#getting bloody and silly and sexy

[flowerflamestars]

Timeloop au snippet

The arrow that caught Elain might have been Hybernian. It might, fletched in shining black, have come from the Night Court��s hands. What mattered- what stopped everything in sick, numb horror, was that the iron and ash barbed bolt went right through her.   The Archeron sisters, the same in this always: dead, or fae.   Fae just long enough to die again.   Feyre wailed, but Nesta- Nesta, Cauldron water dripping, catching unreal silver off her ruined nightdress, more flame than person, the wind abruptly screaming in this airless, trap of a palace- Nesta grabbed the first soldier who approached her, and ripped his head clean off.   “No,” Nesta said, dropping the skull like it was nothing, sick sound of flesh and bone on cold, wet stone eerily familiar. She looked up, through it- Hybern wounded, frozen in fascination. Tamlin bound, Rhysand on the floor, Feyre weeping in his arms- looked past them all like none of them were real, and found Lucien.   “Not like this,” Nesta hissed, a silver-eyed fury, blood splatter stippled so thickly across her face and neck it was dripping.   He thought he might have winnowed. He certainly didn’t bother to walk, waste the time.   “I’m going,” Nesta said, absolutely sure, rocking back a step.   Not alone- not if he could help it- not- Lucien didn’t need to say it, much less try to stop it. He was already reaching, she was already there, taking both his hands. A question, silent, raised on her upturned face, eyes searching his expression.   Lucien squeezed back, as much as Nesta’s sheer grip would allow.

“Not like this,” he agreed, quiet, and leaned it.   She made it quick.

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 2

in which sexy construction worker!rafe who spends his days 'lifting heavy stuff and building shit' (his words) and driving shy!reader home, shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night...

c/w: construction worker!rafe being a tease, slight somnophilia, smut (dry humping, p-in-v, unprotected sex)

wc: 2.7k

hi! this is a part two to this (also this whole story was originally supposed to be just a small blurb consisting of a few silly sentences but then i got a bit carried away :D) anyways hope you enjoy xx

part 3 part 4 part 5

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s past midnight when her doorbell rings, making her brows furrow. She throws the fluffy covers away, immediately yearning for the warmth of them as she pads her bare feet along the chilly hardwood floors of her apartment.  

No one has ever been at her door this late, which makes her hesitate. Maybe it’s just her neighbor asking for sugar, she tries to reason, as if the retired elderly lady living next door would even be up this late. For all she knows, it could be a criminal who’s escaped prison, holding a bloody knife at her. 

Curiosity ends up getting the best of her (as always) when she gingerly opens the door, mentally preparing to face a serial killer.

However, all her worries wash away like pollen under rain when she realizes it’s Rafe standing tall before her. 

“Oh, hi. What are you— what are you doing here?” A surprised look paints over her visage.  

“You forgot this in my car, thought you might need it back,” he’s grinning, holding out a phone to her, pale yellow case making her realize it’s her phone. She almost doesn’t recognize it, since it appears so tiny in his massive paw, almost like a miniature version of the device she’s grown accustomed to.  

“Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for it, thought I was gonna have to buy a new one,” she takes it from him, a grateful smile etching her features.  

“Yeah, couldn’t exactly call you,” he shakes his head at his terrible attempt at a joke. 

A delighted giggle escapes her throat, nonetheless, eyes crinkling and teeth poking out; forcing the corners of his mouth to lift up as well as he finally takes in her appearance.  

A worn-out t shirt a few sizes too big and…well, that’s it. She’s not wearing anything else. He’s trying not to stare at her plush thighs, or the way the hem of the shirt slightly climbs up, revealing even more skin as she rakes a hand through a messy head of hair, swallowing nervously under his attention.  

Unfortunately for the both of them, he never actually ended up fucking her when she came over to his place last week and had him cook for her. He just felt so bad about initiating something like that when she kept yawning through forkfuls of pasta, eyes barely staying open as she complained about her limbs aching and how she was so exhausted she could sleep for a week after the particularly long shift she’d just had.  

Which is why he simply drove her home after their late-night dinner and wished her a good night with a heavy hand on her shoulder, thumb smoothing over the material of her shirt, letting her rest in tranquility. Telling himself he could be patient with her, not wanting to rush anything.  

However, she’s not making it very easy for him right now when there’s only one piece of clothing covering her. She looks so sleepy and pretty he has half the mind to pick her up in his arms and slump down on her bed, crawling under crisp sheets and feel how her lungs expand against his chest.  

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He carefully asks, suddenly worried he’s disturbed her serene slumber.  

“No, no. I mean, I was in bed but couldn’t really sleep so…” she trails off, desperately trying to come up with something to make him stay a bit longer, not wanting him to go yet; finding immense comfort in his assured presence.  

“Um, do you— do you want to come in? I could make you some tea or something?” She clumsily offers.  

His brows raise, surprised at her proposition. She’s being uncharacteristically bold; his mouth twists into an amused simper. 

“Actually, forget I said anything, you’re probably really tired and just wanna go home, sorry, I don’t know why I even—” she scrambles to correct herself, and now that sounds more like the girl Rafe’s grown familiar with.  

“Don’t be stupid, of course I’ll come in,” he cuts her off, stepping past the threshold, taking a look around her cozy home. Leafy plants adding greenery to the small space and picturesque paintings fixed on the cream-colored walls. It’s cute, he thinks.  

She sets a steaming mug in front of him on her kitchen table and sits down next to him on a wooden chair. He’s definitely not staring at the way the bottom of her shirt rides up the tops of her thighs, allowing for the flimsy material of her panties to peek out. He clears his throat.  

“You often have trouble sleeping?” He tries to focus on something else, anything else, taking a slow sip of the searing liquid; nearly burning his tongue in the process.  

“Yeah, sometimes. It’s just sometimes it’s hard to shut my brain off after spending all day at the cafe. I try to fall asleep but the loud noises of the customers talking and the clinking of plates and spoons keep replaying in my head and suddenly I’m wide awake, you know?” She explains.  

“I’m sorry, is there anything that helps?” He prods.  

“I don’t know, I guess just trying to think of something else or talking with someone else,” she mumbles out. 

“Oh, so what you’re saying is that you’re just using me in order to fall asleep?” He teases, grinning when he manages to drag out yet another giggle from her mouth.  

“Yeah, I suppose I am,” her eyes glimmer like little stars when she looks at him.  

“Should I feel offended right now?” He jokingly scoffs.  

“No, you should feel flattered, I don’t invite just anyone into my home at almost 1 am, just so you know.” 

And he thinks he likes this side of her, all playful and sleepy, she’s a lot less reserved than her usual fully rested and overly conscious self would be, more carefree. Maybe that’s the reason he lets the next words escape the gaps of his teeth.  

“You into cuddling?” He asks, profound aquamarine locking with her rounded eyes.  

“Uh— I mean, I probably would be if I had someone to cuddle with, but I don’t so…” she drifts off, not sure how to respond. 

“Wanna cuddle with me?” He says it so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t understand how he’s so indifferent to this whole situation while she feels dizzy, dazed mind reeling and vivid heart tingling in her ribcage. 

“Really? You want to? But wouldn’t it be weird?” She seems taken aback by his proposal. 

“Why the fuck would it be weird? I mean, we’re friends, right?” His brows crease. 

“Yes, of course we are, I just—” 

“Look, all I’m saying, is that it might help you sleep, yeah? Having something else to focus on and shit,” he reasons, making her realize she’s totally overthinking this; he’s simply trying to help.  

“You’re right, yeah, we should do that then,” she agrees and swiftly gets up on wobbly feet, almost falling face first on the ground, if not for his strong grip on her waist steadying her, grounding her, drawing a faint gasp from the back of her throat at his sudden proximity.  

“Easy there, Sweetheart,” he chuckles against her hair, finding her eagerness to get into bed with him amusing.  

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a raspberry hue dusting over her cheeks.  

And that’s how they end up tangled in each other under her soft sheets, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around her middle, caging her in with gentle fingertips toying with the hem of her shirt. His sturdy chest rises and falls against her back in tandem with his steady breaths, pacifying her; coaxing her heavy lids to flutter closed.  

He’s so warm and big making her feel so secure and safe she thinks she wouldn’t mind doing this again.  

“You good?” He murmurs next to her ear.  

“Mhm,” she blissfully croons, letting out a content exhale.  

Her mind begins to topple over the edge of reality, plummeting into oblivion; a far away dreamland where everything is upside down and the ether is evermore the shade of fluffy cotton candy and the sand consists of stardust and ecstasy.  

“Sweet dreams,” is the last thing her misty awareness grasps onto before she’s in the tender embrace of a crepuscular dormancy.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

She’s lethargic in her movements when she rouses from the abstruse blankness she seems to have lost herself in. Rafe’s heavy arm is draped over her waist, trapping her body into his and it’s murky in her unlit bedroom; the pale moonlight gleaming through the slots in her curtains the only beacon illuminating the space.  

The lines of her cerebrum are blurred and she’s not sure what has woken her up.  

Then she feels it; something poking her from behind, pressing against her ass. There’s a crinkle in her brow until her eyes widen in realization.  

He’s hard. Rafe is hard and she can practically feel the culprit of his excitement since he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, having complained about getting all too hot during the night to wear anything more. 

She swallows.  

What is she supposed to do? 

She shifts against him, trying to untangle her limbs from his. However, her attempt is proved fruitless when instead of unchaining her, he lets out a low groan, rumbling deep from his firm chest; grip tightening around her smaller form.  

“Rafe?” She calls out. 

No response.  

“Rafe? Wake up.”  

Still nothing. 

She can feel him breathing heavily against her hair; pawing at her hips every now and then, trying to pull her even closer, even if they’re already effectively glued together and there’s absolutely no means for her to move.  

She’s starting to become sticky between her thighs as he drags her against his cock again; seemingly stuck in a stupor.  

She mewls when her clit throbs, pestering for some sort of friction. And that’s when he finally stirs, the weight of his arms loosening like a tight knot unfurling and her lungs are finally able to greedily suck in brisk air.  

“Shit, sorry, my bad” his tone is gravelly and at that, some sort of birds begin flapping their wings in her tummy, jabbing at her insides. 

However, he doesn’t pull away like she half expects; her face heats up. 

“It’s uh— it’s okay. I mean…no worries,” she rambles because what the fuck is she supposed to say? 

“No, it’s fully my fault, just had quite a nice dream,” he admits, voice coarse. 

“Oh. What was it about?” She inquires, yawning, perhaps too curious for her own good.  

“You wanna know?” His brows raise, surprised. 

She hums.  

“Well, there was this really pretty girl, and she had me in her mouth and was letting me do whatever I wanted to her,” he murmurs with a heady tone overlaying his response.  

“Oh,” she tries to appear indifferent, although there’s a pitiful sprout of jealousy threatening to blossom from the damp soil in the pit of her stomach at his words.  

He chuckles at how oblivious she is. “You’re silly sometimes, you know?” He was practically dry-humping her just now, was he not? Why would he be dreaming about another girl when he’s got her right here with him? 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, smiling to himself.  

“So, what else happened?”  

“What else? Okay, then she let me do this,” he says at the same time as he grabs her hips again, pushing against her, earning a faint whimper from her when she can feel how big he is through the thin fabric of her underwear. 

“Rafe…what are you doing?” She manages to ask through a whine; his blunt nails denting the exposed skin of her thighs.  

“Got no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” He mutters, shallow. 

“I— what are you— what are you talking about?” Her brain is foggy and she’s not able to think straight when he’s so close.  

He doesn’t answer, instead continuing the retelling of his dream. “Then I grabbed her like this,” he lifts her on top of him in one smooth motion, as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper. Her inhale gets stuck somewhere along the way when he paws at her hips, shuffling her around until she’s straddling him, properly sitting on top of his cock and he lets out a heartfelt grunt when she moves her achy cunt over him.  

“You like this? Such a needy little thing, yeah?” He helps her find some relief by grappling at her hips; dragging her against his cock, filthy groans escaping his mouth when he feels her wetness saturating the two layers of cotton between them.  

“Rafe, can you…”  

“Can I what, hm? Play with you a little?” He says as he slips a hand in her panties, fingers petting at her puffy clit and a loud moan leaves her when she lifts the fabric of her shirt up in order to have a better view.  

“Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Getting real fucking wet from me just being close to you, yeah?” His thumb rubs lazy circles on her sensitive button, making her cry out his name as she presses down harder against his cock. 

“Shit, gonna come in my fucking pants if you keep doing that. You wanna know what else was in my dream?” 

She nods, frantic.  

