking lot, watching you leave, you barely noticed the smell. No, the heavy feeling in your chest was too distracting. This time really felt like a goodbye. And not just a goodbye for now, but a goodbye forever. 

[vamqyr3]

↳ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY, KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK // CUCKY. ⨳

CW// CUCKOLD, NAME CALLING, MEAN GHOST, CHOKING, RESTRAINTS, OVERSTIMULATION, DEGRADATION, FEM!READER, DENIAL, SPIT, ECT.

NOTES// originally it was Soap, but I love Gaz so idrc. (Strap in, this one’s long, but it’s good, it took forever to write at least, I hope it’s good)

He’s crude, overbearing, crusted in self indulgence and salted with ego. All that confidence the mask gives him goes straight to the groin. Such an illusive man, glacial and cold cut. You almost felt bad for all the brunettes he’s lazily bagged. Capping off a night of 141 victory, drink and comradely with a half-assed bar fuck not even Soap would dare to degrade himself too. You almost felt bad, almost.

The untouchable ghost, it excited you just to share a room with the mythical mammoth, and Gaz hated it. He hated the flirting, the way he weaponized his strength and size. His morally grey proposition, cynical stare and sharp tongue. But more importantly the smiling, he hated the smiling. The school girl giggles that bubbled out sitting next to him at a bar top. Like Ghost could ever compare to him. Whatever it was, Gaz needed this pissing contest to draw its final match. Ghost can’t compare, but he would love to see him try.

He’s made some joke about a fish and a tank, never mind that your watching the shifts in light and cloth his mask makes mocking his lips. Laswell’s no doubt speaking in tongue with Price somewhere to the back of you two. Soap followed something moving in the way a woman does to a corner you don’t want to find. And while there’s some lesson there to be had about trust and stranger safety, you’re more vexed with the weight of Gaz’s eyes in your spine.

He’s no better a man to get jealous, but nonetheless Ghost is your teammate, you’re just being nice is all. How nice of you to entertain Ghost a while and leave the freaks of the bar aside.

“See, I would laugh but I’m afraid to make any sudden movements, Gaz back there’s trying to explode my mind,”

“Hurt you? He would never,”

“M’ not worried about me big guy,”

He’s moving his shoulders in some way that resembles a laugh, now looking at the glass bottles to the wall of the bar. There’s some static pull soaking into the click of your joints, alcohol greasing down the joints. He throws the last bit of his drink down and turns back to you, tension fermenting in the cracks of your skin.

For a while he says nothing, arm on the bar facing you in a black hood, he looks from you to the floor aside the bar then back to you. He’s waiting, thinking, weighing just how much he’s willing to pay for the action he so desperately wants to take.

Ghost shoots his chin to the back rooms, turns and leaves without looking back, you follow. Never mind Gaz.

He’s leading you past the entrance, dodging around the set of bathrooms to an empty storage room and turning to meet you face to face. Another set of footsteps follow behind yours. But the door closes fast behind, the light is quick to fade to black and Ghost is quick to to butt into you.

At some point in the dark the balaclava was pushed past to his nose, that much you could tell from the skin that met yours. Your fingers are carding through polyester fabrics, feeling up the man before you. Gaz would be furious if he saw, but he can’t, shit, even you can’t see. He’s making quick work of your inhibitions, every nudge of heat sends about another thought to hell. Ghost just got confused, ran into the wrong room and bumped into you trying to leave, promise. That’s all this is.

Who knew the mystery of a man to be so breathy? Who knew him to be so hunched and strained, leaving exasperated bites into your clothes, a dull ache in every bit of skin. The gape in your mouth is holding back hushed words, hoping the knock of your skull and door isn’t audible. He must’ve gotten lost, mistaken you for someone else, it’s easy for accidents like that to happen in the dark.

“Hello?”

His head snaps from the hush of your neck, looking to the door and quieting, a stalemate begins. No one dares move, a deer caught in headlights. Not a soul could’ve caught the two of you, the bar’s empty, secure enough for Laswell to talk shop freely. Music occupied the empty space between bodies.

The thing from outside is knocking, the hits connect on the back of your skull.

“Occupied mate,”

“Yeah, I know that, cunt, unlock the fuckin’ door,” Gaz is trying the handle, Ghost watches. He’s speaking through his gums, biting back on his anger and throwing himself into the door. “I swear to god bitch when I get this door open,”

“You’ll what? Huh? Last time I checked m’ the one in here,”

Gaz goes silent, standing behind the door, wordless. Ghost could never compete, but Gaz would love to see him try. He’s back at it, dipping back down into your neck, you get more vocal, hoping the audience outside would be throughly entertained.

“Babe,”

“Shut up Gaz,” you snap back a response, caring only for the man in front of you. The lower half of your spines curving back, twitching about in Ghosts hold as he’s smoothing a hand over the raw plush of your torso. Grabbing the meaty bit of it and rolling it in his hand. He’s groaning into your skin, rubbing his face over it, pressing his other palm into the connecting door and moving into you. You would love to see Ghost try too.

“Nothing to say, Gaz? Fuck, baby if he could see you right now,”

A smile goes unnoticed in the dark, you’re fisting handfuls of his collar urging him impossibly closer. He parts a divide in your leg with his thigh resting the end of it to the door. He’s a giant, manhandling you at will, at any point he could’ve snapped you in half without a second thought, but he hasn’t. A colder grasp now palms you over, the older one snaking lower to pull the bit of cloth around your hips down. Your skin welts under the friction and you roll into the brush.

He’s holding the waistband back and using the front of his hand to rub you over. Glazing over the skin that’s dribbled out, lazily handling your upper half. You’d wish he’d do more, free his cock and start getting off atop you, refusing your release. Tell Gaz how good of a fuck you were, call him names and screw you so good you’ll never want your man again. If you try hard enough you can hear Gaz breathing from behind the door, softer than yours. Ghost latches to your hips, steps back and motions his temple to the floor.

“On the floor,”

You slip down the door, the ends of your shirt gathering on the small of your back. You can hear Gaz following, resting on his knees, the shell of his ear and peachy palms on the opposing side. Ghost is back to rubbing, his hand tenting the clothing. Your face pleads words unspoken, brows making crude ditches along the lush underglaze of your head. Dribbles of spit smear down the cracks of your lip, you bite back in hopes to make it stop. You meet is touch into your meaty under half.

“Come on, baby tell him how good I’m fuckin’ you,”

Your mouth gapes open in hopes to answer, tongue lying flat to make way for sound. But he’s striking the air out, forcing way around your thick neck. Lumps and hiccups of words go off, Gaz presses farther to the door. You’re flailing under him, coughing and thrashing, tears and spotty sludge glissade down. Ghost dips down, elbow angling and licks at the stuff of your chin. Leaving snail trails of sticky alcohol traced thick in its place, sighing into it.

“Come on, poor thing you look a mess,”

“Ghost,” Gaz pleads.

He smacks the chunky underside of your thigh, muscle rippling under it, the hit audible over your own cry.

“Yeah, go on, baby tell him how good you’re about to take this dick, come on,” he’s scooting farther into you, pushing your legs father aside by the knee. You choke, unable to find the air to speak. You wish he’d let you suck him off, lick the bottom of him. Wish he’d rub it all over your face, laugh at the size comparison and leave dents in your puffy red neck. Ignore your gagging and wrangle you by the hair, get messy and spatter spit all over the floor for someone else to find.

He’s unlatched from your throat, moving the lower of his hand from your waist to face. He uses two fingers to jut at your cushioned lips, parting them and smoothing the spotted muscle of tongue. He hooks around the base of it, gritty stings line under his fingernails and you gag around violating things. He tastes as he smells, sour, salty and bitter. He’s absolutely delicious and the taste is lessening with every gag. His eyes never leave you once, neither of your hips have known freedom. Trapping you in place, forced to take his fingers and humiliation.

The skinny cut blue jeans are next to go, he’s twisting the buttons loose and sighing into the release of his cock. What little spit that’s left on his hand polishes off the head, a clicking sound follows the movement of his sticky fingers.

“Gaz,”

“Sir,”

“When I fuck your girl, don’t you dare touch yourself, understood?”

“Yes, of course, lieutenant,”

Gaz is barely to a whisper, wailing responses into the door, unintelligible and muffled. You strain to hear his puffy breathing, the needy sway of his hips into air, refused of the ability to get off to it all. He’s mashing into the door, grinding into empty space and contorted so the strain of his jean seam chokes the knot in his pants. His feet push off the ground, the opposite end of the pathetic man to the front of the doorframe.

“Dirty bitch, you want your commanding officer to fuck you? Yeah baby? Want him to hear me milking you dry? Huh?”

Your clothes bunch about your waist, he’s stroking himself over you, dipping into welt of slobber and slick in between your thighs. He’s toying with you, so much so you forget to respond, hoping the pressure of his tease would ease up.