“I pushed this little piece of fabric here to the side,” he says as he plucks at her underwear, doing just that. “And then, I did this,” he mutters as he takes himself out from the confines and her eyes round out as she looks down at it in his palm, mesmerized. He thuds the head of his cock on her clit, one, two, three times, and then smears it on her sticky folds, painting it up and down her soaked cunt.  

“Rafe…” she whines, desperate to feel him inside her. Unfortunately for her, he’s feeling a little mean, pressing just the tip inside her tight hole, slowly pushing in and out, turning her into a whimpering mess. The hydrangea blue of his eyes is locked down to where they connect, fascinated.  

“Fuck, Sweetheart, does that feel nice?” He asks, swiping a thumb over her swollen bud, tucking his cock in a little deeper, forcing a loud noise to leave her throat.  

“Feels so good, Rafe, I think I’m gonna…” she trails off, lids heavy as she stretches around him.  

“You’re gonna come already?” he chuckles, amusement coating his face, nudging his dick about halfway in and out, never fully plunging it inside of her though.  

“You feel so good, I can’t— can’t hold it,” water droplets are gathering in the corners of her eyes, catching to her lashes as teary eyes look into larimar and she rolls her hips against him, chasing after some sort of release. 

“Shit, go on then, let me feel you soak my cock, yeah?” He encourages her and she doesn’t need to be told twice; crying out and throbbing around him, hips stuttering as her cunt pulses and she’s unspooling on top of him. 

“There you go, just fucking give it to me,” he grunts and all of a sudden, he feels his own orgasm approaching; rolling down a hill like a landslide. She’s squeezing around him so tight, he can’t help but thrust his hips into her, a guttural moan leaving him when he stuffs his cock profoundly into her, to the hilt.  

He stills inside her and then he’s groaning out when his cum gushes out from his drippy tip, coating her gummy walls in white, filling her to the brim; making her feel so full. She thinks she could die happy right now.  

There’s so much of it, to the point where the sticky substance begins to seep out from where they’re connected as they both pant, trying to even out their breathing.  

She turns into something mellow in his arms, slumping down against him, burying her face in his neck as he draws sluggish circles on her back, calming her down with tender words spoken in gentle murmurs.  

“Did so good for me, shit, we should do this more often, yeah?” He says with a sleepy tinge.   

And she’s completely out of it, head as empty as ever, merely managing an amorphous hum in agreement; tumbling down a slippery slide right back into a nebulous slumber. 

[tossawary]

Looking at Kakashi's age at the beginning of "Naruto", I kind of want to make a "He was only 26??? He should have been at the club!!!" type of joke. But my immediate response to that is "The CLUB??? This man should be at the RETIREMENT HOME!!!" and I'm only like half-joking about that.

I think Kakashi could potentially have a great time volunteering at / hanging out at the ninja retirement home. (Statistically, some of them have to make it and/or get injured out of service.) He could be killing it at the cards and dice tables, taking naps on the couch under a pile of his dogs, swapping sexy novels with horny retirees, and complaining with his fellow war veterans about how much his body hurts. You are not getting this man into therapy, but it probably wouldn't hurt him to hang out with a 96-year-old woman who's thrilled to have someone nod along to her rant about how her soap opera radio show isn't bloody enough anymore and the jelly desserts aren't as good as they used to be either, just to put some things into perspective for him. He's so young! And I bet that the retirees would love hearing about his troublesome genin team and LOVE giving him advice of varying quality.

Honestly, I like to imagine that this is what post-canon Kakashi spends some of his time doing. Rokudaime Hokage Kakashi visits some retirement homes as a village leadership duty or because Gai is teaching some physical fitness classes, and this is new for him because he's never really known anyone who made it to retirement before, and Kakashi is almost immediately like, "Oh, fuck yeah, there's an erotic book club here!!! Where has this place been all my life???" He's signing up for water aerobics and the photography club. He's going to gardening shows and painting exhibitions. He's been a soldier since he was, like, 5 or 6 years old, but now he's going to learn how to crochet silly hats for his dogs and he's the celebrity judge for the lawn bowling tournament later. Awesome.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

COD Sex Bot Au - General and Character Specific Facts

Requested: Yes. By uh…..pretty much everyone. SO many people begged for something and while this isn’t exactly a part 2, I hope it will help tide you all over til I can get that completed.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Child Abuse, Adult Abuse as well, Mention of Murder, Mention of Self-Destruction (Robot Suicide), Mentions of Knives, Mention of Blood, Spice, Probably very incorrect Spanish

A/N: So! A lot of people, along with requesting a part 2, have also been begging me for Price as well. I know I’ve only done the 4 characters for all of my Cod works so far but I do want to expand the character list! That being said, I’m just not entirely comfortable with writing them yet. I am looking more into Gaz, Price, and Roach specifically and I promise to let you guys know when I feel comfortable enough to write for them! But until then, please enjoy!

✨General✨

Their eyes get this kind of colored sheen to them sometimes. Different colors for different things.

Yellow is absorbing new information

Pink is the color during sexy times

Red is malfunctioning/in need of repairs (but can also be a sign of embarrassment or shyness)

Light blue is curiosity

White (still) is powered down

White (pulsing) is powering down

White (flickering) is low power

Grey is rebooting/charging

Black is enraged

Lilac is contentment

Plum is upset/hurt

All the boys come with their uniforms on but what’s underneath depends

For Ghost’s model, simple black briefs

For Soap’s model, silly patterned boxers (think hearts or something)

For König’s model, usually some fancy lace panties since he’s very popular amongst Doms who like that sort of thing

Alejandro’s model? Absolutely nothing

Ghost

Ghost’s model was MEANT to be a scary bad guy kind of deal, to be marketed towards fans of slashers and the like. But he…..didn’t end up being that way.

At least, not your Ghost. Many of the other Ghost models are that way, but not yours. For some reason.

Granted, that programming is definitely still in him, though not exactly in the way it was meant to be.

Instead of it being just for fun rough sexy times, it’s more…….actually will kill for you. And has, in fact, killed for you.

Something that he’s NOT supposed to be able to do.

“Gee, I wonder what happened to that Barista that insulted me the other day.”

“Gee, I wonder.” *cleaning a bloody combat knife in your sink*

Speaking of knives!!! Ghost’s model does come with a lot of fun knives! Granted, they’re dulled into being just (mostly) harmless kink knives but he made quick work of making them a lot more harmless by ordering a knife sharpener.

So uh, yeah. You have received not just a sex robot, but one that borders on Yandere and will probably self-destruct if you reject him.

Have fun with that!

Fun fact: YOUR Ghost actually used to be a child bot MANY years ago, bought by a man who only wanted to be able to legally abuse a child. So he was broke down and put back together so very many times. And when they recycled and reprogrammed his AI chip, the scarring from that was still imprinted into him.

Soap

While Soap’s model is marketed more towards romantic oriented people, he’s generally seen as a Jack of all trades.

Doms, subs, romantics, first timers, just about any kind of person. He’s good with all of them, though he thrives with Romantics since that is his programming.

And also just because your Soap is so very lonely. He yearns to be loved by you, to melt under your affection.

And also just because your Soap is so very lonely. He yearns to be loved by you, to melt under your affection.

He doesn’t want to be seen as just a sexual object, he wants to be yours. And you to be his.

König

Ah yes, the gentle giant that was supposed to be marketed more towards Subs but ended up being a bit….Soft.

None of the programmers can explain it but every model of him is just inexplicably shy and quiet, thriving in an environment where he has no control.

So now he’s more marketed towards doms. Usually soft doms.

They once tried to change his model to be smaller and more petite and people started BOYCOTTING.

It affected their sales so much that they very quickly changed him back.

People still seethe when they think about it.

Probably equal parts the most loved and most abused of the different models.

Probably equal parts the most loved and most abused of the different models.

Just because of how quiet and meek his model is, how they almost never fight back when hurt.

Alejandro

Alejandro’s model is VERY popular among submissives so he’s programmed to be pretty dominant and also to have a caring nature.

Due to said caring nature, many mistake his model as good for beginners.

I can assure you, he is NOT.

So SO many of his models have been returned cause he’s brought them to tears from so much pleasure, absolutely overwhelming for any beginner.

“Cry for me, Amor. That’s it, just like that.”

His model is one of the only ones that isn’t returnable unless something is malfunctioning and even then, they’ll try just about anything to fix the model instead of just taking them back.

If you’re the type to forget meals and such (I’m not projecting, shut up) then he will literally drag you away from whatever you’re doing and make you eat.

Will set up a rewards system if you have trouble with personal upkeep as well, like household chores and stuff (again, not projecting).

How much pleasure you get throughout the day is all dependent on how well you follow the schedule he makes based on your personal life.

He can and will have you call him Papi, in and out of bed.

“Be a Good Little Cachorro and get on your knees for Papi.”

You only get called Amor when you’re good or when you’re upset. Anything else and it’s Cachorro (Puppy).

[wolkoshka]

Paranormal II

summary: after your injury in the birthday party, Ghost takes you home, takes care of your wound - and finally gives you a night you’ll never forget… Simon Riley/Ghost x Reader

warnings: slow-burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, mutual pining, excessive drunk flirting, slightly dark!Simon, touch-starved Simon, trying to get into Simon’s pants (and sort of succeeding??), nsfw-themed

•this is a simon riley ficlet, I repeat, this is not a one-shot but contains a bit of plot and character development, bcs god knows we need 'em

•part 2/3

an: here is part ii, and yes, yes, I know! It’s long overdue. You’re gonna have to forgive a girlie and her lack of awareness to the passage of time.

"I said go get him, not split yer head open. Ooch, lassie, look at ye bruising up. That's an ugly one."

Johnny hassled over you, thumbing your temples as he examined your wound.

Ghost had temporarily dropped you at the bar to go hunting for a med kit. When your gaze had arrayed the room, your best friend had caught your eye, smirking - only to then gasp and push his way to you.

"So what happened?"

"Mating dance," you retorted dryly.

You pressed the glove back to the wound when Johnny released you, leaning against the counter in a snort.

"Did he fall for it?"

"Hardly." Your shoulders slumped defeatedly. "I don't think he likes me very much, Johnny."

"That's Lt for ye, lass. Guy wears a skull for a face. Says he sleeps soundly in it. Shudders, I tell ye. You'd think that'd make ye think twice before approaching him, eh?"

"I think my brain short-circuited precisely for those reasons. I think maybe this hit to the head will remedy that. God knows I need to get him out of my system. A full-on purge. Like those, uh, uh, really intense only-water-for-dinner kind of diets."

"It's hard to get someone ye don't know out of yer mind."

"Exactly! Jokes aside, this is insane even by drunk me standards. Never thought I'd have a crush at this age, but, whelp, here goes nothing! Will get him out of my mind as soon as I stop gawking at those muscles, okay?"

Your friend chuckled.

Over Soap's shoulder, you caught sight of Ghost's form paving way to you, broad shoulders squared, back straight and gait commanding. And yet, there was an almost endearing swagger to his stride, subtle as it was, and it only added to the unmistakable confidence simmering underneath that quiet outfit.

Suddenly, you were air-headed. In the manner people jumped out of his path like he was the most lethal being they'd ever beheld had you seeing rainbows and hearing angelic hymns.

A stupid girl with her big, stupid crush. When was the last time you got one, anyway? High school, that's when. And you felt like a silly schoolgirl again, all those eighth grade magazines on how to talk to boys and attract your crush flooding back.

You wondered what three-way advice they would spell out for someone like Ghost.

Bathe in the blood of his enemies. A sexy look can go a long way!

Rip out the heart of his enemy and gift it to him. All men enjoy a sincere show of affection every now and then!

Take a bullet for him. Take several! Nothing says I have the hots for you like bleeding out in the arms of your crush!

When his eyes found yours, uncompromising and intense even from such distance, the choir increased until you felt like your chest might implode.

"Never mind," you dreamily sighed. This particular crush wasn't leaving anytime soon.

"Johnny," Ghost voiced, coming around the man. To you, he crooked a finger. "They got band-aids, but I need to stitch you up. We'll resolve the matter in your place."

Your head perked. "We will?"

Was your night actually going to end with Ghost in your apartment? Maybe even bed?

You looked at Johnny, Johnny looked at you - and you both raised your eyebrows in a knowing look.

"What the bloody hell you two peepin' at each other for?" Ghost growled.

"Peepin'? What's peepin'?" Johnny.

"We're not peepin'." You.

Eager, you hopped down - and immediately regretted it when your vision swayed. Whoops... You clutched your head tighter.

"Easy there," Johnny voiced, hands supporting your shoulders.

Once you righted, you looked up at Ghost. Expectant. Would he carry you?

You kind of, sort of, definitely desired his arms around you again.

As if seeing right through your needs, the muscle below his eye twitched. He set a challenge with his gaze, forcing you to admit defeat and walk a soldier's walk.

You faintly winced. Shrugged. "Owh, my poor head. I feel...dizzy. So dizzy. Don't know...might even trip in the rain. Get a concussion..." Another meek yet daring shrug. "So inconvenient, no?"

"Maybe ye need to go the hospital, lass - Umpf!"

You shut Johnny up with a backward punch to the groin, attention never wavering from Ghost.

There was a soft inquisitive sound, an arch of your brow, before he conceded with a weary blink of his eyes. You had to love the way his lashes fanned every time he did that. Long, thick, and softly curled, they might just make a girl jealous.

Internally, you performed a victory dance. Externally, you outstretched an arm.

His killer biceps bulged around your frame, tugging you close, as he lifted you off your feet. When you corded your arm around his neck and nestled your face on his pec, lashes batting up at him, Ghost looked like he was near to dropping you on your arse and dragging you by your heels instead.

"Don't get used to it, poppy," he grated low.

You wore a look of mock-surprise. "Never."

Gaze too slow to leave your face he spoke to Johnny next, "I'll meet you at the base." He strode past, strong legs falling into pace. "Don't be late. And for fuck's sake, Johnny, get some rest."

Johnny grinned, the act slightly laced with pain due to your earlier assault. "Ye got it, Lt." To you, he gave you a proud thumb's up.

Over Ghost's shoulder, you blew him a kiss and mouthed happy birthday, and I love you big time, you sucker.

When the bar door closed behind you, you pointed out to Simon that he'd forgotten your umbrella and proton pack.

For the umbrella, he said the rain might help sober you up. As for your proton pack, he didn't even bother providing an answer as he took down the street, all pleased with himself as rain mercilessly pelted your face.

When lightning crackled and thunder roared overhead, you thought you felt his arms slightly draw you closer, a bit nearer, but dismissed it, blaming it instead on your active imagination and stupor.

.

What the bloody hell was he doing, Ghost questioned, standing in your open kitchen and preparing tea for two.

Steam curdled up, obscuring his masked face as he poured green tea into two cups. Clasping the handles, he turned from the counter to place them on the marbled island.

Your abode was a spacious loft with four large windows peering out into the bustling city, the London Eye and the River Thames a distant view, with a ceiling that rose six meters high.

Before him was a sitting area with a comfortable couch, plush armchairs and a TV stand. Fully-stacked bookshelves flanked either side while pots of myriad flowers and wild ferns decorated the space.

A dining table perched to his left, a family photo and Mesopotamian antiques lining the dark cherry wood surface in display. He spotted Johnny in the frame, younger than he's ever seen him, dimples deep in a cheery smile, and he spotted you, hanging onto his shoulders with an eye-crinkling laugh of your own, also young and exuding innocence.

To his far right was your bed, propped against the wall and neatly made, accompanied by nightstands and a reading lamp. To its left was the entrance, separated by a narrow wall of stained glass depicting two mermaids frolicking about. By that, he clearly meant the large cock sprouting from the merman's groin and gripped by the mermaid's slender fingers, their tails entwining as deeply as their tongues, their bodies writhing in unabashed pleasure. It was beautiful, no doubt, made to come alive in colors coral blue, golden, and violet, but Ghost also knew it was custom made.

Anyone would've missed the unorthodox tableau at first glance, but he wasn't anyone.

You had wild fantasies, it appeared, and he wanted to bash his skull in for taking interest in that.

Just like he wanted to bash the mug of green tea in his hand because he couldn't will his feet to walk away.

Granted, you'd asked he stay, at least for a little while, to thank him for taking care of your wound, and sprinting to your bathroom thereafter for a quick shower.

It's been ten minutes now, and Ghost should've been long gone. He couldn't be here. He didn't do one-night stands. He had a number for that, a special visitor, that took care of his needs without him ever needing to undress. Left just as wordlessly when the deed was done. No unnecessary pillow talks, goodbye notes, or call me laters. No strings attached, just as Ghost preferred it.

But you...

The way you wanted him, the way you watched him, eyes growing dark and heavy with desire, it made him realize he'd never been pursued that ardently. Sure, he had instances where he attracted certain women his direction - any bloke with a look like his warranted that - but a simple glower from him had them scurrying off just as quick.

He should be scaring you off too, not exciting you.

Not making you out to be an intoxication he was uncharacteristically impatient to divulge in.

Hell, with his given background and formidable expertise, no one even dared to hold his gaze for longer than three seconds. When he talked, everyone shut up. His reputation preceded him. Yet you... Bloody hell, you not only held your ground, but also eye-fucked him every chance you got.

Ghost didn't quite compute; you were a perfect stranger to him, someone he met but once, and yet you had a face that could make a man happily dream into an early death.

God, there was something about you that made his palms itch for a touch...itch to wrap that hair of yours around his fist, lift his mask, and descend for a proper feeding. A sick, twisted part of Ghost perhaps wanted to see how good you could get him to pillow talk.

It was a passing thought, but chills abraded his forearms. The challenge in it gave him a heated rush of red.

What the hell was the matter with him? he questioned for the umpteenth time.

He shouldn't be wanting such nonsense.

He shouldn't be caring for it either.

He should walk away now. But...

The moment he chose to act, turning, the exit his target, the shower stopped running. The naked pad of footsteps resounded. A towel flapped open. More footsteps, and then -

You emerged from the bathroom, all robed and clean, leaving steam in your wake. It looked like you'd just walked out of a dream, cherub cheeks flushed pink and skin dewy, almost satiny, and - fuck. He internally groaned. He wanted to bite.

What in nine hells? He popped his jaw in frustration.

Upon spotting him, excitement flashed in your eyes, and you nearly skipped over.

"You stayed," you breathily commented, the towel you were using to dry your hair tossed atop the dining table. Traces of vanilla and coconut saturated the air, infiltrating his mask, and his mouth involuntarily watered.

He needed to call that special number tonight, he decreed, or else he wouldn't survive the coming days. Days? More like hour. Keep it together, soldier.

Such unpalatable delight seeped from you, he slowly shook his head.

If only you knew he sewed another man's skull on his mask, beaten to a pulp before stripped clean of all tissue. A constant reminder of what he’d lost. Who he'd lost. If only you knew he viewed the outside world from the eyes of a dead man. If only you knew poison swam in his veins, immortalizing the infectious ichor that damned any soul to near him. Touch him. You would flee the other direction.

You would curse at him, curse him, see him for what he truly was.

A rotting corpse unleashed to the world to haunt. To terrorize.

Would you crave him then, knowing those very hands you wanted wrapped around you had ended lives, and most not so humanely?

He wasn't capable of holding you without hurting you.

Anything good and decent in him had long ago been buried away, and in their stead festered rancid tendencies that worked his mind and body tireless.

Nothing survived him, and you would be no different.

Even tonight, his somber mood a result of the death toll that ripped through his heart, deadened as it was, when he heard - witnessed - the scream of little children blown to pieces by a human bomber he was meant to stop, was no coincidence.

His main objective was to retrieve classified documents, but it had come at a cost when the enemy understood they were compromised.

He had done a bloody good job clearing the entire building, knives soaked crimson, fists even more so, but he'd forgone the basement, a bunker where bombers kept their own hostage. It was a gruesome tactic the enemy utilized to throw their foes off balance. He had a moment's decision before the bomber pressed the button - shoot him with the off-chance of saving the children, get obliterated to pieces and fail the mission, or succeed.

It was either them or the classified intel. He’d ducked for cover.

Choices have consequences, he remembered telling Johnny once, and, fuck, if he didn't hate himself for his.

He tasted the sulfur, the clogging dust saturated with human remains, in the back of his throat. He couldn't wipe those deaths from his eyes no matter how many times he bathed, scrubbed, scraped.

So, no matter you being a perfect stranger, feeding him look upon look of insatiable hunger any man would gladly sacrifice a limb for, he couldn't go down that road.

Especially when you meant so much to Johnny, his brother-in-arms, a man with a heart of gold that reminded Simon of his own. He couldn't do that to him, to you. Christ, he couldn't walk through fire again.

He wouldn't survive it.

And - bollocks, he nearly chuckled - he never sounded more miserable. It didn't matter. He'd be dodging a bullet with you, all right. All his physical needs, he could deal with them like a grown man in the confines of his own four walls.

Besides, he was a goddamn mess tonight, his feelings and thoughts blown asunder. He hadn't slept for seventy-two hours and was in desperate need of some shut-eye.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost," your lilting voice broke through his thoughts. He blinked down at you. You shrugged, a small smile forming. "Funny how that works, don't you think?"

Maybe he should give you a taste of what it meant to know Simon Riley. Maybe then, and only then, would you understand the favor he'd been extending you.

Silently, he pushed the steaming cup of green tea your way.

A soft gasp. "A man after my own heart." Your fingers came around the mug, hugging it close to your chest and taking a cautious sip. "Mmm. Just what I needed."

"You feelin' better?" Christ, he might as well have spat out shards of glass with how rough he'd sounded.

You licked your lips, pink tongue darting out. "Yeah. Much," you whispered. "Thanks."

Your lips enclosed around the rim again, plump, red and eager. Red as poppies. He imagined them closing around something else, something harder, hotter, sweetened by your spit.

His muscles stiffened, the itch flaming his palms. Palms he then curled into tight fists - before releasing.

He unsuccessfully cleared his throat. "Right, then, you get that rest, poppy."

He turned on his heel, the exit never appearing more distant as he marched to it. At the end of the island, he'd left the box of med kit and his glove, and he reached for the latter as he bypassed.

A blur of white and he was staring down at your delicate features again.

"Wait, wait, you can't just leave. And you definitely can't take this." You snatched the glove from his grasp and quickly hid it behind your back. You pursed your lips at his quiet glower. "Because I'll, uh, wash it for you. More polite that way."

Bollocks. You meant to keep what was his, you wily little thing. He could easily wrestle it out of your hands, but he didn't want to give you more incentive to put your hands on him. Or, worse yet, his on you.

"You got somethin' you wanna say?" he roughed out.

"Only that I want to thank you. Properly."

"Properly thanked. Now out of my way."

He meant to sidestep but you halted him with a soft, warm palm on his chest. His heart, for the briefest second, quickened at the gesture. Didn't need incentive at all, it seemed.

You struggled for purchase. "Well - Well, what about your tea?"

"I'll live, poppy."

Another step, another pressing of your hand against his body. More adamantly this time.

Bloody hell, such a tiny thing, you were, but he'd never encountered a bigger hindrance. Especially when he was oh, so close to the exit. He was positive you were going to lock your door and swallow the key if he did not indulge you a moment's courtesy.

His abrasive exhale of defeat finally brought your palm down from his chest, and he - what? Wanted to beat your white-bricked walls in at the loss of contact? Absolutely not - couldn't have felt better.

His lids dropped, and his look of defiance rivaled yours. For a second too intense for his liking, both of you were stuck in a battle of wills.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Four se -

Christ. That pulled a reaction from him, primal and almost aggressive. The kind that had the blood in his veins rushing hot and wild.

His low, grumbling voice, a contrast to the sudden, violent need unfurling in his lower abdomen, vibrated the still air between you.

"Properly thank me how?"

Of all the answers he could've expected, with how your teeth worried your lower lip, nibbling at the fleshly petal, or how your lashes fluttered, somehow nervous, or even with how your cheeks dusted pink in evident arousal, that is, a meek, "Biscuits?" was definitely not it.

His head jerked back, a frown creasing his forehead. "Biscuits?"

He fuckin' loved biscuits.

"Yes. With tea?"

Hell, he loved that more.

He let your words sit for a while. Then, "You got any ginger nuts there, poppy?"

A bashful smile revealed a row of straight, white teeth. He wanted to scrape his own against them, his tongue coaxing in to steal a little taste of you. At the heady image, he tensed.

Growled.

You swallowed. "You don't have to be so angry about it. I've got them. Come on, then, I'll share my favorites with you."

In under five minutes, you had the Ghost sprawled atop your bed goddamn picnicking with a plate of biscuits and a mug of tea in hand.

Having made away with his leather jacket, he leaned back into a heap of pillows you'd placed for him, and - oh, that felt good - his muscles hissed in pleasure at having finally relaxed.

He grunted, his lids threatening to drift shut. Your bed was warm, soft, and smelled of wild lilacs - all qualities Ghost was estranged to in the field, which happened to dominate the better part of his life.

"You'll love this," you said from your spot next to him. He'd momentarily slacked off, and your voice brought him back from the abating garden of flowers he was surrendering himself to.

He breathed in deep, pulling focus.

Having dimmed the lights to your loft, you wiggled to a comfortable position and succumbed to your own nest of pillows.

You smelled like a peachy sunset over a beach of glistening sands, and if he touched you, you'd feel even better.

And now he was turning into a bloody poet.