“Answer, slut,” Ghost repeatedly taps at the side of your face, hand bouncing off the skin.

“Mhn,”

“Go on then, ask, beg your boy toy to let you take lieutenants big dick,” your sputtering something resembling his request, choking on air and high toned squeaks.

“Words, bitch, I won’t ask again,” and your finally following through with his command.

He’s holding himself by the base, smacking the rest on you. The connect is auditable, gluey slick ropes along the underside of him with every crude smack. Then he’s switching, rubbing the reddened folds of you over, up and down. Your spine curves over the door, angling into the spot where you two meet. Pressure squeezes over your hole, he’s feeling it up, poking into it and rocking back. With every connect your whining into a twitch, biting on dry air. His fat tips inching in you, the rest of him flashes with slick.

He wrings your shoulders, legs propped under your thighs as he’s cracking you open with his dick. He’s gaping into you, restraining you by the the top and staring down. Simon’s scraping down the sides of your innermost velvet walls, finding a fast rhythm. You thud back into the door, crying over his groans.

“Take it, fuckin’ whore,”

Gaz is gasping into the door, cheek making indents in the visible condensation from his open mouth breaths. He’s flatting into it, tongue warming up wet spots, the bottom half of him sticking up and out.

“Please, Ghost,”

“Please what, dumbfuck?”

“Fuck her, please, fuck her harder so I can hear, please,”

You could imagine he’s tilting the corners of his mouth up, raising his light colored brows and running through the best ways to ruin you in this position alone. He repositions over you, scoots his knees father up and lines back up to excitedly snap into you. The force alone knocks wind out of your throat, it gets caught around your chattering teeth and picks up noise. He never lets up, muttering condescending words and breathing in heavily between full body spasms. Taps between your thighs hit echos off the walls, creaking the hinges holding the door.

“Come on big girl, take it,”

Your stammering into his request, lost in the clumsy squelching noises and vibrating guttural growls the foremost front man gives off. The base of your head rolls back into the wall, cheek muscles tighten with the action, tears drizzle down your waterline. The doorknob jiggles with every collide, it falls into a melodic rhythm. If only Gaz could see you. His legs spread, bottom half naked to the eye and you on your pudgy tummy and knees, Ghost behind. With his cock spread on your face, looking down at your lips underneath him. Hands nowhere to be seen, Gaz has again been refused the right to remedy himself, forced to moan into the ghosting nudges your nose gives with every thrust from Simon.

“Atta girl,” He’s driving it hard into the swollen, full base of you. “That’s it, pretty,” elbows crease as he folds to press you back with his chest, shifting his weight to lay on top of you and focus his might to the creaking in his legs. Ghost is losing himself, spasming, slobbering, groaning and biting. Off white ringlets of pre collect on the base of him, it flashes in the snaps of light. You’re stuck between him and the wimpish man behind you. His cock kisses the root of you, disgustingly jumping between punching and disconnecting from the innermost parts.

Bits of you wail for him to let up, the pressure climbing is overwhelming. It’s too much, it’s all too much. You’re wailing and itching to push away from his stabs and digging chin, but his muscle collars your arms. With every ram his shoulder digs into tender purpled neck, choking the best of you out. Whats left of your breath is used for keening lust drunk groans. The blubbering that leaves you is even worse than Gaz and he’s not even allowed to get off.

Your dying, passing, moaning out your obituary and begging for life. He’s suffocating, the lodge of your throat laces strain in fatty muscle. You can taste the sex off of him, lap at the salt in the air and writhe in the baking rut of his aggravated stuffing. He’s laid claim to every nerve ending in your body and words in a language you have yet to understand tumble from your flattened, rippled mouth.

“S’ too much,”

“Awe, pretty girl look at you, gonna cry? Hm? Like your lil boyfriend out there? Huh? Like a little bitch?”

“M’ gonna, gonna,”

“Come on hurry up then, give him a show to jack off to later”

He's so intense, heat throbs in your head and beats down thought. You wanted to see the look on Gaz’s face right now. Watch his sad fucked eyes turn up and fog over. You wanted to watch him struggle to ignore the mound steaming want in his pants, beaten hands map the inside of his tense flaring thigh, flirting with the outline of his hard on. Have Ghost warm a spot on the floor with your bloated cheek, his veined hand pressing you by the back of your skull. Let him throw you into a headlock, ruin your hair in singlets, mash your face together with his forearm and collet spit in the depressions of skin. Ghost would force you to look at Gaz as you took him, refusing to continue if you stopped singing praises of how good he fucked as you looked him down. And you would love it.

You shook into your undoing and he laughed, chest heaving as he rocked you through your earth shattering high. Even as you peppered words of mercy, begging him to stop in spite of sensitivity, he chased his following orgasm at a newfound speed. Nerves and tendons fried in the baked white hot rash of his forceful bashing. Tears made your round face cool despite his merciless writhing. Flesh riveting in the rocking motion. He’s choking you under him, damn near forgetting his own sheer strength in his mindless rutting.

Simons a slave to the pleasure chasing snap of his hip, clapping noise of flesh on flesh. Groaning through the cracks in seamed teeth and full cheek, he’s dumping fatty bubbles of milky seed over your crotch. Your eyes strain to see the fluid twitch milking the full heavy drops out of him as he tenses in shock. You can only hear him breathing out shaky croaks, collecting his thoughts once more and lining his back up straight.

“Please open the door,”

[fruitcoops]

hi eve, i hope you’re well! would you be interested in writing coops going to a sex shop and buying some toys + then using them later that night? :-) i miss your spicy writing, it’s so good! xoxo

On the seventh day of Nutmas, fruitcoops gave to you: Cap's restraint kink popping off well and true! Charatcer credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW for smut, restraint (handcuffs and spreader bar), subspace

Sometimes Sirius needed affection pressed into him with soft hands and kind words and a million sweet kisses left in a starscape over his skin. Sometimes he needed the joy of it, the fun. Sometimes he needed it hammered into him until he could hardly breathe, stripped down to his barest self, out of view of cameras until he was just Sirius. Sometimes they got to figure it out together, and Remus was happy to give it all.

Tonight, a thorough pounding was more than needed.

“No, baby.” Sirius’ next twitch rattled the cuffs binding him to the headboard; Remus gave him a swift swat to the outer thigh and watched precome drip onto the sheets below them as a broken noise slipped from Sirius’ throat.

“Please, please—” A long, drawn-out moan interrupted him, wobbling to the pace of Remus’ grinding thrusts. He didn’t bother pulling out, not when Sirius would start whining the second he was anything less than stuffed full. The bar holding his legs apart had finally warmed to the point where Remus didn’t jump at the sudden cold each time his thighs collided with it, and he planned on taking full advantage of that fact.

“Don’t break this one,” Remus warned as he gripped Sirius’ hips and dragged his weight backward. The spreader bar gave a threatening creak at the center joint, but Remus watched the muscles of Sirius’ thighs ease toward relaxation as he got ahold of himself. It had taken them long enough to find one that would not only fit around Sirius’ thighs but have the strength not to snap when put into practice; they must have looked ridiculous, wandering around half the sex shops in Gryffindor for a solution.

He trailed his fingers along the edge of one soft cuff and tugged it up while his thumb rubbed patterns on Sirius’ pale skin. Sirius’ lower back bowed, pressing his chest further into the mattress and his ass more firmly into Remus’ lap. The next thrust shoved him an inch up the bed and Remus bit his lip at the garbled sound it drew out. “Tell me how you’re feeling,” he said with a lazy pull to the bar. Sirius’ response was muffled. “Nope, try again.”

With apparent monumental effort, Sirius raised himself onto his elbows and looked back over his shoulder. “Très bien,” he panted. Remus found he desperately wanted to bite the trembling muscle of his shoulder blade, where Sirius’ blush had crept down from his neck and ears. It was all too simple like this. He just had to lean over and do it, and he even got a sweet noise in return as Sirius shifted backward to match every deep thrust. “Loup.”

“You said you don’t mind marks, ouais?”

“S’il te plait.” Sirius blinked hard, chest heaving. “Re, please, je besoin—need you, mon coeur.”

“You have me, baby,” he said innocently, then drew back until the head of his cock teased Sirius’ rim before pressing in, slow enough to make those long lashes flutter and his lips part. Remus hoped Sirius could feel him smile into his shoulder. “Every. Last. Inch of me.”

“Oh, merde—”

Sirius cut off with a sharp gasp when Remus slammed his hips forward hard enough to make the bedframe creak—the gasp became a moan, became a shout, became a wail as he stayed buried deep, bracing one hand on Sirius’ sensitive lower belly to maintain the arch of his back and the other on the headboard, roughing him up with a few short thrusts. “Take it,” he reminded Sirius when his knees began to give out and his wrists twisted in their bindings. “You know it feels better when you let go.”

“I d—I do,” Sirius agreed in a shaky voice. “Fuck, uh, Re, coming—”

Remus reached down and squeezed the base of Sirius’ cock just tight enough to stave him off; his broad back seized, hips bucking, but between the bar and the cuffs there was nowhere for him to go. A string of half-broken French expletives poured from Sirius’ mouth before he bit down on the pillow with a furious noise, breathing hard like a rodeo bull.

“That was close,” Remus remarked casually. He traced his fingertips along the vein of the underside and teased at the slit for just a moment; Sirius flushed fever-hot where they were plastered together.

“Fucking let me come,” he snarled.

Remus nuzzled into the short hair above his ear with a smile and a kiss. “Make me take it,” he said, echoing the slight plea Sirius’ voice had held earlier that evening. “Oh, fuck, sweetheart, make me take it until I can’t think. I want to know what it feels like when it works.”

“That was before,” Sirius whined.

Remus gave him a loose stroke and savored Sirius’ moan. “Changed your mind that quick? It hasn’t been that long. Say the word and I’ll take your cuffs off, but I don’t think that’s what you really want, is it?”

“I want to cum.”

“I can make you come. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop when you do.”

They had discussed it that very first night, when the spreader bar sat between them on the bed and Remus watched Sirius’ eyes flicker toward it every few seconds. This is what I want, Sirius had said, pupils dark and wide. I want to know what it feels like to…you know. To let go.

The trust and love in that statement alone had left them both breathless and hot around the collar, and they spent twenty minutes pawing at each other before their gazes strayed to the new toy again. Remus remembered the stampede of his heart when he first cinched the straps around Sirius’ thighs. That bar had been cheaper, made of shitty aluminum that bent in the middle and then broke at the first real clench of Sirius’ legs. They had laughed it off and Sirius had spent the next hour getting railed like he wanted, but within a week they had acquired a second attempt.

Remus felt along the middle joint, satisfied. No bending. No sharp edges. As long as Sirius gave the go-ahead, he had faith this one would survive the night. “Still want to come?”

Sirius shook his hair out of his eyes, unfairly majestic even like this, and quirked a challenging brow over his shoulder. “Still think you can make me?”

Remus bit his mischievous grin into the soft spot of Sirius’ jaw and felt him hum happily at the rolling thrust that followed. Sirius pressed his chest to the mattress again, writhing when Remus splayed a hand over his spine to hold him down. He built up his pace, keeping it erratic in case Sirius got any bright ideas about getting comfortable. Tonight, it was his job to bring Sirius past the point of reason, and he had every intention of fulfilling that wish.

For all his complaining, Sirius reached the edge again rather fast. Remus closed his eyes and let the half-mumbled encouragements wash over him, every yes and more and harder, loup, I need you pulsing in his stomach and cock where he nudged Sirius’ prostate each time. “Don’t fucking stop,” Sirius begged as they tested the lifespan of the bedframe, tossing his head, the dimples above his ass deepening with his arch. Remus’ palm was slick with precome. “Gonna come, Re, Remus, mon amour so fucking perfect—"

Sirius jerked once, twice, three times, yanking at the soft fabric of his handcuffs with a noise at the very back of his throat, something pleased and still desperate as sticky warmth coated Remus’ fingers. It sharpened when Remus kept going without pause, pitching higher for just a moment before tumbling into a shocked laugh as he pulled every last ounce of pleasure out of Sirius.

When the last of his full-body quaking melted into a continuous shiver, Remus pulled out completely and wrapped his hands around Sirius’ narrow hips, flipping him none-too-gently onto his back. He caught the spreader bar when it jolted upward and shoved it flat to Sirius’ trembling abs as he slid back inside him in one quick motion. Sirius’ yelp cracked into a shaky sound when he hoisted one calf over his shoulder to get it out of the way. Remus would drool over those mile-long legs every day for the rest of his life, but they presented a frequent obstacle when he was trying to melt his fiancé’s brain out through his dick.

“Keep that there,” he ordered. The spreader bar clattered in harmony with the thud of the headboard against the wall—Remus tucked his hands into the bend of Sirius’ thighs and pulled him down until his arms were straight over his head, bound tight and leaving him to strain for a grip that remained just out of reach. He hitched his hips up for a thrust that made Sirius’ mouth drop open soundlessly, head falling back into the pillows as he arched like he was being filmed.

Sirius was warm and slick around him, still tightening every few seconds in the wake of his first orgasm. He was beginning to wonder whether he had overestimated his own stamina. Fuck, he was going to come so hard the second Sirius went under the second wave.

“Oh my god,” Sirius said thickly, blinking fast. His legs had stopped twitching, his hands had stopped grasping, his gaze had stopped focusing, all challenge gone from him. His eyes were the color of tarnished silver when Remus found them again, wide and shiny and dark—he was practically folding Sirius in half like that, but Sirius didn’t seem to notice or care as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Oh my god, need—need? Remus. Remus, s’il te plait, baby.”

“You don’t call me that,” Remus laughed, mindful of the stretch of Sirius’ legs as he leaned closer. When Sirius didn’t show signs of strain, he closed the distance to press kisses over his clumsy lips. Sirius’ knee bumped his own shoulder, making him jump.

“I’m—sorry?”

“Non, mon coeur, don’t be sorry,” he whispered. He rubbed over Sirius’ chest, right above his racing heart, then slid his palm down to wrap around his shaft and coax him back to hard. Sirius’ breathing became labored and his eyes drooped from lust-wide to half-lidded, lulled down from whatever crashing peak he had found mere minutes before. Remus worked a love bite into his pec and heard him make a small, relieved sound.

“Don’t be sorry,” he repeated, pressing lightly beneath the head of Sirius’ cock. “Just feel good and let me take care of you.”

“Care of me,” Sirius agreed. His arms had gone lax above his head. The tip of his cock was red and wet, twitching in Remus’ hold. “Feel good.”

“Jesus,” Remus muttered to himself as the pressure built at the base of his stomach with the rhythmic clenching of Sirius around him. “Come for me, baby, you did so good, you’re so fucking gorgeous—oh, fucking hell, Sirius.”

Remus watched cum spill over Sirius’ belly at the same time he gave up on trying to hold back, shoving forward and letting it overwhelm him. He tipped his head back with a hoarse sound, electric in the rush, Sirius’ hip in one hand and his shaking thigh in the other. He licked his lips and tasted salt; his hair was damp with sweat when he pushed it off his face, a weak sound escaping when he finally managed to look down.

The sight of Sirius took the stuttered, shallow breath right out of his lungs.

His face was flushed from cheekbone to jaw, hair mussed in a dark halo. Watchful eyes tracked Remus’ hands as he smoothed them over long legs, though Sirius couldn’t quite seem to keep them open for more than a second at a time between blinks. He was soft against his hip and still; not like a statue, but more like a puppet with cut strings.

“Hey, you,” Remus said quietly when Sirius met his eyes with a confused little frown. “How do you feel?”

Sirius mumbled something unintelligible and turned his face into his bicep with a long sigh. Alright, Remus thought, swiping his wrist over his sweaty forehead. He pulled out with a wince at the oversensitivity and carefully let Sirius’ legs back down to the bed. To work, then.

The leather straps of the spreader bar had left no marks on Sirius’ thighs when he unbuckled them and set it aside, but he rubbed his palms over the place they had laid just in case. Sirius’ approving hum when Remus straightened his legs out told him that was the correct choice. The wrist bindings came off much the same—a light massage cleared any redness.

Sirius curled into him the moment Remus pressed along his side and they rested there for a long moment, coming down from the rush; he ran his fingernails lightly along Sirius’ back until his breathing evened out into the deep, slow rhythm he knew like his own.

He kissed Sirius’ temple and cupped the nape of his neck carefully. “This is what you give me.”

A noncommittal mumble answered.

“You did so good, baby.” A single eye peeked out at him. “Thank you. I know that was frustrating.”

Sirius mumbled again.

“Hmm?”

“Frustrating part was broken things,” Sirius repeated, his accent thick on every word. Remus stifled a laugh at the appraising look he gave the spreader bar at their feet. “Did not break this time. Was good.”

“Ouais, you were.”

Sirius made a soft noise, burrowing closer to his collarbones as his blush faded to a faint pink dusting. One large hand felt around clumsily until Remus was dragged even tighter to him and held there with a little pulse that said stay clearer than any words. Sirius’ breathing slowed, as did his heart rate; Remus felt the moment he drifted off and kissed the crown of his head before settling in to wait.