If 141 ever saw him like this, Ghost would never live it down.

He balanced his plate of biscuits and mug of tea on his lap, but when you pressed your shoulder to his, he nearly spilled the hot liquid over his pants.

It also chased the sleep from his burning lids, and, quietly, he suffered your presence.

His body seared where you touched him, but he made no show of it.

You outstretched your lithe legs, soft and enticing, over the bed, and crossed them at the ankles. At the movement, your white robe parted in the seams, revealing the supple flesh of your thigh, but you made no move to cover it. You simply lay there, still delectable with a kind of sweetness Ghost wanted to languidly lap at with his tongue.

So much so that the muscle now ached in his mouth.

He swore under his breath, his own legs shifting to distance his body from you. His booted feet, he dangled at the edge of the bed. He wasn't that barbaric.

"I thought you were the patient one," you chided, misreading his mood. In your fingers, you clutched some kind of a remote. It possessed two buttons. "Watch this."

You pressed the green one.

A soft whine reverberated from above, and then a portion of the sloped ceiling slid up to, inch by inch, reveal the thundering clouds in the sky.

Not many things had the power to surprise Ghost, but this... Well, suffice it to say, his jaw slightly slacked open.

Rain dazedly pelted the glassed frame, the droplets snaking down in rivulets, and distant strikes of lightning illuminated the cloudy world above, and in consequence, the dark room.

You dreamily sighed, sinking further into your pillows. You reached for the biscuits on his thighs.

Simon hadn't realized he'd placed them too close to his groin, and thought you went in for a different feeding, body abruptly tensing.

The faintest drop of your hand's weight on him had his throat contracting.

Subtly, he had the plate relocated to his abdomen. Much better.

"I had it installed when I moved in. It helps me sleep better at night. Oh, especially in such nights." You hummed out a chuckle and pointed. "Look at that cloud. Kind of looks like the head of a chihuahua, don't you think?"

Lightning crackled. The sky brightened in hues murky gray and electric blue - before plummeting into darkness.

He followed your finger, and released a contemplative sound. It was all he offered, but it seemed to be enough for you.

There was something about the sound of rain and your soft breathing that had Simon lulled to a cozy quiet. Snugged by the pillows, his weight sank deeper into the mattress, and he thought he was in a haven of your making.

This could put him dead out if it weren't for the tempting graze of your shoulder against his, forcing him awake ever time his lashes sluggishly fluttered shut.

You sipped your tea and reached for another biscuit.

Slowly, he lifted his own mask 'til his nose and watched, warily, if you'd sneak a peek. You did no such thing.

Ignoring the twitch in his brows, he bit into the biscuits. The tea smoothed them down his throat, and the warm nourishment felt good in his stomach.

All the while, you talked about your sweets and pastries, the corner shop you bought them from, and how it was your favorite with it having opened almost eighty years ago. And how he also should visit it once he gets the chance.

You finished your tea and placed the mug on your side of the nightstand. Brushing the crumbs from your fingers, you plopped back down, head on your pillows this time.

You still did not look at him.

Sober you seemed to have a few bit reservations than wasted you, it appeared, faintest traces of amusement pulling at the corners of his revealed lips.

Downing the rest of his tea, he put away the empty plate and mug to his side of the nightstand. With that, he masked his lips anew.

In the silence, the only sound the pouring rain, he dwelled in the dark with you.

Then, so softly, you said his name.

"Simon."

His breath hitched dead center in his chest. His eyes arrowed down at your lying figure.

You continued to look away, spiky lashes fanning delicate cheekbones.

"You can stay the night, if you want," you made out, swallowing tentatively and moistening your lips. With a tiny jump, you turned over - and finally tilted your face up to look him in the eyes. You cupped the underside of your cheek. "We don't have to do anything. Not that you - Not that you said you wanted to. I'm sorry. I only mean, it's late...and you must be tired." Then, oh, so gently, "Heard you had a long night, too."

Ghost remained silent for the duration of your speech, and at the last sentence, quirked a brow up. "Yeah? And who told you that?"

"Johnny," you murmured.

"Johnny," he echoed. A low crackling sound sizzled in his chest, but it dwindled out before ever reaching his throat. "You discuss me with Johnny, do ya now, poppy?"

Your eyes dropped from his masked face, and your fingers drew small circles into the pillow next to his.

"Sometimes, I do, yes." So effortlessly admitted. Fuck. "It was merely an evaluation of your person, is all. I could see it too. Your eyes are red. Bit groggy too."

He rasped out a low chuckle, if it could be called that, seeing as some sounds tended to get lost in the wide expanse of his chest. "That it, eh?"

A small smile crinkled the corner of your eye, and if he had a heart, he might've gone as far as to call you a darling right then and there.

You shrugged. "Yeah."

He ran the tip of his tongue against his teeth. Simon knew it was best he end the conversation now, rise from your bed, and exit your apartment. Your life. He got his proper thanks, after all.

But, like a damned fool he could only blame on his exhausted state, he stayed put - and probed further. "What else you bothered Johnny about me, mm?"

You licked your lips again, the tip of that tempestuous pink muscle wetting the seam, and he bit back a wanting grunt.

He'd never been more arrested by a mundane act.

Focus, soldier.

His eyes trailed the gentle curve of your jawline...and down your slender neck.

No, not there, you daft geezer. Away.

"Your mask," your tentative voice filled the room.

"What's wrong with it?"

Your soft hair rustled against the sheets as you shook your head. "Nothing. It's merely got something honest about it, is all. As paradoxical as that may seem, I realize now. It's pleasant."

Pleasant? That's a new one.

But he couldn't have you building false notions about him like that. Maybe it was time he warned you away for good.

"I have more blood on my hands than the one running in your veins, poppy. There is nothing honest about me," he coldly provided.

"Well, I think you're wrong."

Bloody hell, what would it take to dislodge you?

You moved, body climbing up the pillows until your head rested close to his shoulder. And then a little bit more, until you leveled with his face.

The sheer heat emanating from your skin traveled past his clothes, seeping into his pores.

Yeah, you were a darlin', all right. A damn appetizing one, at that.

You shifted slightly, weight on your left hip and bared legs so dangerously close to his.

Through the thick rim of your lashes, you regarded him. "Ghost," you said, and he nearly corrected you. "Would you like to know what else I discuss with Johnny?"

A burning sensation infiltrated his cheek, and he realized you were tracing your fingertips over his masked features. Carefully, cautiously, so as to not chase him away.

"For one, those pretty eyes of yours," you hummed lowly. On cue, you gently trailed a finger down his brow bone.

Heat speared his cheeks at that, and he was grateful for the coverage. Simon Riley, blushing. His lashes fluttered a bit, but other than that, you remained clueless as to his expression.

"And they change color every time I look upon you. Sometimes blue, sometimes silver, other times brown, like sweet caramel, and my favorite, pitch black. How do you do that?"

You studied him enough to have a favorite? At that revelation, his throat tightened.

Wordless, he performed a small, almost undiscernible, shrug, the pillows underneath shifting.

A slow, deep smile curved your cheeks. "You should let me study them in broad daylight. I'm sure I'll solve the mystery in no time." With a cheeky air, you booped the tip of his nose with your finger.

Quietly, he watched your face, coal-dark eyes intent and focused, the only sounds from him his steady breathing.

"God, they're so black." Tenderly, you ran your knuckles across his jawline, angled your head, and then softly guided his face closer to yours.

Once, someone had told him he had no present, past, or future, and he'd told them that he'd see them in hell. Now, Ghost realized hell was here, in the breath of a space between you, where you sat so close to him, and yet he could not close it.

"None of that, poppy." He nudged your hold off.

Disappointment colored your eyes, drooped your shoulders, and brought those pearl-white teeth to gnaw at your fleshly lower lip. And with so much bite, he spotted teeth marks form.

"Easy there," he murmured, fingers acting without his explicit permission and pinching your chin.

At that, the discouragement washed away and your eyes clouded with something dark and promising, putting the storm outside to shame. There you went again with that look. If his career in the Special Forces hadn't driven him mad, this surely would.

Understanding that he shouldn't have touched you, he made to move away, but your fingers wrapped around his wrist, keeping him close - and sliding your body closer.

The second your hip meshed against his, his muscles seized up, locking tight upon his bones.

God, you were hot against him. Burning up.

Simon nearly bolted from the bed when he felt your legs entangle with his, the blistering tension having unwittingly made away with much of his resolve and rendering him stimulated in places he'd rather not feel stimulated in.

Your toes teased his legs, rubbing up against the coarse material of his pants. Then, they glided over them, finding purchase in his inner calves - and massaging. Up, up, they traveled, then dooown they dropped, creating a spine-tingling friction.

Ghost grunted, shoulders bunching before undulating. He straightened a bit. Good God. He was suddenly too aware of his own body heating up and all his intimate areas. All too aware of his blood pumping and where it was rushing.

"You better stop that before you get hurt, yeah, darlin'?" he grated past his teeth.

You sighed, no doubt relishing in his deteriorating strength. "A little pain never hurt nobody. Isn't that right, Lieutenant?"

As you said that, you wedged your leg more firmly between his, parting them, and slid your knee upward to lightly grind it against his sensitive groin.

Christ. He grunted with less control now, the feeling slowly slipping through his fingers.

You shouldn't be using that kind of language with him. Shouldn't be talking in such a tone. Because addiction was another sin he didn't mind adding to the list.

His body sweltered from the inside and his heartbeat increased, beating in his ears. He had to leave.

Jerking slightly at another shiver inducing motion, he pushed at your leg.

A final, "No, poppy," scraped past his throat.

"Simon," you tugged at his wrist, voice hoarsely breaking at the end and so desperately, it nearly unmanned him, "I - I'm on fire. It hurts. It hurts so bad. Need... I need you. I can't stop. I don't know why I can't stop. I just - God, I've been needing you for so long now. Every night, I dream of you, do you know that? Every night. Please, please...I'm going insane. I'm - "

That did it.

With a ferocious snarl that was more animal than man, his arm shot forward, calloused fingers latching onto your cheeks and unchivalrously burying your head in your pillows with the abrupt maneuver of his body over yours.

His weight suffocated you into the mattress.

You gasped, eyes gaping wide in alarm.

His ire flared, his desire, even more so.

"Shut the fuck up," Ghost gritted in your face, now panting hot and fast. "Shut your fuckin' mouth now, poppy. Fuck. You ever heed a warning? You ever heard of using your own goddamn fingers? You ever use that pretty little head of yours? Bloody fucking hell, darlin'. Bloody. Fucking. Hell."

You squirmed under him, releasing small, breathless sounds.

The image of you rendered so helpless roused the most primal parts of him and his cock painfully hardened, straining against the strap of his pants.

It was blooming into an ache his hands alone wouldn't be able to assuage. Goddamit.

Your eyes searched his, arraying back and forth, attempting to grasp what just occurred within the span of a blink.

Then, they narrowed, pretty lashes fusing. "I have," you ground out, baring your teeth at him. "I do. But they're never enough." Fuck, you were talking about your fingers. You almost pouted insufferably. "Never what I want. Need. Crave."

"And I am?" he growled out, baring his own teeth. You seemed to like the intensity he exuded, even heatedly roamed your eyes over his masked lips, expression devoid of all fear.

You nodded eagerly.

Yes.

He cursed under his breath.

Lowly, lethally, "How hard did you hit that head of yours, mm?"

You bit your lips to suppress a moan, "Hard enough to get you in my bed."

"That mouth of yours is goin' to get you in trouble, poppy."

You keened at the warning. "Promise?"

At that, he couldn't will himself away even if he wanted to. Not even all the soldiers in his team combined could drag him away when you stared up at him so wantonly, so desperately, silently begging to make away with the terrible ache that shadowed over your every need.

So be it. You would learn your lesson.

"Open your legs," he growled - and slipped his hand underneath your robe.

an: i made it into 3 parts bcs, well, i just had too much fun writing ghost suffering in his self-imposed ✨ agonies ✨

suffice it to say, the next part will be pure filth. pinkie swear this time. strap your seatbelts, girlies, we’re going to the horniest, dirtiest bangtown.

on another note, if anyone is willing to chat/discuss fics relating to cod or any other fandom of their liking, I’ve created a new discord server and pinned it on my blog; all are more than welcome to join ✨

[avocado-writing]

Poly aziracrow based on 2x04, where Crowley and R react to Aziraphale during this scene👀

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM2KFemoQ/

notes: yes. this isn’t the first time I’ve had a request about his voice in this scene. and I will NEVER get tired of them ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

pairing: aziraphale x reader x crowley

rating: M (smut at the end)

tags: the light, the dark, and the space in between-verse; references to ptsd; slightly Dom!Aziraphale

You hate this bloody war. 