It took seven and a half minutes for Sirius to reboot. He jerked awake with a sharp inhale, blinking rapidly around them before he found Remus’ face and his expression calmed. Remus smiled. “Bon matin. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Sirius gazed at him for several seconds, then tucked his face into the pillow and stretched until his back audibly popped, going limp with a rumbly noise. “I am so…”

“Happy? Comfortable? Tired?”

“Fucked out.”

“Fair enough.”

Sirius shuffled over to lay most of his weight on Remus’ chest. “Fuckin’—the metal thing works. Wrist ones, too.”

“Good call,” Remus agreed. “You looked great.”

“Felt great,” Sirius snorted, falling back with a soft groan. He scrubbed both hands over his face and a dopey smile spread across his lips when Remus kissed his cheek. “I give you that?”

“You launch me sky-high, baby.”

His smile turned satisfied. “Hmm. Good.”

“You’re gonna want this a lot more now, huh?” Remus teased.

“Just after hard games.” Sirius scrunched his nose and pulled at Remus’ arms until he took the hint and wrapped him up tight. He’d do anything to see that pure contentment painted on Sirius’ face every day. “And press conferences, and before big games, and after I make you dinner, and…” Sirius trailed off and shook his head. “This is good. Like drunk, but better. Like…happy sleep. Naptime.”

“I can make it even nicer,” Remus offered, rubbing his hands along Sirius’ ribs. Interest sparked in his eye, the first sign of anything but foggy bliss. But first…

Sirius’ lips parted invitingly the second Remus’ mouth brushed his own with a muffled noise of pleasure. He was all soft angles now, cuddly and warm even as sweat and cum cooled on their skin. Remus sank into it and let the world fade away.

--

Sirius did, in fact, enjoy a second short nap in the bath while the hot water and Epsom salts soothed their aching muscles. It was the fastest he had ever fallen asleep, dreamless and without hesitation. When he woke, it was to nothing but more kisses, more gentle hands, and more love.

[tinyascanbe]

Day 2 g/t prompts

Tinies who have become so reliant on the comforts of a giant that they are forced to strength train for an upcoming mission or adventure

-Imagine them holding a stick with multiple layered metal caps that they punctured a hole in for deadlifts (they gotta be able to carry all the loot!)

-Using cigarette boxes as a step up box

-Using some pins and a rubber band to create a makeshift slackline to practice their balance

-And even making a pull up bar out of tooth picks/sticks/ borrowed glue (they could barely pull themselves up one stair when they first were shrunken!)

Their giant just has their head in their hands and elbows on the table watching

[rosavulpes]

Have Blake talk about 💚 (friends / family members), AND/OR 👑 (role models / mentors)

( Make my muse talk about one of their _ )

" You ... want to know more of the people that I consider to be my mentors ? "

There's a bit of hesitation as he speaks , coupled with a bit of physical effort too as he finishes his most recent pull up over the bar , even though Blake knew that he'd just heard Winter correctly . Given that he has four ears , human , and feline ? There was little chance of Blake misunderstanding her . Though he's still reiterates her question back to her all the same . His hesitation stemming from the personal nature of her question . Releasing his grip on the elongated steel handle bar situated above him that he'd been using for pull ups . He'd drop down a few feet , landing softly , and soon after reaching for a nearby towel that he'd set aside for himself earlier on before he'd first begun to work on his upper body strength .

While he still thought of Winter Schnee as his rival , he could tell that the reasoning behind her question was sincere . Besides , he couldn't blame her for her curiosity as there existed a bit of intrigue on his end too as to what motivated Winter to do the things she did . To fight as hard as she did .

" When I think of the people that motivate me to be better than I was yesterday , I think of the people I know that face challenges much more difficult than I do every single day . Though you've already met one of them , as has every other student here at the Academy . As for the other two ? they aren't world renowned heroes of the Great War , or Hunters at that but ... the battles , the enemies that they fight ? Are much stronger than that of any Grimm "

Wiping his face to clean himself of the sweat that had rolled down from his neck to his chest , from his shoulders to his biceps . He'd reach for a nearby water bottle from his backpack .

" As many other people here do , I respect General James Ironwood for the great many things that he's done for the benefit of everyone here in Atlas . But for me ? I think of him as a mentor , not because of his achievements past , or current . I think of him as a mentor because he's helped to guide my footsteps towards my dream . Each day spent here training , learning at the Academy , and shadowing him like you do too is just another step forwards . Thanks to him ? I'm one step closer everyday . Not only that , he has a strength to him that can't be achieved with just hard training alone . When people see him ? His presence , his voice alone is enough to ease the fear in their hearts . I've seen it myself . He brings hope with him wherever it is that he goes , just as he's given it to me . That strength ... the power to help not only yourself , but others overcome the fear in their own hearts ? That's the power I covet most from him , and it's a battle that he fights daily . And one day ? It'll be my power too ... my fight to take up "

Stretching out the length of his ebony tail at his back , his feline ears flicked as he tilted his head backwards .Taking a long sip on his water before closing the cap , and setting it back down on the floor .

" As for the other two ? Well , they'd be my mother and father without a doubt . Even though they've long since left Atlas for a better home , they've had to fight grueling battles long before I was born . A fight all of us faunus endure everyday . The war against hatred . My father is a kind man , who detests violence . So as I grew up , I watched him try , and try again to turn the minds of people who rejected him , me , my mother , and the rest of our group as we traveled from one place to the other . Despite everything he's seen , been called , or endured both verbally , and physically he'd still hopeful of a better future . Not one where faunus rule over humans , or get vengeance on them . One where we all stand as equals . He fights against hatred , and still fights it now to help others overcome it as he had . For so long , I've thought of what I might be able to do . How do I combat it ? Like fear , it's an invisible enemy . It's already invaded so many , and can rise at a moment's notice . You can't fight it with your hands , or your body . You can't even touch it . So how am I supposed to fight it ? Thanks to the them , and the General ? I found my own means of facing it "

Letting out a sigh , not because he was exhausted of the conversation but more so because he was internally building back up his focus to continue his training . Bending his knees slightly , Blake would leap back up to grab the handle bar above him again . Though , before he'd resume , he would leave Winter with one final answer .

" I'm going to get back to my training now , but there is something I want you to know Winter . I think of you as a rival , but I don't hold any feelings of hatred or contempt towards you . I consider you to be my rival , because I respect you . I respect your determination , your strength , and your force of will . Whatever dream it is that your chasing after , you can count on me to put you to the test anytime you need it . If you ever start to stray from it , you can count on me to not pull my punches with you . Just as I expect you to do the same with me . I'll come at you with everything I've got "

With that ? Blake would resume his training in earnest once more .

[danganronpafan777]

Can I get Hibiki, Emma, Kanade, Setsuka, and Yoruko struggling to open a soda bottle for their S/o? Like the one for the DRA boy cast? But Iroha ends up being the one to open up the soda bottle lol

The soda can saga continues!

Hibiki Otonokoji:

She teases you for not being able to open the soda can at first, so you challenge her to do it

"Pfft! Of course I ca-...."

The words die in her throat. Hibiki isn't very strong but most times she refuses to accept this fact, you knew what you were getting into when you gave her the can 

It isn't long until she's shaking and squeezing it in annoyance and trying to bite into the lid

"...Are you sure you don't want me to-"

"Rrgh! I-I've got it!" 

After a few more minutes of her not having it, you went to get Iroha

"Hey! Where are you going!?"

She thinks your playing some kind of stupid joke when you tell her to give the can to Iroha.

She stops thinking when she sees Iroha open it without struggle

"H-How..." Her eyes go hollow for a second in shock.

Kanade wanders if this is another way to enact her plan.

Emma Magorobi:

"I sure can!"

You roll your eyes at the pun

Emma's not the strongest but she doesn't expect to struggle so much

She wonders if you were pranking her to get back at her for her puns 

She gives it back to you when she's sure she's about to break a nail

"Okay, I'll ask Iroha."

"Iroha?"

She's very confused, she's known Iroha much longer than you have

There's no way she'll be able to-

"Here, Y/n!"

Even with her acting skills, she can't hide her visible disbelief 

Kanade Otonokoji:

She sweetly smiles and takes the can from you

She tries to twist the cap a few times, but just can't seem to pop off the lid...

After a few tries, she quits putting out her weak girl act and uses her full strength, the strength she used to kill over fifty people, to open the can

It still doesn't work. 

"Should I get-"

"NO. No. I almost have it." You were her beloved, she would literally kill for you. She can open a damn soda can.

She let a few curses slip as she dug her nails under the cap, beginning to actually rage now-

"I can try." Iroha offered

"SHUT THE FUCK UP BITCH IM TRYING TO OPEN THIS CAN FOR Y/N!!"

"EEK!"

It was a while before Kanade let Iroha anywhere near the bottle, but when she did...

Her face twisted.

"WHAT THE FUCK!? HOW DID THAT SHIT FOR BRAINS-"

"Kanade, calm down sweetie." 