You’ve been part of a few, and all of them have left their scars on you. In you, buried in your soul. You remember your time in those trenches barely thirty years ago and bile claws at your throat. 

No. Don’t think about that. Concentrate on this. Concentrate on this horrid little demon who’s threatening the two people you love. Hands behind you, you finger a decorative paperweight, wondering if minions from hell are susceptible to being thwacked over the back of the head. 

He finishes his little tirade and tries to read Aziraphale’s name from a book (you’re amazed that the cretin is literate). But his demonic lips can’t make heads nor tails of the syllables. 

“Azil-pha-pha-la-luh—”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows just slightly, lips purse.

“Aziraphale.”

It’s not often you see your angel reach the end of his tether. He is a holy being after all; the pinnacle of patience, epitome of virtue. But sometimes, when something grinds his gears just right, that voice will come out. 

It does something to you and Crowley both, and the two of you exchange a glance across the room. This will be explored later. 

The demon, irritated, snaps his little book shut, then does a double take as his gaze passes over you. He didn’t even notice you were here. You try to look the picture of innocence as you ready the paperweight, thinking about the best way to swing a bludgeoning weapon when he has that ridiculous hair. 

“And you? What’s going on with you, why are you here?” He steps forward and takes a deep sniff. “You don’t smell divine.”

“Oh god, don’t bloody smell me!” you hiss, planting your hand on his chest and shoving him backwards. Aziraphale and Crowley move towards you to intervene if needed, but you wave them off. 

“Don’t bother with him, nightingale,” Crowley sighs, voice unbothered and bored, “he’s not worth your effort.”

You turn to the mirror in the dressing room instead and focus on smoothing out your clothes, ignoring the foul little gremlin until Crowley and Aziraphale sort him out. Which they do, inevitably, because they’re very clever and wonderful. The three of you head back to the bookshop for a very necessary glass of wine, and within the hour you’re all piled on the sofa, slightly blotted and very glad for each other’s company after a rough day. 

You and Crowley are either side of Aziraphale, each with a leg hooked over one of his plush thighs. You’re doing that thing they love where you compliment them about how smart they both are, and they get all smug and silly (and you love it); but halfway through you catch Crowley’s eye behind those dark little glasses and something shifts subtly. 

“You know, angel, you really gave that lapdog a dressing down earlier.”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Aziraphale says, but he’s all puffed up like he gets when he’s flattered. Crowley runs a finger up the seam of his trouser leg, gently, slowly. 

“And you know what really sealed the deal? That voice you used on him,” you continue. “There was something quite dominant about it. Sexy.”

You snake your hand up his chest. Finally he cottons on. 

“Oh.”

“I think we both just wondered what it might take to get you to use it again.”

Aziraphale takes a final sip of his wine before carefully placing the glass on the table. He sits back, looking between the two of you, and there’s no missing the glint in his eye. 

“If you wanted me to tell you what to do,” he says lowly,

and you shiver, “you need only ask. I’m sure I’ll do it if you both behave.”

Crowley shifts. You can see the effect Aziraphale’s had on him: the tightening of his trousers, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“So. Will you behave?”

“Yes,” you and Crowley both whisper at once, voices thin and needy. 

Aziraphale smiles. 

“Then I think you’re both wearing far too many clothes.”

Your clothes end up a muddled pile on the floor, and between the two of you, Aziraphale doesn’t leave the couch for the rest of the evening. He has you ride his thigh while Crowley swallows him down his pretty little throat, whispering his praises to both of you in that delicious voice. 

“Look at you both. Being so good for me. I love you both so much, my darlings.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, face burning with desire. He has Crowley fuck you over the arm of the couch as he watches the show, palming himself through his trousers, telling you where to touch each other. You’re happy to be his puppet, his plaything, anything. 

So long as he keeps talking.  -

taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul  @foolishprincipalitee @smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @bdffkierenwalker @cool-iguana @ilyatan @civil-groupie @willyoubethepookietomypookster

[mrsbsmooth]

I get that everyone is very excited about unbelievably-hot-sexy-tattooed-necklace-floppy-hair-boy, but can I make a humble request?

I'm trying really hard to say this nicely but I've had a hellish week so it's probably going to come out a little harsher than intended.

Once you start playing, and you inevitably realise you're not having a good time, and you decide you don't want to play any more, please don't ruin it for those of us who keep going.

Last season, I wasn't the only one who felt like people were getting really rude and/or judgey over those of us who were still playing. Yeah, it's not perfect. Oftentimes it's downright bad. But we're still playing it, and we're trying to have a good time.

I don't want to be reminded that my LI says the same things as the others. I know. I don't need to be reminded that their proportions are off or that their face is weird or whatever. We know. But we're trying to enjoy the game as best we can. There's just no need for me to post something raving about my LI and have the comments, the asks, whatever saying 'you know his route is exactly the same as [other person] though right?'. It just makes me not want to bother posting to tumblr at all. It's funny if you're laughing and commiserating with your friends if we're all playing together, but when you're not playing, and I am, it actually comes across as really patronising. It makes me feel like you're looking down on me for enjoying a game that you deemed not up to your standards.

I'm not saying I've never complained about the game, that would be insane. I've got a whole blog where I talk about it all the bloody time. But I'm also playing and I'm making jokes and memes with other people who are also playing. We're commiserating together.

Argh, I'm not wording this right.

Here.

If you and your friends are all watching a movie, and you aren't enjoying it, go ahead and sit on your phone that's totally fine.

You're welcome to look up every now and again and ask what's going on, or look up and smile at a kiss scene and go 'awww that's cute' and go right back to your phone.

But don't yell out insults at the movie while your friends are having a good time watching it. And especially don't make fun of your friends who are laughing at the happy bits, or crying at the sad parts.

Don't tell them they're being silly because the movie is dumb and you've seen better.

I just want to watch a movie with my friends, I guess.

[quaintlyfig]

Quaintly Fig's Prompt Generators

See original post for the most recent list of generators.

I have entirely too much fun building ofmd prompt generators, so I thought I'd share them here in case anyone wants to give them a spin 🩷🧡💙

SFW Generators:

☠️ A Good Pirate's Tale (canon-era) 🦄 A Real Boy (fairy tale) 🪐 Beep Beep Boop (sci-fi & fantasy) 💗 Happiness Happens (fluff) 🌈 I Love My Baby (fluff) 🎲 Really Quite Random (gentlebeard & really quite random) 🎃 Somethin' Witchy Afoot (spooky season) 💐 Take a Whiff (scent generator) 🐆 The Art of Fuckery (fuckeries & schemes, canon-typical violence) 👹 The Monster Mash (creature creator)

NSFW & Spice-Possible Generators:

(Figured I'd hide these lists below the "keep reading" button!)

~🩷🧡💙~

Spice-Possible Generators:

These aren't nsfw-centered, but some of their outcomes are nsfw

🎶 Hanging On By A Thread (song lyrics, very lite spice possible) 🦋 In Every Life (an au generator) 🤖 Not Bloody Optimal (obstacles, very few nsfw possibilities) 🌧️ Wreck Me, Daddy (angst)

NSFW Generators:

❤️‍🔥 Baby, Baby, Baby (sexy times) 💌 Dear Ed, I long for you (gentlebeard, very sexy version of the Dear Ed letter) 🌶️ Getting Steamy (sexy times) 🩲 Let's Get Kinky (exactly what it says on the box) 🐷 Pretty Deeply Impure (v. filthy, lil kinky, lil silly) 🐺 Want Your Pretzel (omegaverse) 🍌 2024 OFMD Kinktober Brainstorming - full month or sort by the day

[see-arcane]

How different are Dracula's Demeter and TLVOTD?

Oof. Okay. This is going to hurt me as a staunch THE BOOK IS ALWAYS BETTER believer, but.

The Last Voyage of the Demeter is very much the better story. By a wide margin.

Spoilers for The Last Voyage of the Demeter, Dracula's Demeter, and Dracula below

Just speaking on differences, TLVOTD does sadly tuck in that Universal Pictures nonsense about ~the sun hurts vampires~ and sacrifices some of the Captain's coolness and giving the Romanians and the Roma any respect due to the origins of the poor chick who got boxed up as a bloodbag stowaway. But it is still a very very well done Dracula as an Actual Goddamn Monster horror film. Even the close of the movie--yes, with more random action slapped on for cinematic reasons--leaves a door open for one last knife twist as OC Protagonist stalks off into the shadows to hunt Dracula down...

...and possibly accidentally-brilliantly nodding to a certain scene in the novel where the gang enters the Count's Piccadilly house and finds a bowl of bloodied water. RIP.

It's a good scary story and it built something enjoyable out of the Demeter chapter's foundation. Definitely a refreshing departure from the constant sexypire barrage of Draculas.

Dracula's Demeter feels like a con job by comparison.

Specifically because it opens so promisingly. It's very obvious that the author read Dracula front to back and loved what he read! He uses tons of direct lines from it! He has period accurate details dappled throughout for the Demeter's ship and crew! He does an admirable job of building up his own two Requisite Guy and Girl Stowaway Romance OCs so they can do Meaningful Things, just like TLVOTD's duo do! Dracula is sinister and erudite and--credit where it's due--delivers an absolutely nightmarish demise to poor Petrofsky. Holy shit.

With all that, you can forgive the kind of rough editing and the way that (parentheses) and ALL CAPS ACTION WORDS get sprinkled throughout like someone who just peeled their stuff straight from Ao3. It's fine, it's fun. At first.

And then shit goes downhill and straight into Dracufetishland: Naughty Nautical Edition.

Because it turns out that where TLVOTD had Required Girl Character get to be a whole person and not a gossamer-dressed sexy lamp (even having been chomped), DD's Required Girl gets chomped and immediately goes full 'lol my human boyfriend is a loser compared to Count Fuckula,' in a way I might forgive if we were going for some unrelated vampire's story--but no. This is a Dracula story and she's in full Coppola mode.

She gets turned, ogles what's left of her reflection so we can talk about how hard and visible her nips are in a borrowed shirt, gets Dracuhorny, and ditches her boyfriend.

And then, when Earnest Englishman Boyfriend tries to burn the ship and save the day, he gets burned alive, and then Dracula orders Vampire Girlfriend to garrote the poor guy to death while wearing the convenient billowy white dress she brought onboard. And she does. Happily. There's not even a crumb of will or even dissent left in her the way we see with the goddamn Weird Sisters who were with him for centuries and actively tried to steal Jonathan from their master***, or even Bloofer Lady Lucy reaching for Art.

Just a pointless fuck you of a death that added nothing.

Followed by Dracula snapping Vampire Girlfriend's neck, double-kills her, and chucks her into the sea while chuckling about how silly it is to think that he would want a companion, ha ha!

...

Yes, I am also staring at the camera The Office-style, thinking about -checks notes- the Weird Sisters, Jonathan, Lucy, a random ass girl in Piccadilly, Mina...

Oh, that Dracula. Such a loner.

And all that leads to the Captain with the rosary--WHICH ISN'T EVEN HIS--and the last few chapters which are just pure padding about Dracula shoving the Demeter to shore. After getting a cutaway scene to Dracula hopping into Lucy's brain somehow to grope her while Mina watches. For reasons.

The book is, in short, pointless.

The OCs are pointless. Them being on the boat is pointless. Nothing they do, nothing the author has the crew or Dracula do, adds literally anything to what was already in the Demeter section of the book. There is no meat here, only voluptuous gristle.

And the thing is! The infuriating thing is! Because this is a Dracula*** story, it is still technically more respectful than the bulk of other writing and media about Dracula, because so much of it is doubly extra-fetished never-read-the-book never-liked-the-book utter garbage.

So I still have to give it 3/5 stars as a Dracula story. 1.5-2 in isolation.

Anyway, I'm going to go re-watch TLVOTD now

[magpie-come-east]

1 + 16 + 17 for the ask game!

16) You can't understand why everyone likes this thing...

IF MESSMER HAS 0 HATERS THEN THAT MEANS I'M DEAD!!!!

Jk (kinda). I do genuinely like his character's place in the Shadow Lands canon. But I don't really understand his explosive popularity. Like Tarnished/Messmer is going to overtake the top ship on AO3 (Tarnished/Morgott my beloved) any day now. He wins just about every Demigod based poll I've seen of late. I'm genuinely not being edgy or contrary here, but I don't see it.

The fandom is very based and sexy for drawing this hideous man weepily draped on beautiful women's laps as if he were a woman beholding Christ in a Renaissance painting. Meanwhile I feel like the only one that can see all the grannies and babies and sisters and husbands skewered through their assholes and set on fire every 10 feet by the world's most racist shrike.

Maybe I'm just bitter because the love Messmer gets comes at the expense of the hornsent. I'm so attached to them and their conflict and their culture. Their lore is some of the coolest in the game and the fandom has just swept it entirely aside because heaven forbid the genocide Messmer helmed gets addressed at any point while he gets fixed/saved/healed/pegged.

1) The Character Everyone Gets Wrong

Mohg and Miquella are holding hands.

I dunno man. The asinine Mohg and Miquella drama has made me pull away from this fandom a lot in the past few months.

Obviously there's a lot of wiggle room in characterizing both of them! A villainous Mohg is canon compatible as is a Mohg that suffered more under Miquella's charm. Miquella can be a naive figure doing his best or a more manipulative power player. There are wide margins here! But not wide enough for this fandom! I'm still so... baffled and bummed out FromSoft handed us Mohg fans a canonical sympathetic angle to his story on a silver platter and so many Mohggers slapped it to the ground in a tantrum because it wasn't good enough. Because I guess Mohg victimizing Miquella was hot and cool but Mohg being victimized in turn is despicable and traumatic? Whatever.

To fandom, Mohg is either a silly, campy, gay uncle goofball drinking bloody marys and getting manicures from Varre or an irredeemable rapist that deserved every bad thing that ever happened to him. Or- third option- he was the secret hero of the Lands Between, as virtuous and honorable as they come before that wretched Miquella ruined his life!

He's the Bad Guy of Elden Ring. He's Miquella's victim that did no wrong. He's the obnoxious comic relief because people don't want to touch on any of his unsavory aspects.

Like fuck me, he's none of these things. He is a powerful, charismatic cult leader with a devastatingly tragic past. He is worthy of sympathy and dignity, but he was also the literal vassal of an Outer God of blood and pain. I wish his character was treated with more depth. I wish his pain was given weight and his rough edges weren't violently sanded away.

Then there's Miquella. Who, fandom has decided, is either a horrible manipulative monster or a literal infant with no agency. It's tragic how illiterate this fandom is regarding Miquella. Claiming everything that doesn't corroborate the Messiah figure they invented in their head is a retcon or bad writing. Claiming that Miquella gave up on Malenia when that is straight up not true at all. Claiming that Miquella trying to lay Godwyn to rest meant he wanted to marry him all along. Claiming that Miquella is literally charming half the cast into doing his bidding just to make him more evil. Claiming Miquella would have been better off as Mohg's hapless victim rather than the richly nuanced and tragic character with his own faults and goals that FromSoft wrote him to be.

The hard pill for ER fandom to swallow is that Mohg and Miquella are just like all the other Demigods: flawed but compelling in their tragedy

[octuscle]

You have been posting transformations with these long haired guys and I think it's really hot.

I started losing my hair this year and I'm only 23. I'd love to become a huge bodybuilder with that sexy wavey shoulder length hair. I'd love to be a towering meathead in tight speedos and long hair.

It's incredibly frustrating to be just 23 years old and already feel old. You never had the body of an athlete. But you could be pretty proud of your full head of hair. Until it started with the circular hair loss at the back of your head. You tried all kinds of things. But it only got worse. You tried caps. But that looked silly. Now you wear your hair extremely short. Could look cool… If your features were more angular…

It's your first summer vacation since you lost your hair. The first debacle was that you didn't apply lotion to your head. Your scalp was cancerous red and burned like fire. After a week, it was somewhat better again… But now your hair has grown back and you've forgotten your clippers. Your routines simply haven't adapted to the situation yet.

You feel incredibly ugly among all the beautiful people anyway. Maybe at least a fresh buzz cut can save you a little. When you came back from the beach yesterday, you saw a hairdresser on the way to your hotel. The next day, on your way to the beach, you go there.

It's an old-fashioned salon. The hairdresser is still sitting in the corner reading the newspaper so early in the morning. He greets you in a friendly manner and asks you to take a seat in the shiny chrome chair. He puts the cape on you and asks what you want. You smile painedly and say there aren't many options. In your experience, hairdressers always like to talk about soccer. So you add with a grin that you would like Brian Hoyer's hairstyle.

"Brian Hoyer? Las Vegas Raiders? Good man!" The hairdresser is in his element. He asks if you would like a free shave as the first customer of the day. You gladly agree and sit back, relax and enjoy. The hot towels open your pores, your face is soaped, the sharp blade skillfully runs over your cheeks, the after-shave is refreshing. And the hairdresser has been talking the whole time without a dot or a comma. First about football, then about Las Vegas, then about the government. You're so relaxed and in a trance from the facial massage that you couldn't care less. Even if the rest of your vacation isn't perfect, this visit to the hairdresser is a highlight.

"So like Cole Holcomb, boy?" asks the hairdresser. You nod, still deeply relaxed, the back of the chair reclined far back. As expected, the long hair cutter starts. But it feels different. Normally you feel the blades closer to your scalp. No matter, you are in the hands of a professional and enjoying yourself. Especially as the hairdresser doesn't stop talking for a second. You don't notice when he starts working with scissors, you're not irritated that he's using a hairdryer, you don't get suspicious when he kneads hair wax into your curls. "So, boy, a Cole Holcomb for once. What he'd look like if he had your strong curls, boy!"

Bloody hell! Fuck, fuck, fuck! You're driving through the Mullet. Strong, healthy curls. But what a shitty haircut. You look like a redneck. And that with your untrained fat body. The hairdresser ignores your horrified expression. He removes the collar, brushes the loose hair out of your neck and sweepingly removes your hairdressing cape. For a brief moment, your eyes go black. It's the first fainting spell of your life.

Yes, on the first day you had to get used to the new situation a little. All the leering and admiring glances on the beach, in the open-air gym and in the bars and clubs in the evening. But thanks to Stevie, you are perfectly shaved every morning and no matter how hard the party was the night before, he massages every wrinkle out of your face.

In fact, you didn't even know who this Cole Holcomb was. But now you follow him on Instagram. And he follows you like a few other 1,000 people.

[legallybrunettedotcom]

hi! can I ask you for crime movie recommendations, or just a list of your personal favorites? I've been getting super into crime fiction recently (books and movies), and I'm making a watchlist of movies I want to check out next. heist movies, gangster films, thrillers, anything involving criminals is interesting to me, and I'd really love to hear about your faves! have a nice day <3

hiii, Estelle! oh I love a good crime movie! I grew up on gangster and mob movies tbh so there's some obvious choices like the godfather and goodfellas. continuing with Scorsese, I love casino. I think it's somewhat underrated Scorsese, idk i just don't see it mentioned that often, but it's super fun. the departed as well, people talked shit about it, but it's great. then mean streets, serpico, taxi driver, dog day afternoon, heat, collateral, thief, chinatown. pretty much every Tarantino ever, obviously reservoir dogs and pulp fiction, jackie brown is my favourite and the sort of song of the movie is across 110th street from the movie of the same name, so I'd def recommend that one, it's an underrated flick. heist movie-wise, ocean's eleven kind of the king here. then set it off, bound, inside man, widows, the italian job (the original), topkapi and rififi are underrated ones, the asphalt jungle, the friends of eddie coyle, the taking of pelham 123, the thomas crown affair (the remake), dead presidents, out of sight, point break, the driver, hustlers, a fish called wanda is sooo funny. sexy beast is such a great and intense movie.

if you'd enjoy something criminal and psychosexual, I'd recommend two 60s movies the housemaid and who killed teddy bear? the cook, the thief, the wife and her lover is an insane sexy one. blue velvet fits here as well. Guy Ritchie made the same movie like 4 times tbh, but I love snatch and lock, stock and two smoking barrels, I think the man from uncle is also a fun one. Brian De Palma is good at corny and sleazy and I kinda love his scarface. body double is silly but I love a good voyeuristic movie. along those lines you obviously have rear window and peeping tom, and then to continue with Hitchcock, I love rope, psycho, and think dial m for murder is quite overlooked. natural born killers, true romance and the doom generation for something stupid and bloody. mandatory Fincher recs like se7en and zodiac. I love the usual suspects, it has that twist at the end that for me personally works even upon rewatches. another underrated movie is joy house with beautiful Jane Fonda and Alain Delon in his prime. faster pussycat kill kill is just pure fun and sleaze and gorgeous ladies. I love lady snowblood and scorpion with Meiko Kaji but I know you've seen those. tokyo drifter is a stylish one as well. some obvi french new wave recs like breathless and pierrot le fou. I'd say there's nothing quite like the atmospheric the night of the hunter. I love drive too, it's all style and the only substance is blood. uncut gems and good time are quite good too. out of something extra new, I enjoyed love lies bleeding more than I expected. seven psychopaths and in bruges for something cynical and silly. then fargo, no country for old men, the big lebowski. filth and trainspotting for something utterly dirty and disgusting. not to forget Hannibal Lecter, we can't not mention the silence of the lambs and manhunter. also badlands, dirty harry, carlito's way, eastern promises, the third man, the big sleep, double indemnity, gun crazy, bonnie and clyde, foxy brown, american psycho, the talented mr ripley, prisoners. something more along crime drama strange days, fallen angels, the city of the rising sun and made in hong kong.

[skitskatdacat63]

For @sansebastinae and @boisinnot, my fellow saint seb truthers :)

+ the usual

Yayyyy finished a drawing! Haha only took me...2 weeks. I kept going back and forth on whether I could finish it tonight, and I really wasn't going to. But then I looked at the unfinished version on a different screen and was like oh? Not too bad actually?? So I finished it :) First of all, ofc, here is the process. Kinda weird seeing it for smth like this, it makes me feel like I'm the painter in rennaisance au, not Mark dhjfkf

Ah I was gonna draw a silly renaissance au comic to accompany this(read: lighten the mood), but it's 5 am and I've still not really drafted it well, so! I'd like to finish it at some point bcs I wanna draw more chibi comics, but when I finish smth, I can't help but immediately want to post it, so part 2 will have to wait. I'll show you the outline though so you can at least imagine 😭

^ So many renaissance and beyond paintings of Saint Sebastian are always the most horny thing ever. Like pre/early rennaisance, yeah he was naked and all that, but they were pretty chaste, and uhhhhh suffering?? Well the newer paintings are suffering, but in a different way, if you know what I mean.

So I feel like Mark's the type to be overly pedantic about it, and refuses to make borderline porn of a saint, I mean, god forbid, Seb!!! But then he just. Does anyways. Because he can't control his lust for Seb even when drawing him half dead. I just imagine him holding the paintbrush in a death grip like "must not be horny. Must not draw him sexy. Must make him chaste." And then he ends up with the one seen above. Seb is all smug about it. "Wow you'd wanna fuck me even while I'm all bloody and dying? 🥺"

Mark: "oh I'll make you bloody, alright."

But god so funny to imagine Seb doing all these different slutty poses, like arching his back as much as possible, the cloth nearly falling off at all times, etc etc. And Mark finally lands on this pose bcs he hopes the suffering will outweigh the horny. It doesn't. Also Seb is genuinely serious once he actually gets into the pose, focus mode on. And honestly that's even worse for Mark, bcs it's so much more arousing to see Seb in his element, focused. Tbf I think Seb could be drinking water, and Mark would still find some way to sexualize it. Don't look at his sketches!! They're just filled with Seb doing all kinds of random activities.

Also! Here is the painting I referenced this off of, must give credit where credit is due ofc

The Dying St. Sebastian by François Fabre

Also this isn't really relevant in the context of this drawing specifically. But I looked thru a bunch of Saint Sebastian paintings while trying to find one I could reference, and I came across this middle ages one that actually looks so much like boy king seb 😭 I guess it really is meant to be!

St Sebastian between St Roch and St Peter by Pietro Perugino

Lmao but do you see the difference between early rennaisance and later work???

[twwings]

Big Festivids Recs Post!

Last weekend was the big Festivids GoLive, which meant the release into the wild of 160 brand new small fandom vids (aka fanvids, edits, etc.) Right now the collection's anonymous, but tomorrow is vidder reveals, so I wanted to write up a recs post for some of my absolute favourites from this year's collection. If you know Yuletide, well, Festivids is like Yuletide, celebrating small/weird/underappreciated fandoms! It's an exchange fest, so people ask for the small fandom vids of their heart and, then, receive one.

Honestly the collection this year is SO high quality, you should really go and browse the works yourself in their entirety; there are so many vids that I absolutely loved that I didn't put on this recs list, because I was trying not to get carried away (and also trying to get it done). But just to get you started, here are a smattering of my favourites. I tried to represent a bunch of vid genres and source types here, but ultimately it's just my taste.

RECS RECS RECS!

Andor: Level Up

AHHHH this is a vid about Andor and fascism and collective action and One Way Out and it's so gorgeously done. Perfect song choice, perfect vid, makes me cry and I will rewatch it many times.