It was a few hours before she was calm again. 

Yoruko Kabuya:

"You seriously can't open the bottle yourself, Y/n?" 

"The lid is practically glued on. You try."

Yoruko rolls her eyes. She literally works in a bar, she's opened more beer and soda cans than you could possibly-

She pauses. This is actually kinda difficult-

She tries a bit harder before trying to open it with a napkin to produce more friction

Still no luck

"I'll ask Iroha."

"Oh shut up." She playfully rolls her eyes, thinking you're messing with her. She gives it to Iroha to humor you.

"You were right, Y/n, that thing is basically glued-"

"Here you go, Y/n!"

She's in total shock for a few moments. 

"Are you alright, Ruko?"

"...I think I need a drink too."

Setsuka Chiebukuro:

"No problem! Your girlfriend's got this!" 

Setsuka took the can and gave the lid a yank.

...

She raised an eyebrow at the trouble but still continued to attempt to pull it off

When she's beginning to sweat after using so much strength, she accuses you of pranking her

"I'm not! I promise!"

"If this is payback for locking you in the bathhouse..."

"It's not! I swear!"

When you offer to get Iroha, she just raises an amused eyebrow, and after a few more moments of struggling, she offers to buy you another can 

"It's alright, Suka. Iroha's got it." Iroha pops off the lid just as she asks what you mean. 

Her visible eye widens and she wishes she could have recorded this moment with her other eye

Cause goddamn-

[starrook]

character deep dive

NAME: alcryst

BODY

height: 5’7/171cm

strength ★★★★☆ (strong, but not build like a brick shithouse so he’d give himself a 2)

dexterity ★★★★★ (what that +3 to dex cap do king. suited to delicate tasks!)

health ★★★★☆ (was never a sickly child and has a great immune system)

energy ★★★★☆ (bundle of nervous energy most of the time, always alert. around friends though he is a lot more calm and self-assured.)

beauty ★★★☆☆ (in the eye of the beholder. personally i think he’s cute but in a rat sort of way. alcryst would rate himself a 0/5. realistically he’s probably average.)

style ★★☆☆☆ (doesn’t have much personal style as he’s stuck with diamant’s hand-me-downs most of the time. he’s exploring that with the different colors and hair clips and boots, but still doesn’t care too much about fashion.)

hygiene ★★★★☆ (has a haircare routine, if alcryst skips out on it it fucks his whole day up, he won’t feel like himself without it). 

SKILLS

perception ★★★★★ (noticeably observant of other people’s actions and habits and tries to anticipate their needs, ex. offering celine tea that helps her sleep, knowing that citrinne trains at night and lapis sends money to her family.

communication ★★★★☆ (when he’s not being alcrysty he’s very well-spoken and gets his point across well. he always speaks his mind for better or worse)

persuasion ★★☆☆☆ (scores low mainly due to the initial impressions he usually makes. i’d like to think that people who really get to meet and know alcryst are more readily swayed by him, but that’s not everyone)

mediation ★☆☆☆☆ (prince alcryst “allies? with ivy? fuck no” of brodia has a hard time staying objective and generally picks sides. It’s one of his weaknesses vs it being more of a strength for diamant)

literacy ★★★★★ (likes philosophy books? get him away from me)

creativity ★★★☆☆ (he’s come up with a lot of creative ways to put himself down haha. sometimes i think about that line from his boucheron support that goes like “NO we can’t go from 100 to ten, that’ll exclude one of the zeroes. i feel sorry for that poor zero, cut out because of a weakling like me” like christ man, bars)

cooking ★★★★☆ (he’s always tasting his food while he cooks so that it doesn’t turn out to be dogshit, so alcryst’s food usually turns out tasty. he’d be good at one of those palette testing games from hell’s kitchen where you guess the food just by taste and texture.)

combat ★★★★☆ (he’s alive right? that counts for something. alcryst pulls his weight)

survival ★★★★☆ (i think alcryst would know enough to survive in the wilderness for a while)

stealth ★★★☆☆ (has startled people by being too quiet when he approaches them)

street smarts ★☆☆☆☆ (has only ever known life as a prince and grew up fairly sheltered)

seduction ☆☆☆☆☆ (LMAOOOOOOO)

luck ★★☆☆ (not the -1 modifier…)

handling animals ★★★★★ (confused a wolf out of attacking him and then made friends with it… that’s talent)

pacifying children ★☆☆☆☆ (does not know how)

MIND

intelligence ★★★★☆ (i can’t remember how the fandom hc of alcryst being good at complicated math started but he’s smart prommy)

happiness ★☆☆☆☆ (TOUGH TO ANSWER. alcryst is still grieving his father and he’s going through a difficult time in his life)

spirituality ★★☆☆☆ (i dont know why i find it hard to see alcryst as religious. like i can’t see him praying to the divine dragons.)

confidence ★★☆☆☆ (he’s gotten a little bit better!)

humor ★☆☆☆☆ (doesn’t always recognize jokes for what they are and is bad at telling his own)

anxiety ★★★★★ (naturally anxious)

patience ★★★☆☆ (no patience for himself)

passion ★★★★☆ (feels very strongly about everything)

nice         ☆★☆☆☆     mean

brave       ☆★☆☆☆     cowardly

pacifist     ☆☆☆★☆     violent 

thoughtful ☆☆☆★☆    impulsive 

agreeable ☆☆★☆☆     contrary

idealistic   ☆☆☆★☆     pragmatic

frugal        ★☆☆☆☆     big spender

extrovert   ☆★☆☆☆     introvert

collected   ☆★☆☆☆     wild

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist

SOCIAL

charisma ★★☆☆☆ (questionable rizz)

empathy ★★★★☆ (cares for other people more than himself)

generosity ★★★★☆ (5 stars reserved for citrinne)

wealth ★★★★☆ (prince of brodia, enough said…)

honest   ★☆☆☆☆ deceptive (not very good at lying)

leader   ☆☆☆★☆   follower (born follower, always a follower)

polite     ☆☆★☆☆  rude (has been on both ends of the spectrum tbh)

political ★☆☆☆☆  indifferent (prince of brodia, he always has an opinion)

BELIEFS

higher power ★★★★★ (they a fuckin dick tho for bringing sombron and the hounds back from the dead but not his dad)

fate/destiny ★☆☆☆☆ (i think it would be the brodian mindset)

magic ★★★★★ (see higher power)

soulmates ★☆☆☆☆ (can’t imagine himself having one)

good and evil ★★★★☆ 

luck ★★★★☆ 

PRIORITIES

family ★★★★★ 

friends ★★★★★ 

love ★☆☆☆☆ (is not holding out for love of his own because he doesnt know if he’ll need to marry for political purposes… but it would be nice)

home ★★★★☆ 

health ★☆☆☆☆ 

praise ★★★☆☆ 

justice ★★★☆☆ (not out for revenge)

truth ★★★★☆

power ★★★★☆ (getting strong 4 brodia)

fame ☆☆☆☆☆ 

wealth ★★★☆☆ (brodia’s wealth not personal)

others' opinions ★★★★☆

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

Piling It All Differently

[ID: a green badge of s'mores with text that reads 'Sambucky Summer Camp Bingo, S'Mores, ESTD. 2023 / finish ID]

Title: Piling It All Differently

Square Filled: S'Mores

Warnings: food for those having it as a t.w

Word Count: 775

A/N: just a ficlet for @sambuckylibrary's summer bingo of a couple of guys making treats and being domestic in the kitchen.^^

***

A box thumped against a counter and got it's lid removed. Revealing several some ingredients of the dessert sort. 

Gathering some graham crackers, he spread them out on a large plate. He added some chocolate bars and marshmallows on some. Also putting sliced strawberries, whipped cream cheese, berry sauce into the mix. 

Sam whistled along to a tune, sweeping the Nutella back and forth over a piece. 

Someone popped their head by the doorway. "Heya, Sammy." 

"Hey there, Buck," Sam replied, getting another clean spoon. 

"What are you doing?" Bucky strode into the kitchen, stopping to a halt by a counter. He scanned the equipment and ingredients, pulling a face. "Hang on. . . those are s'mores?" 

"Yup." He opened a container of blueberry jam. "I've missed having some." 

"I'm sure s'mores don't have strawberries or that sort of stuff." Bucky pulled a face, waving a finger around. 

"Well, it isn't all chocolate and marshmallows nowadays." "I didn't think someone would put other stuff than those." 

"Hmm, you've missed out on what types are out there." 

"Heh, I guess it's due to being cryo and whatnot." 

Bucky chuckled, nearly bowling Sam over with those offhanded remarks. It still kept surprising him whenever he made comments with such utter nonchalance. Then again, he hadn't lost his sense of humor entirely. 

"That. . . that and I bet no one's told you all about it." 

"Uh huh. So, why you'd make s'mores that are somewhat not s'mores?" 

"For some variety. Besides, these aren't gonna be for us. Sarah and the boys are dropping by, so I'm preparing some for them." 

"Do ya need some help?" Bucky's eyes twinkled. 

"If you truly mean it, sure," Sam replied, lifting a shoulder. "However, if you don't steal when I'm not looking, we got ourselves a deal." 

Bucky raised a hand in a salute, a corner of his mouth twitching. "Aye-aye, Cap." 

After Sam got a polka dot apron, he tossed it to Bucky, who wrapped it around his waist. He sauntered towards him, picking a graham cracker. Setting it on an empty plate and placed a chocolate bar and marshmallow on it. Five s'mores with three stacks. He pressed down on them with his left palm, compressing them. 

Air tried escaping his throat and he cleared it up, bursting into a cough. He shook his head, fumbling with the s'mores, consisting of a strawberry slice, marshmallow, and whip cream cheese combo. 

Just as he could grab the blueberry jam, Bucky wrapped his fingers around a spoon covered in cream and chocolate sauce. 

"No, no, no," Sam said, lifting a forefinger while wagging it. "This ain't your spoon, Sergeant!" 

"C'mon, I'm just borrowing it," Bucky murmured, sinking the spoon onto a bowl of Dulce de Leche. "You can get another if you want it so bad." 

Sam frowned, tsking. "Such a heathen." 

"What can I say, Cap?" Bucky grinned, swinging the spoon slightly. "Part of my appeal." 

At that, Sam hurled a graham cracker at him. Only for Bucky to crush it with his right hand, crumbling it into bits. 

His stomach lurched as his heart rate jumped, elevating his pulse. 

Even without super strength, Bucky proved to be. . . well. . . 

Blinking, Sam forbid his brain to finish that statement. He had to focus on making s'mores. . . not distracted by whatever was going on. 

They got back to working on their respective s'mores, just bumping elbows or shoulders in light pressure. Sam had to hold his breath, lest some sound escaped him. A weak sigh or some other. . . nope. He refused to allow his mind to go there. Difficult enough with Mr. Staring Problem in his vicinity. 

Thankfully, he didn't do much staring. If he did, otherwise. . . oh, stop that! 

Sam poured some Dulce de Leche above the toasted marshmallow and banana slice. It dripped down, landing on the plate's porcelain surface. He kept repeating it while watching Bucky compress a bunch of s'mores. 

"Great," Bucky mumbled, stretching his fingers. "Now they're covered up in sticky chocolate." 

"Yep, we did use way too much jam and Nutella." Sam grimaced at those coating his fingers. "Better wash up after we're finished." 

"And we'll roast them after?" Bucky asked, sounding expectant. "Because I can't wait to find out how these taste. Once they're. . . roasted and all that." 

Sam nodded. "So far, we did a pretty good job at this." 

"You know, Sammy, maybe we can take this as partners in a baking show." 

"Well, partners? Sounds intriguing, however, I'd be up for a challenge being contestants." 

Like the utter fools they could be, they began cracking up at their absurd plans. Just preparing snacks together in a kitchen.

***

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic. // a raw wound

she now looked like what she was.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

WARNINGS: none specific but uhh drinking! god bless

SUMMARY: daisy wastes little time in dedicating herself to her new position and responsibilities — but that doesn’t mean it’s the only thing on her mind.

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs , @monalisastwin

Familiarity does little to comfort her, but a little is still something.

Ginny comes back on Sunday. After that, Daisy receives an itemized list of names, the third squadron of twenty-three nurses, all of which would defer to her. And she’s grateful to recognize Carolyn Foster and Laura F. Rogers among them. She immediately catches Jane’s name too — but chooses not to remark on it. Of course, on the surface level she recognizes nearly every name, the Browns and the Palmers, the Campbells and the Gilmores. She’d been working with these women for several months now, some since Normandy; how could she not? But on a more intimate level, she really didn’t know all of them that well.

And it’s one of the first things she has to amend.

She tries to look at it through a clinical lens; knowing what jobs to give who, their strengths and their weaknesses. Evelyn Butler is called Evie by the women who know her, and Daisy makes a habit of calling her that from time-to-time. She’s level-headed and pragmatic in a way that reminds her of Catherine — and strong like Catherine too. There’s Marion Laurent who as her name might suggest is well acquainted with the French language — it rolls off her tongue effortlessly. June Liebmann and Vivian Kelly, joined at the hip, she thinks they might even be able to finish each other’s sentences.

So she’ll default to Marion when her minimal French can’t get her through conversation, and if she can help it, Vivian and June will work together if it’s a two-man job that needs dealing with, like carrying stretchers, and Evie’s strong enough to carry heavier loads of supplies, which will make the work go by quicker.

And she familiarizes herself with a few more of the medics in Mourmelon, because it really can’t hurt even if she could be called away to some other regiment at any point. Not all of them look at it through the lens of logic and reason, but she’s learned that even soldiers could be opportunists. Couples being married within the week had become increasingly normal. Being hit on by some of the men was just another part of the job.

“Got a lot of nerve, taking one of my best nurses,” Catherine teases. If there was one thing they could count on the Army to do — it’d be to find a place with access to a bar after being pulled off the line. Because what better way to cope with what they’ve seen than with alcohol? And for once, Daisy could use a drink. She gives the woman a smile.

“If I had it my way, you’d be mine too. Blame Ginny.” She shoots a glance across the table, and Ginny takes a sip from her glass, shaking her head.

“Blame Peake,” Is all she supplies the two other women with, but it’s enough to garner a laugh. Apparently after the Colonel left, Ginny’s office reeked of cigars, and she had to open up all the windows to get rid of it. Now, every minor inconvenience was Peake’s fault. “Besides, those girls from Fox are good women. Not their fault Fox Company’s full of active duty yokels that left all their sense in the airfield.” Another round of laughter from her two counterparts, Daisy looks around to see if anyone is really paying attention to their conversation. It doesn’t seem like it.

“Speaking of that, what’s the word? Do you think we’ll be auxiliary support again? Or are they sending us to a hospital?” Ginny sighs, setting down her glass.

“Honestly? I’ve got no clue what they’re thinking.” Ward’s groan is a bit more melodramatic than usual, but Daisy assumes it’s because the alcohol is making her a little looser.

“C’mon, Cap, no early gifts from Old Saint Dick?” Ginny scoffs at that lightheartedly, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

“Captain Nixon thinks it’ll be a Berlin jump in three months, so as far as I know, our odds of relinking with the Airborne in Berlin are about as good as us being stationed in a hospital or being reassigned to some other Division,” she stares into her empty glass for a moment. “In any case I might move Rita’s squad to Fox. She’s got the attitude to handle them, I think.” Catherine nods, and Daisy quirks an eyebrow as the woman then reaches to tug on her ear.

“Hope we’re under American command then, for this one’s sake.” Daisy tilts her head up, sticking her nose in the air for a moment as she finishes off her own glass of brandy. She’s never been much of a drinker, so it doesn’t take long for her to feel a little warm all over. And it loosens her up enough to smile at Ward’s teasing, at the very least.

“He started it, and Ginny finished it. I was an innocent bystander.” Ward rolls her eyes at that, giving Daisy’s earlobe one last definitive tug before releasing it.

“There are many ways to describe you, Daisy. Innocent bystander sure as hell isn’t one of them.” Daisy smiles in spite of herself, gives a bit of a shrug, and is about to offer to get Ward another drink when the door opens.

“There she is! Our very own Madame President,” the voice isn’t loud enough to garner all the attention from the room, but it’s familiar. From the way Ginny rolls her eyes with a certain fondness, she recognizes it as well. Daisy cranes her head back. She recognizes Dick’s red hair immediately, and then the dark-haired man, Nixon, from Eindhoven. The curly-haired man with them is someone she’s never actually spoken to — but has seen all the same. Nixon stops at their table, and looks the three women over before his gaze settles on Daisy. “So then I take it you’re Clarke.”

“What gave me away?” He jabs a thumb at Ginny, who’s scooting over on her side of the booth to allow Nixon a free space. She watches as the curly-haired one goes to grab an empty chair, and Dick then slides in on her and Ward’s side.

“You know how many times this one says Daisy in a day?” Ginny pouts, reaching up to pat Nixon’s cheek.

“Aw, is Dick not showing you enough affection these days, Lew?” Dick scoffs and rolls his eyes, shaking his head as the curly-haired man returns. They go through their rounds of introductions, and the curly-haired one is Harry Welsh. Daisy can vaguely recall his name being mentioned every now and again by the other men, in Holland. He offers to get everyone another round and Catherine accompanies him — so Daisy watches with a bit of a smile as Nixon and Ginny begin to go back and forth.