Andor: be ready and be brave

Focusing on Ferrix, its history, its people, and its revolution. Absolute chills. Also I'm SO happy whenever I get to watch a vid to a Mountain Goats song.

Mosquita y Mari: como siempre soñé

Such a sweet, soft, slow romance vid. I ACHED for these two. Like reading a 300k slowburn but in three and a half minutes.

Dropout TV: Nothing in my Head

The Dropout TV vid of my DREAAAAAMS! (largely Game Changer but with lots of stuff in there!)

Taskmaster UK: Blood in the Cut

UHHHH. IT'S AMAZING??? It's hot and raw and kinky and hardcore. the vidder has the delicate, precise touch of a bloody scalpel. Yes, this is a vid for Taskmaster, the UK show where comedians do silly tasks. Because yeah, it's that show, but it's also this show.

Slash/Back: Uja

This vidder KNOWS how to vid horror. The way this vid cuts the most terrible images to make them barely-there, more horrifying for being rough slaps against my consciousness . . . yikes. Amazing vidding, super cool and scary, while also maintaining the uplifting, kickass, hopeful tone you want from a collective-action horror movie.

Janelle Monae: I Like That

Glorious, joyful, sexy celebration of being a free-ass motherfucker.

Star Trek: Lower Decks: Hard Times

Boimler vid about how he's essentially a redshirt who is just slightly too sweet to actually die. Absolutely adorable and hilarious.

Woman King: Upside Down

Absolute BANGER of a vid, great cuts, great movement, great character arc and great Dahomey women being amazing.

Romeo + Juliet: Magnetic

We all agree Harold Perrineau is the best Mercutio, SO, with that in mind, here is a flawless celebration of the best Mercutio.

Knives Out/Glass Onion: 'Til You Hit a Nerve

Brilliant comparison vid putting Marta from the first film together with Helen and Andi from the second one, drawing out the similarities and dissimilarities in a visual feast and with a badass powerwalk. Nothing not to love!

David Cronenberg's Films: body

This one is phenomenal. It takes David Cronenberg's entire filmography and condenses it into a vid about all the sexualized body horror. It is deeply horny and deeply disturbing and deeply fascinated by every single finger going into a hole in a body that shouldn't be there. It's soft and tentative and it's very graphic and violent, all at once.

The Wheel of Time: Velodrome

Tower politics and circularity and being bound to one another in every good way and every bad way; what a beautiful vid. I love how this is about a place, and about how that place draws these people together over and over in their shared experience and love and trauma.

The Midnight Sky: The Laughing Heart

Absolutely gorgeous vid of the film to a spoken word + music rendition of Charles Bukowski's "The Laughing Heart" (there is a light somewhere). I have not seen this film but I found this vid deeply moving.

Moby Dick: Queequeg and I

There are four (FOUR!!!) Moby Dick vids at Festivids this year, and they are all amazing combinations of a huge smorgasboard of sources, I heartily recommend them all, but I'll specifically rec two. This one is Queequeg and Ishmael to "Wouldn't It Be Nice" and it is the sweetest queerest thing ever. Queequeg and Ishmael get a happy ending shhhhh they do shhhhh yes this is how it happened they came out of the water they're fine

Moby Dick: a vulture feeds upon the heart forever

This vid is a fucking masterpiece. It is a huge archival multisource Moby Dick vid that weaves all these incredibly different visual together to make a coherent, tragic narrative. And like. The BOOK is not a coherent narrative! This is such gorgeous and amazing fanwork. Don't miss out on it.

Women's 100m Sprinting: Didn't Come to Play

This is GORGEOUS, I don't know anything about sprinting but I know I love these beautiful joyful powerful women running really fast and hugging each other and being amazing. The editing on this is so tight; the vid never stops for a second. Like a sprint?!?!?!

The Golem and the Jinni: סיפור הגולם

This is another book vid, but since this book doesn't have any adaptations, it's using entirely archival source and probably some documentaries and films to construct the story - or, really, construct the vibe of the book, construct the metaphors of the book, and the result is beautiful and powerful and meditative. It's about survival, and making life.

Jesus Christ Superstar: Hope on Fire

This is another umbrella vid, where the vidder is taking a bunch of different productions of the play and mashing them together. This vid focuses on Judas and Jesus/Judas, and it all feels so inevitable and tragic and real and cruel. I really loved it.

Jordan Peele's Films: Goodbye, Honey, You Call That Gone

This is such a wonderful mashup of Jordan Peele's three films, exploring all the parallels and differences and just the rich tapestry of his imagery.

猎罪图鉴 | Under the Skin: Put It On Me

I don't know this source but this was just so gorgeously put together; there's a focus on art and art objects, on hands moving and creating, that's just mesmerizing.

[sidekick-hero]

to the rhythm of eternity

(steddie | explicit | 16.8k | tags: Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Smut, Christmas Fluff)

This was written for the STuad server gift exchange as a gift for @scarcrossdlvrs 💜 I hope I did your 'Long Distance' prompt justice, Bee!

December 2023

"I can't wait for you to get here, Stevie."

Eddie's voice sounds muffled through the headset, almost too quiet with all the noise around him. The video quality is shitty too, because while it's not even noon for Steve in Chicago, the sun has already set in London and Eddie is walking to the Phoenix Theater to start setting up the sound for the evening show. Steve can see the streetlights in the background casting shadows across Eddie's face. It's a busy street Eddie's walking down and people keep bumping into him, the chatter around him mixing with the sound of passing cars. From the looks of it, it must be Piccadilly, which means Eddie is almost at his current place of employment.

"Me too. God, I miss seeing your stupidly pretty face outside of a tiny screen with a shitty solution." Steve's sigh is tinged with longing instead of annoyance. It's not Eddie's fault that he had to cut back on the bandwidth for their video calls when he was out. The six-hour time difference only made it more difficult for them to both be home with decent broadband to talk. Or do other things.

Eddie grinned down at the screen, and even with the poor solution and bad lighting, Steve could see the pleased expression on his boyfriend's face. "Aww, you think I'm pretty? Stevie, I had no idea." Eddie coos, making it sound like a joke. Steve knows it's not, not really. Which is stupid, because Eddie is one of the most attractive guys Steve has ever seen, with his big brown doe eyes and full lips and interesting nose, tattoos littering the skin of his lithe body. If Steve were there right now, he would grab Eddie and kiss him silly, showing him exactly how pretty Steve thought he was.

"Baby, you know how beautiful I think you are. And how sexy and sweet and funny..." Steve teases, keeping it light, while reassuring his boyfriend that for Steve, Eddie is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

"Okay, okay, big boy, I get it. I guess I just need you to show me when you get here." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and winks, looking like the biggest dork in existence with his giant headphones and his nose red from the cold and that beloved toothy grin that Steve needs to kiss, like, yesterday.

He quickly scanned the hallway outside his office to make sure no one was coming in before lowering his voice to that deep, seductive tone he usually only uses when they're both under the sheets with their cocks on their hands. "Oh baby, believe me, when I finally get my hands on you, I'm going to show you as many times as you can take it. And then some if you're good."

His words have the desired effect, as Eddie pauses for a moment to put a hand to his face before pressing his phone to his chest and turning the screen black. Steve can make out the faint "jesus h. christ" over the noise, probably because he knew how Eddie would react after two years with him.

Eddie doesn't stop for long though, pushed forward by the crowd around him. "You're a menace, Harrington. A bloody menace, I tell ya."

"Oh, baby, I love it when you talk British to me." It's said in a teasing voice, but there's some truth to it. Eddie's accent had been one of the first things that had piqued Steve's interest when they first met. It's no secret that he loves it when his boyfriend uses it to rile him up even more.

"You've got some weird kinks, Stevie."

"Only for you," Steve says and then adds with a voice that is only for Eddie's ears these days, "I can't wait to show you all the dirty things I think about when I'm alone in bed with my hard cock in my hand, wishing it was your hand or your mouth or, fuck, your ass gripping it tight." He doesn't have to play up the moan that follows, because it's been five months since they last saw each other, and Steve is almost certain he's going to come in his pants the moment Eddie gives him a hug.

"Bloody hell, I'm in public! You can't just... There are rules, Steven. Rules." Judging by the edge of desperation in Eddie's voice, he's not alone in his need.

"Guess you'll have to punish me then, huh? Show me my place."

"Oh, look, I'm at the theater. My place of employment. Guess we'll have to table this lovely discussion until you get here and we have some privacy to talk this over more thoroughly."

"Can't wait, baby. Love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Only one more day before he can hold Eddie in his arms again. Despite all the dirty talk, that's what Steve is looking forward to the most. He can almost feel the comforting weight of Eddie against him, the solid and warm body wrapped tightly in his arms, Eddie's breath on his neck and Steve's nose buried in his dark curls.

With another longing sigh, Steve looks at the clock on the wall before picking up his pen again to go over the remaining paperwork on his desk. Eight hours until his flight to London, he might as well get some last minute work done before he takes the rest of the year off to stay with Eddie.

READ THE REST ON AO3

[padfootagain]

How to Make Sport Fun

Hello! Here I come with a new request! This came from @thenerdysimp : “where reader and Ben is that cute gym-couple. Like they are working out for Shadow and bone or something and they are doing pull-ups together. (Like she has her legs around his waist while they are holding the bar together) When he is doing push-ups she is laying on the floor under him to give him a kiss every time he comes down and when she is doing sit-ups he is holding her feet to giver her a kiss every time she comes up. The cast is just teasing them about it all the time but they couldn’t care less😌

I just see Ben as a big simp😂”

I completely agree with you about Ben being a simp, he is an absolute softie like… zejzeijroiejrzijrezi!!!

(Also, know that I hate sport, and know nothing about working out, so sorry if some details don’t make sense, I had to google these things).

I hope you all like this fic! Please, tell me what you think about it.

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: Extreeeeeeme fluffiness!! Tooth-rotting fluff!! Just lots of disgustingly sweet cuteness!! It also got very very flirtatious for some reason, I don’t know why… *glances over at a picture of Ben working out* yeah, I know why…

Summary: You hate working out. Ben hates working out. Lucky for the two of you, like most things in life, it’s more fun when you do it with someone you love.

Word count: 3048

Ben Barnes's Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Working out is (almost) never fun.

Muscles aching, sweat sticking to your skin, breathing hard like a bloody buffalo… All traces of sexiness gone for good. And the need to focus, the whole seriousness of it.

Many disadvantages in workouts, but then it keeps you healthy, so it’s not that bad. And it is needed for this role of yours you’re going to play in a couple of months in Shadow and Bone, so you don’t exactly have a choice.

And then… well, there’s the fact that your husband is training with you these days. And that brings a lot of fun to the whole exercise.

Goodbye to the stern sessions, the focused frowns. Instead, you’re getting a very goofy husband currently improvising a karaoke session in the empty training room rented by the studio for the cast and crew to use.

It’s early still, most people are still in bed, but that’s why you’ve come now. You and Ben have the room only for the two of you. You train with a coach as well, but only twice a week, the rest of your sessions are spent laughing at your husband’s silly choreographies more than actually working out.

Although… that’s not exactly true. After all, laughing does train your abs. That’s why your stomach is painful right now…

“IIIIII WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY!” Ben is singing at the top of his lungs next to you while dancing, bringing out his most ridiculous moves on purpose just to make you laugh.

He sings along with the radio, turning fully to you for the next verse.

“IIIII WANNA FEEL THE HEAT FOR SOMEBODY!” he points at you as he sings, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he insists on the word ‘heat’, making you double with laughter.

He can’t go on as you lean on him for support, laughing too much to stay upright. His laughter soon joins yours.

“Are you laughing at my singing?” he asks, faking outrage, still struggling to speak.

You shake your head, unable to speak at all. You choke on your laughter, making his grin double in size and a wave of giggles bubble on his lips.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you finally answer.

You brush your tears away, and he does the same.

“I love you,” you sigh, holding your painful stomach. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And now you’re insulting the artist…”

He gives you a dramatic pout, puppy eyes and a theatrical sniffle for good measure. You giggle at him, but it works all the same, his evil plan. Because now you’re wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to kiss his lips, the radio still blurting the old hit song.

“Awwww, poor Benjamin…”

“Don’t call me that!” he protests, but he lets you kiss his cheek anyway, his beard tickling your skin. “I hate it!”

“What should I call you then? Thomas?”

He lets out a disgusted growl.

“Barnes?”

“Oh, stop it! Call me a real name?”

“A real name?”

“What you usually call me.”

“What do I call you again? I don’t remember…”

He rolls his eyes, pouting again.

“You’re so mean!” he complains.

You giggle into his beard, but give in anyway.

“Aww, my sweetheart!”

“Better…”

“My love.”

“Hmmm…”

“My darling.”