“I thought vacations were supposed to make you more relaxed,”

“You have a special talent for spiking my blood pressure, sir.”

Daisy looks at Dick and mouths a quiet ‘Are they always like this?’ — Dick just nods with an amused sort of glint as Daisy tries to piece together what exactly they’re talking about. Bits and pieces of Ginny’s time in Paris, which she then learns, was also spent in Dick’s company. Ginny recounts Dick’s poor French with an amused glint in her eye, before admitting that she isn’t much better at the language herself. Every now and again in the midst of conversation, Nixon will eye her and she doesn’t quite understand why. But Catherine and Harry return with drinks for the table and the night moves on.

Harry talks fondly about a girl at home, Kitty, and it makes Daisy feel warm as she lets her thoughts drift, uninhibited as a result of the alcohol in her system as she downs the refilled glass. She can’t help but wonder if Ron ever talked about her in this light — like she really was the best thing since penicillin. Or maybe she was a secret, something closely guarded for only him to know; what had he done with her letters? Did he burn them after reading? Did he carry them around? She tries to keep up with the conversation, throwing in her own small quips and laughing when everyone else does, but her mind is, once again, preoccupied. She finds herself leaning against Dick’s arm for a moment, her face warm and brain muddled with thoughts of Ron that just won’t go away.

Nixon looks at her again, and she wipes her nose, pulling herself away from Dick and sitting up a little straighter.

“I think m’gonna go…” Daisy declares, but it’s more like a murmur, mixed in with a quiet “M’tired.” She feels Dick’s fingers wrap around her arm gently as he rises to his feet.

“I’ll walk you back.” Nixon rises shortly after that, waving his hand in a gesture as if to tell Dick to sit back down.

“I’ve got it. You walk too slow anyway.” The two men continue to exchange words, but Daisy isn’t really listening as her gaze falls to Ginny, who just gives her one of those softer smiles of hers and bids her a quiet goodnight. Whatever debate the two of them were having — it seems that Nixon’s won out as he offers his arm to her. And while she isn’t stumbling yet, she takes it, letting the man guide her out of the bar and back towards the camp set up on the outskirts of town.

He smells like a bar and military soap, and runs warm in comparison to the frigid December air. She shivers for a moment, and Nixon looks at her, a teasing grin making its way onto his face.

“Don’t go getting cold on me now, Daisy. He might get mad if I give you my jacket.” Her lips tug into a frown, not quite getting the joke. And since it’s just them, she doesn’t have to play along and laugh regardless.

“I don’t think Dick would care. He likes Ginny.” she states bluntly. Nixon chuckles sharply through the nose.

“He wouldn’t.”

The conversation dies there for a moment, with Daisy left discontent by Nixon’s remark. It nags at her, incessantly. Her arm wraps around his a little tighter, as she takes her lip between her teeth for a moment. Daisy takes another look at him, at his scruffy beard, hair slightly mussed from Ginny ruffling it at some point in the night.

“Captain Nixon..?” she murmurs, more to herself than to him, but he looks at her all the same, with a tilt to his head. She tries to grasp the words before they slip from her sluggish train-of-thought. “He was… looking for you one time. N’I was with… Liebgott. Think it bothered him.” she continues to mutter. Nixon smiles again, amused.

“Oh it definitely bothered him. If a look could kill, Liebgott would be dead three times over,” he starts out before trailing off with a slight shake of his head. “Still a little sharp even after drinking half your weight, huh Clarke?” Daisy narrows her eyes at him.

“Wasn’t half my weight.”

“Oh right, it was a third.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Or you’re just pouty when you drink,” Daisy shifts for a moment, wiggling her fingers until she can find the inside of his arm, and gives it a sharp pinch. He jerks away at that, looking at her with wide eyes. Daisy smiles to herself, giving him nothing more than a shrug. He shifts, so his hand is ghosting the small of her back, preventing her from pinching him there again. The thought makes her grin a little bit more, satisfied with herself. Eventually, they do reach the tent she’s staying in.

“Sorry for pinching you,” Daisy professes, and Nixon gives her a bit of a shrug, waving his hand dismissively. They bid each other quick goodbyes before she’s slinking towards her cot to lay down and shut her eyes, hoping that her body will be merciful on her in the morning.

. . .

She’s been privy to enough of James’ hangovers to know what they are and what they aren’t. She’s even watched as his friends recount whatever he’d gotten up to the night before, because he couldn’t remember it. So she knows that at the very least, she wasn’t as bad as her brother. She recalls most of the night, even if things are just a little fuzzier towards the end. She still knows what she said and to who, and at least it wasn’t too embarrassing.

It doesn’t change the fact that her head hurts and the sun is a little too bright for her liking and the people around her are a little too loud, but who is she to complain, really? She sucks it up and continues on with her day, because that’s all she really can do. She’s on duty at the infirmary all day, and it’s a little strange to now be the one giving the orders instead of receiving them, but even so she still assists her fellow nurses.

“Afternoon, dollface,” a voice drawls out — Bill Guarnere is perched upon one of the cots like he’s a kid going to see his pediatrician, and she can’t help but roll her eyes fondly as she approaches.

“The leg again, Bill?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she kneels down to take a look at his leg. He’d gone AWOL from the hospital, and considering he wasn’t fully healed, Roe had been keeping a watchful eye on him. She looks up at him through her lashes as she rolls up his pants leg.

“See this right here, this is what happens when we try to leave hospitals with shoe polish on our casts. Honestly I think you might be the worst of the worst,” she scolds, and Guarnere simply laughs, coming up with a million different reasons why he couldn’t stay in the hospital. She holds up her hand to get him to stop speaking, looking up at him fully. “Just try to stay off it. I could see about getting you an extra pillow so it’s elevated when you sleep. Not much we can do about it now. We’re running low on everything and I will not enable recreational morphine use.” He grins a little wider at her remark.

“Oh c’mon, you really think I would do that? A person of my character?” he teases. Daisy stands up again, and reaches to flick his forehead gently.

“I think a person of your character has the impulse control of a schoolboy. Who knows what you’d get up to. Is Lieutenant Dike having you guys go on another parade march?” She reaches for a piece of scrap paper, and a pen. And then she starts to scribble.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Sit it out.” She hands the note over to him. “Tell him it’s the doctor’s orders. And if he wants you marching three months from now, then he’ll let you sit this one out. And if you don’t I’ll pull you back here by your ear, that clear?”

“Crystal.” Guarnere takes it, sauntering out of the infirmary — or rather, trying to, with a slight limp to his leg that he tries his best to mask. She watches for a moment, wanting to help but knowing he (alongside every other paratrooper she knows) would decline that help.

She has a meeting later, with Brant, Ward, and, McCarney to talk about that same supplies situation, along with some of the officers from 326th Medical — so she doesn’t dally when it’s time for that. Improvising what exactly to do while they wait for things to come in is an arduous task, everyone laden with understandable frustration. That, combined with the lack of penicillin and winter creeping in leaves Daisy feeling a little uncertain. She’s heard her fair share of wet coughs and wheezing breaths around Mourmelon. Winter’s finally settling in and they haven’t even gotten the proper uniforms for it yet.

And even though there’s not much that she can do, she’s still going to mull it over as she leaves the office with a hand brought to her chin, stroking pensively. There isn’t much to do about the uniforms, but scrounging for supplies and trying to figure out how to make what they do have last.

Her gaze drifts ahead, towards a dark-haired soldier and she straightens out, ready to thank Nixon again for walking her back last night and once again apologize for pinching him so hard. Her lips pull into a polite smile, anticipating some sort of snark from the man that she’d witnessed last night. As she approaches — she feels her chest begin to tighten, a lump forming in her throat, any remnant of a hangover vanishing.

“Ronnie?” Her voice is trembling, she thinks it cracks. His head turns to her — and then the rest of his body with it.

“Daisy.” He greets, standing still. No blood, no water, no cam cream and no holes or bandages.

She launches herself at him without a second thought.

[the-fiction-witch]

31st Lost

Media IRL

Character TBS

Couple TBS X Talulah

Rating Spooky

Halloween day 31

The music was on low so much that I was barely able to hear the lyrics through the low hum, of the engine. The headlights all that brought clarity to the pitch-black roads lined with bare trees packed tightly. It had been hours since we saw the last village. I eased off a little and turned to focus more on the interior as dark as everything else with a slight off-orange glow in places, the dials for speed and temperature, the clock and the radio tuner. I didn't want to take my eyes off the road for too long but my hand couldn't find anything in the darkness.

"What are you looking for?" Talulah spoke up from the darkness of the passenger seat, the first time she'd spoken in a good two hours.

She was angry at me, and I don't blame her.

My fault we were lost.

"Coffee. I feel like I'm about to pass out" I answered

Suddenly the car was lit by the light of her phone torch, she scanned the backseats before taking the tall blue insulated bottle in hand. She unscrewed the cap which turned into a hard plastic cup, untwisted the lid and filled the cup

"Here," she says handed it over

"Thanks," I forced a smile, took the small cup and focused on the road as much as I could, taking a few sips of the lukewarm coffee.

"You've had the last of it."

"Sorry,"

"It's fine, you need to be awake more than I do."

"Still no signal?"

"Nothing. no bar's for hours now.

"We'll be fine, I'm sure we'll find our way back somewhere familiar soon,"

"You've been saying that all night."

"Well, the road has to go somewhere." I snapped

For a moment, we sat in silence

"Sorry,"

"It's been a long night, Thomas," she says "Half a mind to have you just pull over, we can get some sleep and hope the daylight brings some clarity."

"I'd rather keep going. Trees are tall. It's pitch black. We don't know what could be lurking around"

Silence returned, I forced down the last of the coffee and handed her back the cup, I took a moment to rub my eyes hoping to clear the sleep that had formed there.

"We should have stopped at the last village," she said

I bit my lip and inhaled harshly through my nose, it took all my strength not to be a cunt.

"That would have been good to know when we were IN the village, My love," I said through gritted teeth doing my best not to shout

"I'm JUST saying," she snapped

"Okay! But me apologising for not stopping, In what I didn't know, was going to be the last village in fucking England! Is not going to put us back there, is it!"

The moment I said that last word the whole car jolted throwing us around, something had run into us, and all I saw was this flash of a face in the headlights, I did everything I could to control the car stopping us meer meters down from where it hit us.

For a second we both just sat gasping trying to get stable after that

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, you?"

"Yeah uhh yeah fine"

"What where did that thing come from?"

"No idea, must have come out of these woods, you stay here," I told her before slowly climbing out of the car luckily the lights were still working, "Awwww... My car" I whined seeing whatever it was had smashed the whole front of my car I had a quick look not being able to be done in-depth given the darkness but it was pretty fucked, beyond what I could do out here with just the toolkit in the boot. We'd need a tow to a garage for even a sliver of hope.

"How is it?" she asks out the window

"Ughh bad. Just stay inside Talulha"

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what's out here." I told her as hushed as I could but she got out of the car "You know I don't just say stuff for the fun of it"

"Ohh grow up." she snapped "Whoa... is it dead?"

"What?"

"Whatever hit us?"

"No, It must have got up it's gone now" I answered looking through the red-black lights nothing on the road behind us for miles,

"What was it? a deer?"

"It had a face whatever it was"

"A face?"

"I saw it"

"Thomas you were panicked your head probably just imagined one, or saw your own in the windshield reflection"

"It didn't look like me. Don't worry about it. Whoever or whatever it was we hit them at forty even if they walked away they'll be pretty fucked, I would know"

"How the hell would you know?"

"I've come off my bike enough times to know that fucking hurts"

"Well... what are we gonna do?"

"I don't know"

"How are we going to get any help?"

"I don't know" I sighed

"where can we even-"

"Talulah! I. Don't. Know."

"Fine" she snapped grabbing her bag and her jacket from the car

"I'm sorry, sweetheart"

"I know" she sighed starting to walk

"What are you doing?"

"I'm walking."

"Walking? What the hour back to that village?"

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any better ideas. I'll walk to the village and call for a tow"

"On what?"

"On a pay phone, a shop landline, someone's phone, I don't know," she said now beyond the car showered in the dark red lights

"This is stupid you can't talk all that way" I called

"Then I'll hitchhike" she called back

"with whom!" I yelled but she just kept walking "Talulah! Sweetheart I'm sorry just come back!" but she kept walking "At least let me go, you wait here."

"You stay here with the car. I'll be back" she shouts

"You promise?"

"I promise"

"Okay... Love you!"

"Love you too!" she called before she disappeared into the darkness.

I did my best to stay awake, I had tried working with the car but nothing really worked so I just sat in the car waiting watching the clock tick around it would be hours until daylight, I hadn't seen or heard anything from Talulah for a good two hours now. I hope she's okay. I shouldn't have shouted at her. I should have gone. What kinda dick am I, I send my feince on a two-hour walk to get help while I sit and wait with the car, she would be sitting waiting with the car.

It's terrifying out here, just in the unearthly quiet without any wind, animal sounds or anything just sitting in silence staring at the infinitely stretching darkness. It took a lot for my mind not to run away with itself.

I got up for a while and passed around for a while in the lights of the car stretching my legs, stretching my back and running a hand through my hair.

"AAAaaaaahhhhhhhhh!"

"Talulah!"

"AAAAHHHHH Thomas! Help!"

I bolted as fast as I could in that direction into the darkness but I stopped short as there stood only a few hundred meters from the back of my car, still bathed in the red light from the backlights.

Was me.

Stood stiff in the light.

Dressed exactly the same as me.

Like staring at a mirror.

They stood there emotionless, motionless.

I froze unsure what to do, or even if what I was seeing was real.

It smiled at me wider than should have been humanly possible before it jumped and began to run towards me. I turned and bolted as fast as I could the other way but I fell to the hard dirty road hard the light in my eyes from the car's headlights my head hurt so badly but as I looked up I saw it stood over me before everything went black-

I sat in the tow truck passenger seat watching this road in the daylight, it still seemed strangely frightening.

"That it?" he asked spotting the car up on the road

"Yeah! yeah that's the car" I smiled he parked up beside the car and we both climbed out I looked around for Thomas

"Holy halibut. Whatever hit you was big" he muttered checking the car over "Where's this man of yours then?"

"I don't know, he's not here," I said very confusedly as there was no sign of him "Thomas! Thomas!" I called but no answer, nothing. "He couldn't have walked we'd have seen him? He's not in the car? where is he?"

"I'm sure it's fine maybe he got walking the other way"

"I don't know seems weird if he would," I said "He's not good with directions, he gets lost in London and he was born there and spent almost his whole life there"

"Maybe he hitched a ride with someone?"

"I don't know... he doesn't like people, plus this car's his pride and joy. sometimes I think he loves it more than me he wouldn't just wander off leaving it unlocked even in this state"

"Did you see what you hit?" He asks dragging his fingers across the road and picking up still-wet blood

"No, I never saw Thomas was driving. it was gone when we got out" I said "Why? do you have... wolfs here?"

"No Miss," he says, "I think you should get inside the truck, I'll tow you to the next town hopefully you can find each other there"

"Why? Shouldn't we stay and look for him?"

"I'd rather not."

"why not?"

".... Miss. They say bad things about these woods. stories as old as the village itself. I don't want to frighten you with meer stories but I don't want to be here any longer than I have to be."

"What kind of stories?" I asked fiddling with my ring

"Bad things walk these woods. A lot of people go into these woods... most don't come out." He explained

"The ones who do?"

"Aren't quite the same"

"What sort of bad things? in the stories?"

"Things that walk the woods at night under cover of darkness. They look like us but aren't the same. tales of shadows and voices owned by others, that people go into the woods and when they return they aren't the person that left."

"Okay, I'm sure He'll turn up" I nodded with a gulp heading back to the tow truck

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

You know what? That's fair, if they can have three bug types and four steel types and still consistently kick my ass on their stupid trains, they deserve to use whatever the hell they want. If they want haunted keys as their lone fairy and fifth steel type, it's not like it'll help me win any easier.

I went back and looked through that tag though and suddenly I don't feel as bad about how many times Emmet has wiped the floor with my team. He trained a tynamo, presumably from a low level until it could finally murder on its own - he has a strength of will I can only dream of emulating. He's just. So. Hard. To beat. If I didn't love him so much I'd hate him, but I also feel that way about Ingo's path of solitude. Not that Ingo is easy on the trains either, but so far I've managed to pull out more wins against him alone and that makes me feel a little better. Haven't faced them together because I really suck at multi battles and can't ever make it that far, so I can only imagine how hard they are to beat there, uuuugh.

Real talk though, if the Subway didn't automatically cap you at 50, how high do you think their levels would be? Because my guess is Way More Than 50.

no real talk i think their team is actually fully level 100, or at least something close to it. i think this is also true of like, most battle facility/gym leaders/elite 4/champions, barring ones who only recently took on the position, bc of how frequently they're battling with this one team. that's how you can face a gym leader in the 20s and then they can show back up in postgame suddenly in the mid-80s. they were never level 20 to begin with, they were just playing down to your level so it'd be more fair.

i was actually just thinking abt this earlier, bc: going down to 50 had been standard in battle facilities for a while, but b/w was the first time you could go up to 50, too. as in, if you went into the subway with a team under level 50, they'd sync upwards. now playing down makes sense to me, but how the fuck do they go the other way?

also re: the rest of it YEAH LMAO they're so fucking op