“Keep going…”

“Baby.”

“Yes?”

“My husband. My man. Handsome. Lovely. Honey…”

“Yeah, these are very good,” he nods in approval, before leaning in to kiss you, passionate and yet tender still.

When he moves his lips to your neck, you gently push him away, shaking your head.

“Oh, I see what you’re trying to do here, mister!” you warn him. “And you’re not getting away with it!”

“Getting away with what?” he asks back, faking innocence, but he’s got this mischievous glint in his eyes and smile, and you’re not fooled.

You wave a finger at him.

“Do not distract me with your charm and your kisses! You’re due for some pull-ups.”

“You think I’m charming?” he shoots you a flirtatious smile, and you roll your eyes despite the heat that spreads across your whole body because of how his voice is deeper than usual, sulkier, huskier…

“Why do you think I’ve married you?”

“My money?”

“I wish. It would have caused me less trouble. I wouldn’t be here sweating my ass off if I did. I’d be drinking cocktails by a disgustingly expensive pool then, like any real gold digger.”

“’Sweating your ass off?’ Can you be less romantic?”

“I can’t. But, my love…”

“Hmm?”

“Pull-ups!”

He groans, mumbling something about his tyrant of a wife, but walks over to the bars anyway.

“Come on, get to work,” you tease him some more, just for good measure, landing a playful slap on his butt that makes him chuckle. “These muscles of yours won’t grow by themselves.”

“Are you saying that that’s what you want? More muscles? I didn’t know you did. Want me to sign you up at the bodybuilder fan club?”

“Our director wants you to grow some muscles. Me? I mean… I don’t mind the muscles. But your pretty eyes are enough to woo me.”

He grins at that, bright and genuine, before dropping a sweet peck to your lips. Your cheeks hurt a little after smiling so much.

“Part of my charms, I’m sure,” he jokes, but you nod in all seriousness.

“Absolutely. You have very pretty eyes.”

“Well, thank you. But they aren’t as pretty as yours, my love.”

“Sweet-talking your way out of training, I see…”

“I’m not!” he defends himself, and as to prove a point, he stands under the bar, getting ready.

“Come on! You can do it!” you encourage him, and he winks at you before getting to work.

Yes, these sessions with your goofy husband are a laugh. But then again, you can’t deny that he’s redefining other disadvantages of these sessions too…

You mentioned the loss of sexiness? That doesn’t seem to apply to your husband. Not at all. Quite the opposite.

You struggle a little to swallow as you stare at Ben, pulling up his weight until his chin goes all the way above the steel bar. Muscles flexing, tensing, bulging under his black t-shirt. His face strained by the effort, and the veins on his forehead and his neck pulsing as he struggles. His cheeks have reddened, and he heaves a loud breath at the next climb. He’s sweaty, beads rolling down the side of his face, but you find that sexy. You’ve stopped encouraging him altogether, merely admiring your husband. You can’t find anything to say at all, anyway. Your brain has stopped functioning as soon as your eyes have landed on his tensed biceps, pale skin glimmering with the thin layer of sweat under the white neon lights…

Only when you hear him letting out a grunt, and that he remains suspended above the ground but not moving up anymore do you finally bring yourself back to earth.

“Come on! You can do one more!” you encourage him.

“How many did I do?”

“Huh…”

“You counted, right?”

“Yes…?”

“What were you doing, then?”

He’s still out of breath, voice a little strained because of the effort, and you decide to definitely scratch that argument against training.

It can definitely be hot…

“Come on, I lost count, but you can do one more!”

But Ben shakes his head.

“Too tired.”

He’s about to let go, but you press him on.

“Come on! One more! For me!”

He grunts.

“Why do you want to torture me so much anyway?” he asks, clearly annoyed.

“Honestly?”

“Yes…” he answers, raising up an eyebrow, surprised by your tone.

“Your biceps look amazing when you do pull-ups. It’s super hot.”

He explodes with laughter, and has to let go of the bar, laughing too hard.

“What?” you ask, amused and trying to shy away.

But Ben shakes his head.

“I’m sweaty and disgusting right now,” he argues, but you shake your head.

And there’s something terribly hungry in your eyes, even if you try to hide it. It makes him grow serious in the blink of an eye, while his heart misses a few beats.

Damn, you’re really something else…

“I think you look hot,” you answer earnestly.

He shakes his head, still amused, but grabs the bar again anyway.

“Yes! Go on! Go on!” you cheer on, your eyes glued to his arms as he pulls himself up above the bar.

He lets go, exhausted, as soon as he is done. He rubs the painful muscle of his right arm with a small wince.

“I hate you,” he claims as you approach.

“Awww, my poor baby.”

Your fingers replace his as you massage his weary arm, and he heaves a relieved sigh at the feeling. Soon, a playful smirk is back on his lips.

“So… sexy enough for you?” he asks with a wink.

“Not bad,” you answer, but the grin on your lips betrays your thoughts.

“The other arm is very painful too, you know?”

“Fishing for attention, now?”

“Only massages for my sore muscles.”

“Oh… well, I wanted to give you a kiss, but as you just need some massage…”

“I won’t pass on a kiss, though.”

“Too late! Lost your chance.”

But the next second, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close as you rest your hands on his upper arms, still rubbing his skin.

“Never too late for a kiss,” he grins, leaning in and kissing you for a rather long while.

“You’re sweaty,” you point out after he finally frees you from his tight embrace.

“And? Disgusting?”

“Weirdly enough, not really.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Sexy?”

“Rather, yes.”

��You have to stop all this… flirtation. Innuendo. Temptation… or we’ll never finish our training session.”

You laugh at that, replacing Ben under the bar to do pull-ups too. He helps you by holding your legs for the last couple of tractions, and rewards you with some water and a couple of pecks in your hair.

“You’re sweaty too,” it’s his turn to point it out.

“And? Disgusting?” you ask, playing a long.

“Not gonna lie… it’s kinda gross.”

You swat him playfully on the shoulder, both of you laughing at the teasing.

“I’m obviously kidding. You are always gorgeous,” he corrects himself, and you roll your eyes.

“Sweet-talking your way out of trouble, as always…”

“Absolutely not. Just stating facts. We should do sit-ups now, let our arms rest a bit before we do push-ups.”

You nod in agreement, putting your bottle away.

You hold Ben’s feet when he lies down, knees bent. When he sits up, his face coming to your level again, you lean to press a kiss to his lips, making him giggle in surprise.

You’re too adorable, he can’t help it. Because he can’t say he enjoys this kind of workout sessions, but you make them unbearably more fun…

“Nice reward,” he grins, stealing another kiss before lying back down.

“I think so too. You’ll have to give me those too…” you’re interrupted by his lips as he comes up again, “…when it’s my turn.”

“Deal,” he smiles, pecking your lips once more.

And he does. Once it’s your time to get to work, he gives you kisses every time. You do a few more just to steal kisses, and he notices, but he doesn’t complain.

You’re the one to start with the push-ups next, and Ben would be lying if he claimed to have kept a perfect count throughout the exercise. Because he didn’t think seeing you sweaty and huffing and exhausted could look sexy… outside of a bedroom, that is. But it is, one thousand percent. And he kind of gets why you wanted to see one more pull-up before. Because now your muscles are flexing, and your hair clings to your temples, and you have that determined look on your face he finds absolutely endearing…

“How many do I have left?” you ask, struggling to breathe, your forearms shaking slightly as you hold yourself up.

“Two,” he claims, giving a random number as his brain has stopped functioning long minutes ago.

“Right…”

He counts with you to cheer you up, and he can’t help but laugh when you let yourself crash on the mat when you’re done.

You let out a dramatic moan, making his laughter double.

“Poor baby!” he coos, kneeling next to you and running his fingers through your hair. “Come on, my turn, and then we’re done for today.”

You turn your head towards him, just enough to look at him.

“Can we get a coffee afterwards?” you ask in a shy tone.

“Sure, I’ll get you coffee,” Ben nods, smiling, voice tender.

“And my shoulders hurt a lot,” you complain in a baby voice.

“Awww…”

“Can I get a massage afterwards?”

“Yes, you can.”

“And a shower with you?”

“Yes, we can take a shower together.”

“And sex in the shower?”

He explods with laughter, while you chuckle, a mischievous smile on your lips.

“You’re unbelievable,” he answers with fondness, shaking his head.

“Is that a yes?”

“Undoubtedly. Have I ever said no to that kind of offer?”

“Don’t know… seeing me like this could kill my sex-appeal for good.”

“Actually, you doing these push-ups was rather hot.”

“Really?”

He nods, standing again.

“Come on! My turn! Hurry up, we have many things to do after this. And some I’m very excited about.”

There’s flirt in his crooked smile, it oozes charms and his voice grows huskier as he speaks. You can’t help the way your heart skips a beat.

But you don’t move just yet, groaning at your painful muscles.

Ben chuckles, standing over you, his arms crossed before his chest.

“I do have a very nice view of your ass from up here, so I can’t say that I’m willing to complain about you lying down like this a little longer… but you have to move if you want this session to end.”

You smile while Ben bends to pinch your thigh through your leggings, making you squeal and let out a bright wave of laughter.

“I knew you loved my arse,” you answer proudly, wriggling happily on the floor as you turn to lay on your back.

Ben rolls his eyes.

“I do tell you every single day how beautiful you are, my darling,” he reminds you, shaking his head with a tender smile.

“You do,” you nod, your smile matching his. “But it never gets old.”

“Why do you think I married you in the first place?”

“My money?”

“I wish. It would have gotten me in less trouble than your pretty arse.”

“When did I get you into trouble?”

“Every single day since we met.”

“Fair enough…”

You laugh, and finally sit up, until an idea crosses your mind, and you choose to lie back down.

You have a mischievous on your lips, and Ben looks at you warily.

“I’ve got an idea!”

“Hmm… and a terrible one, judging by that smirk on your face. What did I just say about trouble, again?”

“Come on! In position!” you order, ignoring him. “You’re gonna do your push-ups above me.”

His eyes grow round.

“What?”

“Come on! In position!”

He hesitates for a second, but he’s too used to your antics to argue. He knows you’ll end up convincing him anyway, so he rolls his eyes again, for good measure, but complies. He holds himself up above you.

“Like that?” he asks, frowning a little.

But you nod.

“Now, do a push-up!”

“I’m going to crush you, darling,” he argues, an amused smile on his lips.

“Of course not! Come on! Do a push-up!”

“It won’t work…”

“Stop arguing! And do it! Trust me!”

“You? You’re a mischief maker, I don’t trust you one bit.”

“Ouch, that hurts! To your own wife!”

“You heard me.”

But he bends down anyway, bringing his body against you, and as you kiss him when he gets down, right before he would pull himself up again. He chuckles, struggling to keep his balance as his body shakes with laughter, and you soon join him.

“So, that was your evil plan, huh?” he asks, still laughing.

“Devilish, right?”

“Outrageously so!”

“Good plan, huh?”

“Great plan. Might want to test it again.”

“Please, do.”

And he does, leaning down to reach your lips before pulling up. He has a precise number to follow for his routine, but he’s lost count, too busy staring at your beautiful eyes, and longing for your lips everytime he has to pull away, and his muscles are sore anyway, and he’s tired, and he just wants you close…

You let out a surprised huffing noise when he lets himself fall on top of you, before you both explode with laughter.

“Now, you’re crushing me, lovely!”

He lets out a dramatic grunt, shifting to get more comfortable, resting his cheek on your chest. You merely chuckle in response, holding him close.

“That was a good session.”

He hums in agreement, holding you tight.

“Yeah… I’m very sweaty and very sore. Apparently, it’s a good sign.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“It was fun though. You make these things fun.”

“Yeah, you do too.”

“What time is it? I could easily take a nap like this.”

“No idea. But you can’t fall asleep, you’ve promised me lots of things after the gym!”

“Really? I have no memory of that whatsoever.”

“You’ve promised some coffee…”

“Hmm…”

“Some massage…”

“Ha, did I?”

“You did. And also some sex.”

“Ha, yes,” he looks up at you at that, mischief back on his ridiculously handsome features. “In the shower, I think…”

“Yes, precisely.”

“Well, can’t keep my wife waiting for that.”

“You can’t indeed.”

You’re about to kiss when you hear the door of the gym open, and you turn to find Freddy, Calahan and Patrick staring at you with wide-eyes.

“We were doing push-ups,” you explain with a grin, but even Ben laughs at that.

Freddy puts down his bottle on a bench while you and Ben get back to your feet.

“I swear, if you’ve done anything sexual in this room, I will channel my inner Crow to kill you both.”

But as a response, you merely laugh, wishing for your three colleagues a good training session, while you gather your things and head for home.

Busy schedule ahead, after all…

***********************************

Taglist: @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic