#have I ever steered y'all wrong?

[bleach-your-panties]

If y'all see my writing slowing down more than it already has sksksjdhd; blame my nursing classes.

I must pass 🥹

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole A/N: Y'all probably wouldn't believe me if I told you Apple by Charlie XCX inspired this random fic...but anyway, this one goes out to my sweet bb angel @lotusbxtch <3 thank you for always being my partner in crime in the late hours of the evening ilysm

Part II

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The Texas sun beat down on your skin as you rode through the acres of land—your land— stretching out before you. Passed down from generation to generation, this entire pasture of fields and wild barley was yours. After both of your parents died during a freak accident, you inherited the land and dealt with upkeep and farm animals as if it were your life. And it was your life. Every inch of this farmland was yours, no matter what anyone said. 

You pressed your heels into the side of your horse, Mac, and urged him further down through the tall grass. The summer hadn’t been kind to the fields, the grass yellowing in most places, but what would you do about it? Tell the sun to stop shining? All you could do was take care of the land and ensure nothing went wrong. The animals were taken care of, the wild wheat still grew strong in the outskirts past your tiny farm home, and you had enough money to put dinner on the table for yourself at the end of your night. 

No trouble at all. 

What was trouble, though, was Joel Miller riding his ass right down the edge of your land. The sun cast him in a dark silhouette as he rode closer, his broad body sitting tall on the back of his horse. You held back the reigns, shushing Mac gently as you slowed him to a trot, keeping a healthy distance from the insufferable man trespassing onto your fields. 

“Think y’got yourself a bit lost out here, Miller,” you hollered. 

Joel removed the black cowboy hat from his head; the grey hairs streaking through his curls shimmered in the sunlight as he swiped an arm over his sweaty forehead. Every inch of his skin was sunkissed and tan from hours under the sun, his greying beard patchy and well-kept despite his rugged exterior. If he weren’t such an asshole, maybe you’d even consider him attractive, but your irritation with him ran deeper than any other emotion. 

Staring up at you under thick brows, Joel quirked an amused grin and shrugged. 

“Ain’t lost at all, darlin’. S’my land out here.”

You steered Mac forward, keeping yourself parallel with Joel’s body. You weren’t intimidated by any man, let alone Joel Miller. He may have a few decades on you, but that didn’t matter. The Miller family had always been a problem. For generations, they feuded with your family over acres of land that stretched across the horizon, never agreeing on who owned what. Before Joel, his father had caused an uproar in your family, and now he just had to continue causing problems. Would you ever rid yourself of this man and his family?

“I suggest y’take your ass home ‘fore I make you leave,” you warned. 

The wind kicked around you, fanning your hair down around your shoulders. Joel caught how your hair flared under your cowboy hat, and a hint of mischief sparkled inside his dark brown eyes. He was a fucking nuisance and still on your fucking land. 

“Careful now, darlin’. Those are some mighty big fightin’ words.”

You straightened your spine, holding firm on the reigns to keep yourself anchored. Mac huffed impatiently as if he knew how sour your mood was turning. The longer you kept yourself around Joel, the quicker your anger grew. The sun would set soon, and you still had miles to cover before you made it home; you wouldn’t entertain an old cowboy all night, even if he were staring at you like you were a wild horse to be tamed. 

“This is the last time I’m tellin’ you to stay off my land, Joel. I mean it.”

Joel chuckled lightly as if your words meant nothing. He placed his hat back over the matted curls on his head and began riding past you. You glared over your shoulder, watching his body travel further into the horizon and away from the rolling fields of your land. 

**

The summer wasn’t getting any easier. The sun grew brighter each day, and the air thickened with humidity, making it nearly impossible to continue wearing anything restrictive. With no one else around to pester you, you paraded around the stables in a tight top, a pair of daisy dukes, and your usual worn leather boots. The fewer clothes, the better—even if that meant getting bit up by a few mosquitoes here and there. 

You were deep into cleaning Mac’s stall when you heard the sound of hoofs pounding against the dirt ground outside the stables. Your body went rigid; you knew who it was without looking. Who else would it be out here? The horse in the distance bristled as its rider dropped to the ground, his heavy footfall nearing you as you exited the stall with a towel slung over your shoulder. 

Joel stood tall in the entrance, his broad frame sucking in all of the light as he walked closer. He wore an old denim button-up, and the sleeves pushed up his tan forearms, exposing the thickly corded muscles that ran down to his hands. Without a cowboy hat resting over his eyes, you could see how rich and dark they were as they stared you down. Despite hating him, your body reacted on its own accord. You clenched your thighs, trying to quell the ache growing inside your core. Leaning against the stall, you narrowed your eyes, watching Joel stalking closer. His steps were confident—casually, even—as if he owned the damn place. 

“Not sure why y’think it’s okay to come waltzin’ in here,” you scowled, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Ain’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Joel smirked. 

“Fuck off, old man,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. 

“What was that, darlin?” 

Joel stepped forward, and you mimicked his movements, drawing yourself closer to him. Even with his height towering over you, you were unphased. This man wouldn’t get the best of you. 

“Oh, sorry. Should I be speakin’ louder? Ain’t sure if y’got your hearing aids in.”

“No, I heard y’just fine. Just wanna hear you say it again.”

The toe of your boot tapped against his as you glared up at him. With a smug grin stretching across your face, you repeated your retort. 

“Fuck off. Old man.”

Joel’s body tensed, his eyes narrowed as he considered your words. You weren’t backing down; he was on your property and, quite frankly, pissing you off. He could bitch and moan all he wanted about how this land was his birthright, but he was wrong. Your parents settled the matter generations ago and never once faltered against the Millers. That wouldn’t change now. You’d uphold their wishes and continue fighting for what was yours. 

“Y’gotta damn nasty mouth on such a tiny body. Ain’t your parents teach you some manners?” Joel questioned. 

“They taught me enough, but it ain’t gonna stop me from tellin’ you off. So, get the hell off my property,” you demanded. 

You glanced down, noticing Joel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was amusing seeing him all riled up. Who knew he had that kind of spark in him? You wondered just how far you could push him until he snapped. 

“Ain’t you just spoiled rotten. Is that what it is? Y’think everythin’ is yours ‘cause your mommy and daddy said so?”

His voice was taunting, a litany of rhetorical questions to which he didn’t care to know the answer. Whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter because his mind was made up. Stubborn old man.

“I don’t think everythin’ is mine. I know it is,” you objected. “So, move your old ass back to your side of the pasture and get out of my face.”

Joel crowded your body, walking you back towards the stall door until your body pressed into the wood. You lifted your chin defiantly, watching his eyes clouded with rage. 

“Spoiled lil’ brat. Should teach you a lesson for the way you’re speakin’ to me,” Joel growled. 

Let’s see how far we can take this, you thought. 

“Whatcha gonna do? Spank me?” You laughed, gracing him with a rueful smile. 

Placing his hands above you on the door, Joel caged you between his body. You had nowhere to run; truthfully, you didn’t want to run. The incessant ache between your legs was swelling, your underwear practically soaked with the burning anticipation coursing through your veins. 

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, darlin’. S’only gonna make things worse for you.”

“I ain’t scared of you, Joel.”

“You damn well should be,” he warned. 

Joel’s hand shot out to grab the base of your neck, yanking you a breath away from his lips. The rich scent of whiskey wafted off his lips as he held you close, his fingers tightening around your throat. You rolled your tongue across your bottom lip, an invitation for whatever threat he had. You could take it. 

“Y’think it’s cute actin’ this way? Think you’re just tough shit, and no one will put you in your place, hmm?” Joel whispered. 

“You gonna be the one to do it, Joel?” You challenged. 

Joel used his grip on your throat to spin you toward the door, your cheek smashing into the wood as he pinned you against it. The instant sting of his palm radiated through the denim of your shorts, the heat of his hand melting into your skin. You yelped in pain, dragging your nails over the wood that strained against the press of your body. His hand smoothed over the curve of your ass before delivering another jarring smack. 

“Fuck!” You cried, biting back tears. 

“Spoiled.” Smack. “Fuckin’.” Smack. “Brat.” Smack. Smack. 

“Joel, please!” You begged. 

You weren’t sure if you were begging for more or begging for him to stop. Either way, he was unrelenting, his handprint leaving welts on your skin. Joel’s grip on your throat tightened, restricting your breathing as he dug his fingers into the supple skin of your ass. Prodding…smoothing…spanking. A continuous, viscous cycle you were weak against. Every bite of his hand on your body intensified the throbbing between your legs, your clit swelling with need. Repeating slaps against your other cheek forced tears down your face, their path leading down your neck and onto Joel’s warm hand. 

“You cryin’, darlin’?” Joel taunted. “Gonna beg me to stop?”

“Please—” You choked out, your words garbled and strained. 

Joel’s lips touched your ear, his breath fanning over your skin in waves. 

“M’fraid I can’t. Not til’ y’learn your lesson.”

You twisted your head around, your tired eyes connecting with his. There wasn’t a hint of brown in his irises as his pupils swallowed them whole, an unsatisfied look washing over his features. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. 

“Fuck you,” you snarled. 

Joel tilted his head, his graying mustache twitching as his lips curved into a smile. An unmistakable hint of desire masked his expression, keeping you reeled in and wanting more. If he could keep going, then so could you. 

“You just ain’t backin’ down, huh?” Joel questioned. 

You wagged your head back and forth, his fingers squeezing against your windpipes. Joel’s hand coasted up your waist, tugging at the belt loop on your shorts until your body spun to face his. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, you grinned at him, clearly unbothered by the onslaught of pain he had inflicted. 

“That all y’got, old man?” You lipped off. 

“Call me old man one more time, darlin’,” Joel warned his face inches from yours. 

“Old. Man.” You punctuated each word through gritted teeth.

Joel cupped your sex through your jeans, no doubt feeling the arousal seeping through the denim fabric. A rouge whimper fell off your lips, and you bit back any more sounds to give away the desperation rolling through your veins.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he exhaled, but there was a lightness in his voice.

You were both giving into some carnal need, electrifying the humid air around you. You chased his mouth, wanting to lap up every threat on his whiskey-drenched tongue. Joel pulled back, your lips connecting with nothing as you arched forward. With a slight pout, you huffed in annoyance. 

“Look who’s actin’ all desperate now. Just beggin’ for this old man to fuck you.”

“Betcha can’t even get it up in the first place,” you grumbled. 

Joel’s hand connected with your cheek, a rough slap sending your face to the side. Dammit, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d done. The sting of his palm sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your stomach, a burning need just aching to come undone. Thick fingers gripped your jaw, wagging your face side to side. 

“I’ve heard enough of that bratty mouth,” Joel said decisively. 

His hands brushed over your collarbone, grasping your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. Your legs hit the straw-covered ground with a soft thud, your skin scraping against the dry hay. He wasted no time undoing his large belt buckle, working his cock out of the confines of his jeans, and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. Joel was hung like a fucking horse, his length thick and no short of any girth. Precum dribbled down off the tip, the sticky mess enticing you to move closer. Staring up at him through your lashes, you waited for his next move. He might have you on your knees, but you’d have his cock, and that was power in itself. 

“Make use of that mouth and suck,” he commanded. 

You lapped at the precum, his cock twitching against every flick of your tongue. You explored his length, dragging your tongue along the veins running down the underside of his cock. Joel gripped the hair at the crown of your head, guiding your mouth over the tip and down his length. Your nose brushed against the bushy hair at the base, his musky scent flooding your senses—it was intoxicating. 

“There we go,” Joel hummed, his voice gravely and strained. “So fuckin’ full of me y’can’t talk back.”

His name came out muffled as you tried to speak, your tongue flatted against the base of his cock. He pushed his cock a centimeter further, the tip knocking against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, your hands slapping against his thick thighs. 

“I don’t wanna hear y’say a damn word,” Joel growled. “You’re gonna take my fuckin’ cock down your throat and choke on it.”

You clawed at his thighs as tears sprung along your waterline, threatening to spill over the longer he kept himself inside your mouth. His fingers tightened around tiny strands of your hair, anchoring you to his cock as he thrusted himself deeper. You tried to protest and pull away, but his grip on you was unforgiving. 

“Please,” you garbled, spit rolling down your chin. 

“Still actin’ like a spoiled fuckin’ brat, ain’t you? Think y’can get whatever you want?”

He granted you an inch to breathe, pulling you halfway off his cock. You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to latch onto any control. Joel used his grip on your hair to slide your mouth up and down his length, the sound of your lips around his the only noise aside from his labored breathing. You tapped on his thigh twice, hoping he’d relent and give you a reprieve. 

“Real fuckin’ cute,” he laughed. “Struggle all y’want, darlin’. I ain’t stoppin’.”

The tears flowed freely now, mixing with the saliva pooling down your jaw as you worked him deeper down your throat. Every strained attempt to beg him to stop fell on deaf ears; his cock only pushed further down until you had no choice but to sit there completely disarmed and helpless. The scratches left on his thighs didn’t phase him at all, nor did your whimpers as you tried to swallow a breath around him. 

“Keep cryin’, darlin’. Just makes you look prettier when I’m ruinin’ you,” Joel muttered. 

As your nose pressed against the hair at his navel, Joel’s hand brushed over your cheek, collecting a rogue tear on his thumb. Through blurred eyes and running mascara, you blinked up at him right as he tasted the tear pooling on the pad of his fingertip. 

“Delicious,” he hummed.

A dangerous grin split across his face, his hips jerking forward one last time before he wrenched you free from his cock. You coughed violently, the air wooshing back into your lungs with each heaving breath. You swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, wiping off the saliva coating your chin and jaw. 

“You fuckin’ asshole,” you choked out. 

Crouching down, Joel met you at eye level, his eyes soulless and dark. You shivered under his heavy gaze and flinched away from his face as he crowded you. 

“How’s that attitude of yours now?” He questioned. 

You reeled back, sending a glob of spit across the bridge of his nose. Joel scrunched his eyes together, jaw clenched as he wiped away your spit. You bared your teeth at him, still refusing to back down. Joel straightened to his full height, working at shoving his cock back in his jeans. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed; you hated him but wanted more. 

“Guess I ain’t been rough enough,” Joel grumbled, walking down the stable. 

You watched as he picked a bundle of lead rope off the hook near Mac’s stall, weighing it between his hands. A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you saw his eyes light up in mischief. You were so fucked. You half-considered running, but where was the fun in that? Joel would only chase you down, and even that sounded delicious. There was no use in fighting it now; you were in it for the long haul. 

“Now,” he started, his steps slow as he walked back toward your kneeling body. “I’m gonna give you two options. Y’either walk your ass outside like a good girl, or I drag you out by your hair. What’s it gonna be, darlin’?”

“I’ll walk,” you snapped, rising to your feet. 

Your knees ached with each step as you walked into the blinding daylight outside the stables. Gnats swarmed around your face as you stood idle by the entrance, glancing over your shoulder at Joel stalking behind you. The rope swung beside his body as he carried it in his hand, the lingering threat lying within the coarse fibers that wound together. His head jerked over to the tie rack beside the barn, his eyes trained on the vacant stall before the expanse of your land. 

“C’mon, brat.”

He waltzed in front of you, guiding you to the empty platform with a stern look gracing his features. Without a single word, Joel yanked your wrists together, his deft fingers working at knotting the rope around your skin. The fraying pieces bit into your skin, rubbing and burning the longer he twisted it in loops around your hands. He gave the rope a good tug, humming in satisfaction once the binding was tight enough. Guiding your arms upwards, he clipped the lead to the metal loop on one side of the tie rack, keeping your body suspended awkwardly as your wrists ached from the restraint. You refused to say a word, too frustrated even to protest his actions. If you thought you were helpless before, you were utterly powerless now. It was just you, Joel, and the empty stretch of land that went on for miles. 

Joel pressed his body against your back, the warmth of his touch ignited heat within your core all over again. You squirmed as his hands roamed over your curves, his fingers tracing the outline of your breasts under your sweat-covered shirt. He pinched at your nipples, finding their pebbled indentation hidden within your bra. A desperate whine left your lips as you swayed against the pull of the rope, your feet slipping against the ground. 

“See all that land out there,” Joel whispered, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “That’s all mine, darlin’, and I’m gonna make sure you remember that by the time I’m through with you.”

“Tyin’ me up and fuckin’ me ain’t gonna change my mind,” you scoffed. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck some sense into you.”

Joel’s hands worked down your body, making quick work of undoing your shorts and shoving them down to your boots. The hot, sticky summer air breezed over your bare skin, hardly helping to soothe the painful ache between your thighs. Thick, calloused fingers massaged the skin of your hips, kneading your supple curves as you writhed against his touch. You could beg him for more, and oh god, did you want to. You wanted to cave and relinquish everything just to quell the burning pleasure inside your body, but you wouldn’t beg. Not for Joel Miller or any other man. 

Joel swiped a finger through your drenched folds, tutting at your pliancy. The brief touch alone was enough to spark stars behind your eyes, your breath growing shallow.

“Well, would ya’ look at that,” Joel tutted. “You’re soakin’ my fingers, darlin’.”

You refused to say a word, too afraid you’d succumb to your own devices. You wouldn’t ask him to fuck you, but Jesus Christ, you fucking needed it. Every fiber of your being cried for release, and if it meant you had to be tied up and fucked in front of the yellow fields in front of you, then that’s what you’d do. 

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Joel offered. “Say this land is mine and I’ll let you go.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, no doubt a mess after being on your knees before him. There was a cruelty in his eyes that alarmed you, but you were too focused on what you needed, even to feel afraid. 

“This is my land,” you stated, your chin held high. “S’my family’s land and it’s gonna stay that way ‘til I’m in my grave.”

“Wrong fuckin’ answer.”

Joel knocked your legs apart, the denim of his jeans dragging against your slick arousal. There was a moment where there was absolutely nothing, a vacancy of sound or touch that deprived your senses. Maybe you were teetering on the edge of delirium, too far gone to know what he was doing behind you, but then you felt everything. The thick head of his cock brushed against your entrance, rubbing between your silken folds in tantalizing strokes. That was the only warning he gave before pushing himself deeper, splitting you open inch by inch. You cried out as your body worked to stretch around his length, and your vision blackened as the sharp pain of the sensation jolted through your veins. 

“Fuck!” You screamed. 

The adjustment to his size was agonizing despite how wet you were. Nothing could have prepared you for the way Joel broke you open, nor was there anything that could have prepared you for how brutal he would become. Thrust after thrust, he assaulted you, completely breaking you and molding you to his cock. The pull of the rope burnt the skin of your wrists as he took you harder, your body lurching against the restraints with each snap of his hips. Joel tugged your body backward, shifting your legs until you were forced to bend at the waist. Words wouldn’t form on your lips, and you dissolved into a heap of wailing cries as he plunged deeper into you. 

“Where’s all that loudmouthin’ now?” Joel grunted, his fingers bruising your hips. “So fuckin’ cock drunk y’can’t even speak?”

Your silence only drove him crazier, his speed quickening mercilessly. The ache inside your core was all-consuming, a burning wildfire inside your stomach. You dropped your head between your shoulders and dug your nails into your palms, keeping yourself grounded. 

“Joel,” you gasped. “Please.”

You failed in your attempts not to beg this man, throwing everything to the wayside as you succumbed to the pulsing ache between your legs. 

“Shut up, brat,” he snapped. 

“Joel!” You sobbed. “I’m gonna—fuck—please. I need to—to…”

The words turned to ash on your tongue as he snaked a hand around your body, his fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit. You yelped at the roughness of his fingers, the sensation alone nearly causing your legs to buckle beneath you. If it weren’t for the ropes holding you firmly in place, you would have fallen to the ground. 

“Poor thing,” he crooned in your ear. “Y’wanna cum? Is that what you want?”

Another drive of his hips. Another draw of his fingers. Tormenting movements that kept you on the edge of ecstasy and suffering. Your arousal pooled down your inner thighs, mixing with the sticky sweat that clung to every inch of your skin. 

“I need it, Joel,” you gasped. “Christ, please!”

“Y’gonna change your mind?”

“N—.”

Joel pinched your clit between his fingers, and your words drowned out under a helpless wail falling from your lips. He pulled you back by your hair, winding it around his fist as he drew his lips down your neck. The sweltering touch of his mouth on your skin and his rough fingers on your sensitive bud were enough to topple you closer to the edge. The furnace igniting inside your stomach wouldn’t stop any time soon, but you still wouldn’t give up. He was always going to be wrong, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction. 

“Say it, darlin’. Say the words, and y’can cum all over my cock.”

“Never,” you panted. “Never gonna—.”

He pistoned into you, his cock spearing deeper and deeper, completely paralyzing you. Sobs wracked through your body as you took every thrust, and your mind began to float off into a blissed-out haze that drowned out the noise behind you. 

“Gonna own all this fuckin’ land,” Joel gritted out. “Own it just like I own this fuckin’ pussy.”

Please. Please. You weren’t sure if you repeated the words inside your mind or aloud; either way, Joel only huffed a laugh and continued with his repetitive assaults on your body. Your orgasm began barreling toward you, your core fluttering around him as it sparked beneath your skin. Everything inside you tensed up, and your jaw went slack with an outward cry as you slipped under the rapid release coursing inside your body. 

“Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “Fuck… fuck… fuck!”

Your sex clenched around Joel so hard he choked on a breath, his body rigid against yours as you spasmed beneath his hold. Hot, wet streams of your orgasm drenched his cock as he tore through your orgasm with shallow thrusts. Jole rammed into you over and over again until another wave of pleasure slammed into your body. 

“Fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Never said y’could cum, did I?”

His hand vanished from your waist and returned to the welted skin of your ass with a resounding smack. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs to cry out, nor any more tears to shed. You hung against the ropes, limp and pliant, as he took you with abandon. 

With another snap of his hips against yours, Joel spilled into you, his release filling you to the brim as he released a carnal groan. You could barely lift your head to look back at him as he untangled his fingers from your hair and pulled away. 

Every atom inside your body was pulsing with overstimulation, your ass welted and bruised, and your throat raw from screaming. The constant thrum of your heartbeat in your ears smothered the sound of Joel’s belt buckle clanging together, the warmth of his body far removed from yours as you stood on tired legs. Moments passed without a single touch, and you wondered if Joel would leave you there tied to the rack and dripping with cum. 

“Think y’learned your lesson now?” He asked, his voice sounding far away. 

All you could do was wag your head in protest, your eyes pinned down to the floor, fixated on the pool of saliva that had fallen from your lips. Joel appeared beside you, his grey hair dissolved and face red from exertion. He worked at unclasping the rope from the hook, unbinding your wrists until your arms fell limp to your sides. Your body was weightless without the stability of the rope, and you fell forward, anticipating the impact against the cement. Joel was quicker, though, winding a strong arm around your front and holding you up. 

“Easy now, darlin’,” he whispered softly. “Easy.”

Your fingers wrapped around his arm, clinging to anything to escape the impending collapse of your entire body. Your boots scruffed against the cement of the stall, kicking dust into the air around you. With his arm still braced around your chest, he used the other to guide your shorts back up your legs and onto your hips. You hissed as the denim rubbed against your ass, the swell of your skin still prickling with pain no matter how brief the touch was. 

“Can y’stand on your own?” He asked. 

“Mhmm,” you mumbled.

“Attagirl.”

Yet as he released your body, you staggered forward, grasping onto the tie rack for support. Joel waited until you found your balance and offered a hand. You were hesitant but relented silently. He took your wrists in one large hand and began massaging at the reddened skin, working out any tension left from the rope. You stared blankly at him, watching a crease burrow between his eyebrows. You still hated him, right? Right? Something so minimal shouldn’t make your heart pound against your chest, but there you were, speechless as you watched this rough man touch your skin with a tenderness he had yet shown. 

“Suns goin’ down soon,” he muttered, nodding to the sky. 

You peered over your shoulder, surprised to see the sun dipping over the horizon. You hadn’t noticed the pinky hue of the sunset while he fucked you, but now you stared at it in wonderment. 

“Guess it is,” you sighed. “Y’should get your ass off my property ‘fore it gets too late.”

Joel snorted, glancing up at you through thick lashes. In the dwindling sunlight, his eyes had dissolved from onyx back into a glistening amber color, the flecks of rich brown dancing as he looked at you. 

“Stubborn lil’ thing,” he huffed. 

He dropped your hands and straightened to his full height. Perspiration coated his button-up, staining it in dark spots as excess beats of sweat still rolled down his muscular neck. You tamed the flyaways of your hair, trying to minimize the obscenity of your look the longer he stood before you. It was no use after what he had done. 

“Y’ain’t changin’ your mind, huh?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. 

Joel rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into his front pocket. Leaning close, he brought his other hand to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers brush over your cheek before pulling away. 

“Guess I’ll just come back tomorrow and try again.”

“Y’come back here tomorrow, and I’ll shoot you dead, Miller.”

He cracked a grin and began to retreat toward his horse beside the stable. You stood motionless as he mounted the brown mare, slipping the reigns between his hands. Joel gave you a farewell wave before taking off across the flowing fields, his broad figure dissolving into the sunset. You slumped against the wall of the stables, letting your body fall to the ground. A smile slid across your face, taking in the open land before you. 

You didn’t give up. It was all still yours.

[floralpascal]

The Best Lies

Summary: After you join the 141, Ghost does everything he can to fight his growing feelings for you. But during a night out with you, he finds it harder and harder to ignore.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.9k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: a little angst, Ghost agonizes over having feelings, canon-level violence, blood, alcohol/drinking, kissing, semi-public dry humping, fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), secret relationship

A/N: This truly is 50% Ghost trying to ignore the fact that he's down bad and 50% depraved smut. Writing Ghost losing his mind over having feelings is truly so fun. I hope you all enjoy!

Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

Ghost had convinced himself that he had done more than just nip his issue at the bud. He thought he had pulled it out by the roots and set it aflame, never to bother him again. 

And why would he think otherwise? He had done that same thing time and time again, and it had always worked. This time, he thought, would be no different. He had washed his hands of the issue and could continue on like before. 

The problem was that he was dead wrong. This time was different. 

You were different. 

You were the newest member of the 141, a sniper and one of the best hand-to-hand combat specialists he had ever seen. You were a strong woman who fought hard and fast, with an eye for precision. Price had been trying to get you onto the team for months, telling Ghost that he was convinced you were the perfect addition. Price had been right; you were perfect. You fit right in with the guys, kept up with their banter, and were as tough as nails. When you worked, you had a focus that was so zeroed-in that Soap and Gaz had started to liken you to Ghost. 

By all means, you were the best addition to the team that they could have asked for. You weren’t the problem. Ghost was the problem. 

What had started as a small acknowledgment of your attractiveness had slowly grown into something more. It was your quick sarcastic quips that battled with his own, your soothing demeanor and featherlight touch as you patched him up, your ability to make a terrible situation seem better than it was - the list went on. There was something there between the two of you, a connection that he had never experienced before. No, his attraction wasn’t just surface-level, it was something deeper. 

It was something that he wasn’t supposed to feel - on many levels. 

Ghost never got involved, period. He could acknowledge when a woman was attractive, have a night where he gave in to the physical aspect of it, but it never grew to anything. He didn’t let it. He would dispose of those feelings as soon as he registered them. In his line of work and in his experience, feelings were a liability - a luxury that he would always pay the price for. They complicated everything and unusually ended in pain. In short, they were a weakness that needed to be disposed of. 

What was more, you were his subordinate, his teammate. He was a professional, he never let himself feel anything like that for his subordinates. Hell, he barely even had what could be classified as friendships with his subordinates. Soap and Gaz had been the first he had ever shown his face to, and that was after fighting by their side for years. 

The bottom line was that Ghost didn’t let himself get distracted, much less get distracted by a subordinate who was just doing her bloody job. Yet, in a few short months, you had flipped everything Ghost thought about himself on its head. It was disorienting. 

Once he realized what was happening to him, he tried to put a stop to it. He worked with you when he had to, interacted with you when he had to, but besides that, he largely steered clear of you. Whether it was downtime at the base or a night out with the other 141 guys, if you were there, Ghost wasn’t. It was the only solution he had. 

If only it had worked. 

Even staying clear of you couldn’t stop the spread of whatever had taken hold of him. He slipped one day, imagining what your lips would feel like against his while you talked to Price, barely even realizing that he had been staring at your lips the entire time. Not too long after that, you had tried to get his attention while on an assignment, opting to whisper a low, breathless “Ghost!” into the comm. Going straight to the comm in his right ear, the low drawl of his name from your lips was almost like a siren’s call, sending a shiver racing down his spine as he responded back to you. Another day, he caught a glimpse of you training with Soap, watching as you passed his guard and kneeled between his legs as you continued to fight. The sight shouldn’t have sent his blood boiling or sent his thoughts straight into the gutter - you were just training. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw you look up at him as he swiftly left the training room, your piercing gaze following him as you helped Soap up from the floor. 

He didn’t feel anything for you. He didn’t feel anything for you. He repeated it like a mantra, like he could make it come true if only he said it enough, with enough conviction.

So why did he still have a knot in his chest every time he saw you? Every time you spoke through the comms directly into his ear, your voice strong and smooth as honey? Every time your eyes locked with his, an unreadable expression on your face?

He didn’t feel anything for you. He almost made himself believe it.

“Styx, get the fuck out of here!” He bellowed at you. “Leave me! That’s an order!”

It was a stealth job gone south nearly a year and a half after you joined the team, their intel leading them into a pretty nasty situation. Almost everyone had long retreated to safety. 

Ghost was hit, blood streaming from his right thigh. The bullet was still in the wound, making it bad enough to where he could barely put weight on it, considerably slowing down the two of you. He was a liability now, putting you both at risk of being killed or captured. You stayed with him nonetheless, shoulders set with determination. 

“Like hell,” you scoffed as you crouched down to where Ghost sat. Your face was dirty from the fight, your clothes scuffed and torn with a slice cutting through your sleeve from a bullet graze. He tried to push you away, continuing to order you to fall back with the others, but you refused, your burning gaze snapping up to meet his. “Either I get you out of here or we keep bickering right here until they find us and kill us! Your choice.”

Of course you wouldn’t leave him behind. It’s who you were. It’s what made you you, even if it was infuriating to Ghost. Even if he would have done the exact same thing you were if it was you with a bullet wound instead of him. 

His head starting to go fuzzy from the blood loss, his focus wavered.

“Hey,” you called, snapping your fingers in front of him before you started to check his wound. “Eyes on me, Ghost. Stay with me.”

After examining his thigh, you clicked your tongue before finally deciding that the makeshift bandage he had fashioned would be enough to suffice for now. 

Ghost let out a groan, finally letting you pull him up and wrap one of his arms around your shoulders. You took some of his weight, helping him limp a little faster now. He was putting you in more danger, that he knew. If you would’ve just listened to him, your chances of going undetected and making it out of there would’ve been drastically higher. But your grip on the strap of his belt to help ease the weight off of his leg was firm, refusing to let him go.

That same feeling nagged in the back of his mind as you dragged him with you, the blood loss making it harder to ignore the thoughts that he usually shoved down. 

You murmured words of encouragement to him as you walked for what felt like a lifetime.  “Come on, big guy, just a little more. Just a little faster.”

Ghost huffed a small laugh. He was in a haze now, letting words slip past his lips that he would normally have guarded against. “Can’t be sayin’ stuff like that, love. Might give a man the wrong idea.”

Your head snapped to look at him, surprise written in the pinch of your brows. Ghost found enough clarity then to shut up, the reality of what he had just said slowly setting in. Not only had he voiced a sentiment he had barely been willing to admit to himself, he had voiced it to you. 

You examined him for a moment with a confused, analyzing eye. Finally, you huffed out a laugh, your grip tightening on his belt as you readjusted his arm on your shoulder. Your eyes slid over his masked face, a flicker of amusement creeping into your gaze before you turned to look at your surroundings again.

After that, Ghost tried to hold on to every bit of self-control he had left to keep his mouth shut.

You both made it out that day, the two of you banged up and worse for wear, but alive. Ghost had been pretty out of it by the time you got him back to the exfil point. How you had managed to drag the both of you out of there while holding up a man as large as Ghost, he could barely remember, the whole event becoming fuzzier in his mind past the point when he had let those words slip to you.

The shot to his thigh had been a nasty one, leaving him bedridden in the medical area for the next few weeks, per the doctors’ orders. Price made sure Ghost didn’t try to disregard them. 

Ghost told Price what you had done, wanting you to get the credit you deserved for your bravery. Still, it didn’t stop him from thinking that you very well could’ve gotten yourself killed for him. The thought pulled at the familiar knot in his chest.

“What’re you in for?”

Ghost followed the voice to the doorway of his room only to find you leaned against the frame, a small, teasing smile on your lips. You were cleaned up now. Having donned a fresh set of clothes, you now wore a plain black T-shirt tucked into camouflage tac pants. Despite your teasing attitude, your eyelids were heavy, like you had barely slept in the two days you had been back on base. A thick bandage poked out from under your shirtsleeve, covering the area where you had been grazed. Other than that, you seemed like you were in one piece from the entire ordeal. 

Why did that revelation alone release some of the tension in his chest?

“Jus’ a scratch,” he rumbled. He couldn’t help but humor you a little. He gestured to the hospital bed and monitors surrounding him as he huffed, “Bit of an overkill if you ask me.”

You chuckled, pushing yourself off the door frame before coming closer. Voice laced with sarcasm, you said, “Yeah, okay, tough guy.”

It was quiet for a moment, the silence thick and heavy over the two of you. Your eyes slid over him, taking in his condition, your gaze almost too much to handle.

He didn’t feel anything for you. Under the weight of your scrutiny, the thought was more like a pleading prayer.

“You should’ve left me out there,” he asserted, trying to ignore his own thoughts. “You disobeyed a direct order.”

You rolled your eyes, your hands moving defensively to your hips. “I made a call and saved your life. You’d think that would count for something.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

“Listen, just because you can’t stand me doesn’t mean that I can’t make a call. You-”

“Is that what you bloody think?” Ghost spat, surprise creeping into his voice.

For the first time, he saw you hesitate. You blinked for a moment. 

“How could I not?” You finally retorted, stepping closer to him, your tired eyes alight with anger. “You avoid me like the damn plague, it seems like you can barely stand me, and you second-guess every call I make. Yet you treat all the guys like your brothers. You trust them when they make a gutsy call. And what? I’m supposed to think you respect me at all?”

Of course that’s what it looked like to you. You had taken his distance to mean that he didn’t want you here, that he didn’t think as highly of you as he did the others.

“I’ll only say this once.” Ghost leaned forward, his eyes locking with yours through the holes in his mask. “You’re wrong. You’ve got my damn respect - have had it for a while, even before this mission. I think you’re one of the toughest people here. But I still gave you an order. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. And that would’ve been on me.”

Whatever you were expecting to hear from him, it wasn’t that. You appraised him, squinting a little as you did. When you finally spoke, your voice was quieter, but still even. Still strong. “I’d do it again.”

Now, it was Ghost who was at a loss for words. He tried to ignore the intensity in your voice, the certainty. As if that wasn’t exactly his issue - that you would be willing to put yourself on the line for him again.

“Y’know,” you mused as you turned and walked back to the door, “usually people just say ‘thank you’ when you save their life.”

With one last glance at him over your shoulder, you were gone. 

~~~

In the months following your confrontation, Ghost stopped avoiding you at all costs, letting himself be closer with you again. The fact that you had taken his distance to mean that he thought less of you gnawed at him in a way that was damn near painful. Ghost’s issues were his own - he wasn’t going to take them out on you anymore by avoiding you. He shoved those thoughts for you down into the recesses of his brain, thinking that this time, the tactic might actually work. 

You seemed happy about his change in demeanor. While you said nothing to point it out, he saw how you gradually relaxed around him over time. You were quick to joke with him now, your sarcastic quips as precise as your aim, as if you knew that your banter made it easier for him. You were lighter with him now, ignoring the weight of that mission. Most of the time, he could, too.

Most of the time.

I’d do it again. The words rang in his ears each time he saw you now. They dug at him, called to him. It was maddening. The weight of those words remained heavy on his chest, their meaning something he was wary to look too closely into.

Tonight, he found you at a small pub a few streets over from the hotel the 141 had been staying at in some small Irish town, your elbows resting on the sleek wooden bar as you swirled a whiskey in its glass. You seemed deep in thought, your eyes only half-watching the amber liquid spin under the pub’s dim, warm yellow lights.

“The guys all leave?” Ghost asked, pulling you from your thoughts. A small smile played at the edge of your lips as you turned towards him, gently placing the glass back on the table.

“Yeah, they all left me,” you sighed dramatically. “Price went to see an old friend here in town. Soap and Gaz wanted to go check out a pub a couple blocks over from here.”

Ghost paused for a minute to order a bourbon from the bartender. “And you didn’t wanna go?”

You shook your head. “The place sounded a little too loud for my liking.”

Ghost made a noise in solidarity, picking up the glass the bartender had placed down for him. Your taste in pubs, he had learned, was close to both his and Price’s: laidback and quiet. Sure enough, this pub was just that. It was an old vintage-style pub, one that didn’t attract a loud, rowdy crowd. The small number of patrons were mostly older people - locals, by the looks of them - laughing softly as most of them paid attention to the football game on the television. It was the kind of pub people went to when they were looking for a warm, peaceful night. It made it easier to relax a little in this strange pub in this strange city. In your line of work, that was a difficult feat to accomplish. 

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you for a while, both of you nursing your drinks.

But something was on Ghost’s mind, something that had been sitting with him for months. He broke the silence to say only, “Thank you.”

You turned to look at Ghost, an eyebrow raised. You hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure that you had heard him correctly. “Huh? What for?”

“I never said it,” he explained simply, voice even and calm. “For savin’ my life ‘n all.”

You appraised him for a moment, taken aback by his admission. The two of you had barely talked about what happened that day. Finally, you nodded. “Still think I was wrong for disobeying your order?”

“No,” he admitted, quickly adding, “just don’t make a habit of it, yeah?”

You nodded, chuckling a little before you took the final sip of your drink. “Of course.”

It was quiet for another moment before you set your empty glass down with a clink. When the bartender came back around, you handed him enough money to pay for both your drinks and Ghost’s. Then, you turned back to Ghost and said, “You sure are… talkative when you get shot.”

Ghost averted his eyes from you at that, opting instead to watch the other patrons as they celebrated their team’s goal. His only response was, “It was blood loss.”

When he looked back to you, your piercing eyes were trained on his. You seemed like you were trying to piece him together, to figure out the puzzle of him. 

“Blood loss or not, I never took you as the kind of guy to have his head in the gutter like that,” you teased, your tone light. Underneath the teasing tone though, laid something more serious. Something Ghost hoped he was wrong about. 

“I’m not.” It was a lie. He knew it. The worst part was that you knew it, too. 

A smirk played at the edge of your lips at that.

“Sure you’re not, Ghost,” you teased. You stood from your seat then before you leaned in close to Ghost’s ear, your hand gliding along his shoulder. Voice near a whisper, sweet and honeyed, you added, “Can’t be saying things like that, then. Might give a girl the wrong idea.”

With that, you were gone. By the time Ghost turned around, you were halfway to the door, shooting him a sultry, burning look over your shoulder. It was a look he had never seen from you before, a look he was sure was aided by the whiskey you had been drinking. It was an invitation extended to him under the dim yellow lights of the pub.

It was the first blatant sign he had seen that you were interested in him like that - that it hadn’t just been him afflicted by whatever this was. 

In the split second your eyes locked with his, a million thoughts ran through his mind, all saying that he definitely shouldn’t take the invitation, shouldn’t follow you. For one, it would undo all the work he had done to ignore his own thoughts about you. Not to mention the fact that he was your superior and all the hardline rules that very clearly stated that he shouldn’t unless he wanted to risk his entire career. 

But what if he did? What if he gave in to you this one time? What if all he needed was a night with you to finally get you out of his damn head? He could have you once and finally be able to get over the hold you had on him. To let go, maybe all he had to do was give in.

Fuck.

Ghost abandoned his seat in a moment. Weaving his large frame through the tables and patrons, his eyes were trained on you as you slipped through the front door. He caught it right as it swung closed from you, hot on your tail. Pushing out into the cold, crisp night air, he found you barely two steps away from him. You turned when you saw him, a small smile blooming across your face.

Ghost was on you, his hands grabbing your hips as he pulled the both of you into the alley. Shrouded in darkness, he pressed your back to the brick wall of the pub before shoving the lower part of his mask just above his mouth. Before he could even move again, your hand came to wrap around the back of his head, pulling his lips to yours in a rough, messy kiss. 

It was better than he imagined. You were better than he imagined, the feeling of your plush lips on his almost making him forget why he had held himself back from you for so long. 

He caged you in against the wall, one hand grasping against the rough, scratchy surface as he leaned in while the other held your head in place. You pulled at him, fervent and insistent as you drew him ever closer to you. Shifting in your hold, he slotted his knee between your legs, maneuvering so that his large, muscular thigh rested against your clothed center. When you gasped against him, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue along yours, the thick, heady taste of your whiskey mixing with his bourbon. It was the taste of you, though, that was intoxicating. More so than any drink he could have ordered. 

As you ground down against his thigh, your tongue met his with equal fervor. And while you grasped the back of Ghost’s mask in your desperation, he knew you would make no effort to pull it from him. How he knew that was a mystery even to him. All he knew was that the way you tugged at his hair through the mask sent him careening over the edge of a chasm that he couldn’t see the bottom of.

His hand left the wall beside you to firmly grasp your waist, urging you to increase the speed of your hips against him. Flexing his thigh, another gasp fell from your mouth. It was maddening, a sound he knew he had to draw out of you again, only louder and unobstructed. The sound shot through him like adrenaline, fast and exhilarating. 

For the first time in a long time, Ghost felt truly awake. It was like a fire had been lit in his veins and you were the gasoline fueling the raging flames. 

Suddenly, a loud group of people passed by the alley on the adjoining street, voices ringing out in conversation. All at once, Ghost was reminded that you were both out in the open, albeit tucked into a dark alley. You broke from the kiss, your mind seemingly on the same track.

“My room,” you offered breathlessly. “At the hotel.”

“Lead the way, Styx.”

You made the quick walk back to the small hotel with Ghost in tow, winding through the dimly illuminated streets and alleys with an illicit sort of stealth and swiftness, the both of you keeping an eye out for any of the other guys along the way. While you both knew that you wouldn’t see any of them again tonight, neither of you could seem to help it. You both knew you weren’t supposed to be doing this. 

Yet, neither of you put a stop to whatever this was either.

Ghost had you pressed up against the door to your room the moment you locked it, your back to his chest and arms extended to brace yourself against the sleek black wood. His mask once again pushed to just under his nose, he lavished hungrily at your neck just below the ear, earning another sharp gasp from you. His hands dipped to the front of your jeans, racing to blindly undo them. Movements deft, efficient, and precise, his fingers were quickly past the undone line of your jeans and slipping under the band of your underwear.

“You want this?” he rasped, both because he needed the confirmation that you were completely in and because he wanted to hear the way you would sound.

“Yes,” you rushed almost immediately, a newfound desperation lining your voice. You moved your ass back against him, pressing yourself against his covered erection and he had to hold himself back from rutting into you. “Fuck, Ghost…”

Ghost nipped at your ear as he stilled your hips, his right hand drawing lower under your underwear. 

“Easy,” he warned. ”Gotta open you up first.”

With that, his fingers finally met your core, gliding through your soaked folds. He groaned at the feeling of you already dripping for him, your underwear even damp with your arousal. He dragged some of your slick up from your entrance until he found the small bundle of nerves that had you rolling your hips forward in his grasp. Completely encircling you from behind with his body, he held you flush to him while he rubbed hard and fast circles between your thighs. 

Melting into his touch, you started to move your left hand from the door to grasp for him. His free hand stopped you in only a moment, grabbing your wrist and replacing it back in its previous position.

“Hands stay there,” he ordered. For once, you actually listened, opting instead to claw your fingers against the wood as he slipped two fingers past your entrance and into your heat. He moved achingly slow at first, letting you feel the way his fingers dragged along your walls, filling and stretching your tight cunt already. You moaned, your head falling back to rest against his broad chest. 

“Ghost… Ghost, faster,” you pleaded, voice airy. The satisfaction he got from your desperate request was all too strong, more than he had ever experienced before. It shot through him like a drug, fast and disorienting. 

He picked up the pace, steadily building up to a pace that had your knees ready to give out. Wrapping his free arm around your middle, he held you steady while he wrecked you with his fingers. He tried not to think about the fact that it had only been a few months ago that it had been you holding him up, that now he got to return the favor to you in a much more pleasurable way. 

When you cried out for him, Ghost whispered into your ear, parroting your own words from that fateful mission, “Just a little more.” 

With that, he added a third finger, holding his blistering pace. The sounds you made were utterly debauched, utterly sinful. He should have been worried about how loud you were - surely others in the hotel could hear your moans. You would be lucky if there weren’t complaints to the management by morning. It was reckless… but Ghost couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too enraptured by the ringing of your voice as you fell apart beneath his touch. 

It only took another minute for you to come undone around him, your muscles tensing around his fingers, squeezing him as your mouth fell open in a silent scream while he worked you through it. 

After you had begun to relax, a sweet whine leaving your lips, he finally slowed his pace to a stop. He pulled out of you then, drawing his hand up to his mouth to suck them clean. Eyes blown wide with lust, you turned to watch him as he slowly pulled his fingers out of his mouth, the tang of your cum one that he was sure he wouldn’t be able to forget. You watched his display until the tip of his middle finger left his lips. Then, you turned so swiftly he could barely register it and pushed up to kiss him again, your tongue dipping into his mouth to taste yourself as you threw your arms over his shoulders. 

A groan left Ghost, one that surprised even him. It was so much. The taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your body under his hands, and the way you grasped at his back to pull him closer all had his head swimming, his usual cool-headed clarity quickly becoming muddled. His heart was hammering in his chest, his cock so hard it was aching in his jeans.

Alarm bells rang in his head, telling him that he was in too deep. Never had he ever been this… wrecked from sex before he had even gotten his cock out of his underwear. Something was different this time. That feeling was back in his chest - the one he wouldn’t put a name to. 

But he couldn’t turn back now. His sense was far too gone for that. 

Ghost effortlessly lifted you up from the floor before carrying you to the bed. When your back lightly hit the mattress, your mouth open in a surprised oh, he was already on top of you. He helped you peel the clothes from your body, his own clothes soon joining yours on the floor, save for the mask. 

You looked so beautiful like this, spread out under Ghost like a dream. It was like every one of his long-ignored thoughts about you had come to life. Your hungry eyes, the way he could see every dip and plane and curve of your body like this, the way you practically glowed in the moonlight that poured into the darkened room… the sight made him finally let go of all his inhibitions about having you. He would deal with the consequences later. 

Suddenly, he realized that he had just been staring at you. 

You quirked an eyebrow at him, an easy smile on your lips. “Enjoying the view?”

In lieu of a reply, he leaned down, grabbed your chin, and smashed his lips into yours as he ground his hips against you, his cock sliding along your slickened folds.

“Ghost,” you breathed against him. He wished you wouldn’t say his name like that - like he was something good for you. Yet, it still only made his cock ache more. “Just - fuck - just fuck me already.”

“This isn’t gonna be soft, Styx,” he warned, lining his cock up with your entrance. 

You gave him a small smirk, eyes full of mischief as you replied, “Good.”

Fucking hell, you were trying to kill him. 

Ghost pushed inside of you slowly at first, reveling in the way you felt around him as you squeezed him, all molten heat and velvet. He draped himself over you, one hand planted on either side of your head, and watched as your eyes rolled back, your breathing becoming ragged once again. Your nails bit into his shoulder blades as you tried to adjust to him, the sting ever so satisfying against his skin. 

“You’re s-so - ah - so big,” you mumbled, almost to yourself. 

Buried to the hilt in you, he waited until he felt you begin to relax.

Then, Ghost threw himself into the flames. 

He almost drew out of you completely before slamming back into you. And if he thought your sounds before were something to behold, the moans you let out now were nothing short of divine. Again. And again. And again.

He fucked you into the mattress so hard the bed shook and groaned with the force of each thrust, devolving into one never-ending cacophony as his speed increased. Your tits bounced with each impact and he dropped his head to take one nipple into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue before moving to the other. Using one hand to hold onto his shoulders for dear life, you roughly fisted the sheets with the other, searching for any point of stability you could find as your world rocked. 

When he lifted from your chest, he found your head tilted back on the mattress, neck outstretched and straining. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your face contorted in pure pleasure. 

Yet, something gnawed at Ghost, an urge so deep and so powerful he was useless to hold out against.

“Eyes on me, Styx.”

Your eyes blinked open, fluttering for a moment as you tried to refocus your gaze. Finally, your eyes locked with his, as piercing as ever. That feeling flared in his chest again, his next few thrusts even harder than before. It was like he was drowning, only in the best possible way.

He watched the force of each thrust as it rocked through you, every twitch of your face and desperate grasp of your hand in the sheets. He watched the way you drank him in, eyes hooded and hungry as they held his gaze. 

“Ghost.” 

It was a plea. A demand. One he was all too eager to give in to.

Connected your lips again as one of his hands wound up to the hand you had fisted in the sheets. His fingers wrapping around your wrist, he guided your hand above your head and pinned it to the mattress. He felt you groan into the kiss before you slipped your tongue into his mouth, heated and messy. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was all too much. He was enjoying this all too much. You were too good, too addicting. 

You were taking him deeper than he had ever been. Your cunt threatened to pull him under, the pleasure of your tight walls too intense. He was only a step away from the edge, having to hold himself back from going over before you. 

Ghost used his free hand to grab one of your legs and hook it over his hip.

Like this, his movement told you. 

Taking the hint through your haze, you brought your other leg up around his hip and locked them together behind him. 

Instantly, you broke from the kiss, a broken moan ringing in his ears and vibrating against his lips. They flowed freely from you now, the beautiful sound filling the room. He couldn’t hold in his own grunts anymore, one for every snap of his hips against yours. 

Ghost felt you tense a moment before it happened, your body going rigid and your moan abruptly cut. Then, you were squeezing him so tight, it ripped a deep, guttural moan from his chest. The force of your orgasm rocked through you, seeming like you were trying to pull him over that same edge with you. Surely enough, with a few more rocks of his hips, he felt that heat as he released, coating your walls with his cum, your release taking every bit of him with you. 

Before he could pull out of you, spent and panting, your hand found his covered cheek, the cloth warm under your touch, and guided his lips back to yours again. Your kiss was slow. Deliberate. Heavy. A hint of something deeper on your lips. 

And as he ducked out of your room that night, the moonlight seeming dimmer in his room than it had been when it was illuminating your face, Ghost tried to push all his thoughts of you away for good. 

He had his fill and now he was done. 

He could move on. 

He didn’t feel anything for you. 

They were all good lies. For the best lies were the lies he told himself. 

[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt.3

Hope y'all enjoy! As always if there's anything wrong/inaccurate let me know. I'm currently looking through the show and picking out the scenes from each episode I want to put her into if anyone has any they'd like to see please let me know!

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader

WC: 1894 (I wanted to split it but there was no good dividing point)

Previous part - Next part

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A few months had passed and y/n had settled back into life on the ranch.  She had become accustomed to the 4am alarm in the form of Rip banging on the trailer, dragging herself into the bunk house and Lloyd handing her coffee before heading out to start work before the sun had begun to touch the mountain peaks.  Winter had arrived in Montana and the snow had descended from the mountains and into the valley.  In between the mountains, the winter sun did little to keep the frost away from the frozen ground and the hands could see their breath as they sat on their horses in the corral.

It was another day of roping practice and it was getting competitive, as it always did.  Y/n watched from her horse as a couple of hands took after the steer.  When they caught it, there were jeers from the onlookers at how long it had taken them.

“You call that roping boys?” She shouted, “you’d think they’d have learnt after a few months how to get one.”

One glared at her, “you think you can do better?  You’re a barrel racer woman not a fuckin’ roper.”

There was a low whistle from Lloyd, “boy you just made a big mistake.”

“Which reason is that I can’t rope?  ‘Cuz I’m a barrel racer or because I’m a woman?  Boy, I could rope circles around you with my eyes shut,” y/n responded.

He laughed, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Rip you want to help me prove this son of a bitch wrong?” She asked.

The foreman nodded, “boys you’re about to learn a true lesson in cowboying.”

They lined the horses up on either side of the chute, exchanging a look of determination.  With a deep breath, she nodded at Jake to open it up.  The gate flew open and the horses took off after the steer at speed.  With the ease of someone who’d roped cattle for over a decade, Rip had the horns and pulled the steer left.  Y/n swung the lasso over her head and threw it with careful timing to catch the back legs and bring the steer to an easy stop.  

“You forget that I been dealing with cattle since I could sit on a horse,” she shouted back to them.

Lloyd chuckled, “she’s more cowboy than any of you motherfuckers could ever hope to be.”

The old hand looked at Ryan next to him whose eyes were trained on the young woman as she furled her rope up neatly and patted her horse’s neck.  Lloyd observed the softness in his eyes and the way he subconsciously leaned forward in his saddle.  

He leaned over towards Ryan, “you ought to be careful with how you watch her son.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Lloyd,” Ryan straightened himself up.

Lloyd shook his head, “I’ve seen that look in enough cowboy’s eyes to know that it ends in heartbreak.”

“Trying my fuckin’ best to keep it out of ‘em,” he answered.

He watched y/n lope her horse around the corral, “you know if you break her heart there’ll be a line to break your face and I’m sure as hell in it.”

“She doesn’t make it easy Lloyd that’s for damn sure,” Ryan muttered, “god damn charm without even trying.”

Lloyd nodded, “neither of you are fuckin’ subtle.  Just don’t break her heart.”

Before he could respond, y/n brought her horse to a stop in front of them.  Her smile was infectious and Ryan couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Anytime one of you boys needs a little humbling with a rope you let me know,” Y/n declared, “I’ll take your money here or at the poker table anytime.”

Ryan whispered under his breath, “you are gonna be the fuckin’ end of me.”

-/-/-

A few days later the hands were all gathered around the table with the bunk house heater on full blast.  A cold snap had come into the valley and didn’t show any signs of leaving.  The usual beer that came with the nightly game of cards had been exchanged for hot drinks and nobody had been brave enough to take their jackets off when they came inside.  

An argument was just about to break out between the hands when the door to the bunkhouse swung open to reveal y/n, not that it was immediately obvious it was her underneath all the layers she was wearing.  They stopped talking as the door swung shut behind her and watched as she deposited herself with all the clothes she was wearing right in front of the heater.  That got them talking again.

“Woman that’s the only thing stopping this entire bunk from getting hypothermia,” Jake exclaimed.

She glared at him, “at least you got heat.  Fuckin’ trailer’s battery packed in and there’s no damn heat in there.  Colder than the artic.”

“Go back to the house where you belong then,” the new hand responded bitterly.

Y/n shook her head, “boy you’ve been here long enough to know those words shoulda never come out your mouth.  Now move over so I can steal this week’s wages from you.”

“Okay but seriously why don’t you move back there where it’s warm?” Jake pressed.

She sighed, “I’ll go back there when he takes back what he did to Kaye.  And he can’t ever take that back.”

-/-/-

Later, after taking money from the hands that they didn’t have to give, y/n replaced all the layers she’d shed in the warmth of the bunkhouse and retreated to the cold of her trailer.  Ryan had watched with concern as she stepped out into the freezing night but kept his thoughts to himself when he saw the look that Lloyd was giving him.  He resigned himself to finishing their game of cards before turning in for the night, aware of the time he needed to be up in the morning.  As the bunkhouse fell asleep, Ryan listened to the wind rattling over the roof unsettled by the thought of y/n in the trailer with no heat.

After a couple of hours of tossing restlessly in his bunk, Ryan relented to his concern and got up.  Quietly, he put his coat and hat on before leaving the bunk house.  His breath was visible in the cold air and he pulled his coat tighter around him against the chill of the wind.  A light still on in the barn caught his attention and he went to investigate why it was still on in the middle of the night.

In the barn, nearly all the horses were asleep and safely tucked away from the cold outside.  As he headed down the aisle, Ryan looked into the stalls to check on the horses and stopped halfway down where the light was still on.  The spotted horse looked up from his hay briefly when Ryan stopped before looking to the back of the stall, as if indicating the cowboy what was there.  At the back, partially obscured, was a barely distinguishable figure beneath a pile of blankets he recognised from before.

“Fuck you doing out here?” He asked, surprised to see her there.

Y/n opened her eyes to look at him, “could ask you the same thing, cowboy.”

“Jake snores too much,” he claimed.

She snorted, “you managed just fine for years.  Somehow I don’t think that’s it.”

Ryan looked at her through the bars of the stall door as she raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.  He sighed at the look on her face and the collection of blankets she was in.

“Was worried about you in the cold,” he relented.

Y/n smiled at him, “Comanche is doing a good job of keeping me warm aren’t you boy.”

“And that’s why I can see you shivering under all those layers from here,” Ryan pointed out.

She rolled her eyes, “honestly I’m fine Ry.  Go get some sleep.”

“God you’re killing me here,” he muttered under his breath, “you’re gonna catch your death out here y/n.”

“Honeslty stop worrying about me,” she sighed, “I’m a big girl I can look after myself.”

Ryan opened the stall door and looked at her, “we can stand here and debate that while you continue to get hypothermia or we can skip that and you can come sleep in the bunkhouse.”

“Is there a way this conversation ends with me winning?” Y/n questioned from her place on the floor.

He shook his head, “if you want to be one explaining to Rip, Lloyd, Lee and your father why you didn’t take the opportunity to sleep in a warm bunk house and instead froze out here and therefore need to be taken to hospital for frostbite, be my guest sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart, huh?” She smirked at him.

Ryan rolled his eyes, “of that whole thing that’s what you took away, y/n?  Get your ass out of that stall.”

“It’s almost tempting to keep this going to see how you’ll react but I am starting to lose feeling in my toes,” she relented, “but you’re gonna have to pull me off the floor.”

He chuckled but stepped into the stall nonetheless.  Y/n held her hand out to him expectantly and he took it, effortlessly pulling her from the floor into him  They stood there for a moment, chests pressed against each other and his hand still in her cold one.  Even with the numerous blankets around her shoulders, Ryan could still see her shivering.  Y/n could feel the warmth from his hand spreading up her arm and gasped at the feeling of it.  She didn’t dare break his gaze, staring deep into his blue eyes.

Comanche snorted, dragging them out of their bubble and back to the reality that was the cold Montana night.  Ryan dropped her hand and wordlessly exited the stall.  Y/n stood there, blinking dumbly before she collected her thoughts and followed him out of the barn.

“And just where exactly in the bunk house are you expecting me to sleep?” She asked as they stood outside the door.

He smiled at her, “honestly for someone so smart you are being incredibly thick right now.  Take my bunk and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She followed him into the dark bunk house and allowed herself to be guided towards his bunk by a hand on her back.  Ryan watched as she shed the many blankets from around her and slid into the warmth of his bed.  Y/n gestured for him to take her blankets to the couch and he winked at her.

She allowed her eyes to follow his figure through the dark to the couch and watched as he took his boots off, placing his hat on top of them.  Once she was satisfied that he was settled, Y/n turned over to stare at the wall.  The smell of Ryan encompassed her from all sides and she couldn’t help the way every muscle in her body relaxed when she inhaled.  With warmth finally filling her bones, she allowed sleep to overcome her.

[lunicho]

OK SO WHAT IF.. hanbin has lots of patience, as in ALOT. but one day, you decided to test it and get him pissed off by making him jealous, so of course, he punishes you! he turns mean & rough instead of the usual sweet, kind of mean dom he is 🤭 degrading & praise combined too!

im a firm believer that hanbin is very very stern. he has a lot of self control and he doesn't give in easily. i've given my friend like a full on comparison of how i think hanbin is as a dom vs jiwoong cuz in my mind they're complete opposites (lmk if y'all wanna hear what i think) but yeah like hanbin can keep his cool for sure. he doesn't give in to your tactics easily because if he tells you to wait or if he tells you to be patient then he expects u to respect that. usually he's able to laugh off your advances or he'll give u a warning and usually things like that help, they at least get u to settle down but if u just keep on pushing it he won't be able to keep it together. he doesn't play about the jealousy stuff, ur his baby and only his baby. he knows ur gorgeous so other guys looking at you or even throwing little flirts at u usually isn't a huge problem for him, he may say smth slick but it's usually not a big deal. but when you're the one showing off and flaunting it with other guys he's like??? it very quickly goes from "aww that's so cute" to him being very very unhappy with you. he'd for a second thing that you're just feeling yourself but when you go as far as to lean in close with another guy or even put your hand on the other guys chest or smth while u laugh,,, yeah he's not having it.

he'd stay back at first, watching you with the most stern look on his face. he's mad as hell and you know he is too, you could feel him burning a hole in the side of your head. when you walk back over to him he'd pretty much have a forever frown pasted on his face. what would really get him to the point of just being straight up mean is that you act dumb when you come back to him. you're asking him what's wrong knowing Exactly what the problem is. he wouldn't even be able to look at you, he'd just be like, "say bye, we're leaving." and he's dragging u out to the car. he's not gonna talk the entire car ride but his body language does enough talking. his hand would grip the steering wheel extra hard and his eyes would be dark and worst of all he would not be looking at you the entire time 😭

when u guys get in the house is when he finally talks. he'd let you take your shoes off, he'd let you place your purse on the hook, he'd hang up the keys and take his shoes off as well and then he'll just watch you. he'll watch how you fiddle, how you look so shameful all of a sudden and he'll just scoff. he'll tell you to get on the bed, his voice would be so stern, almost echoing off the walls as if he yelled at you. he'd tease u so much when u do things like this, he'd have no remorse for you. he'd lazily pull your clothes apart, probably tearing the material in the process. he'd mark you up so much too, you'd have those deep deep colored hickeys all over your body. he'd say things like, "show these to that guy you were talking to. what was so interesting about him anyways?" and he'll have you explain to him what you were talking to him about and he'd break you down to the point where you have to admit that you were just trying to get hanbin's attention. he'd laugh at you, pulling your legs apart slowly. he's mean in times like this, not giving in when you beg and definitely not when you cry, if anything when you're crying he gets even meaner. taunting you and calling you names, saying things like, "what happened to that little act earlier? isn't that why you're here now? wanted to act like a slut infront of other guys.. thought i taught you better than that." he has a crazy amount of stamina in times like this, his thrusts stay sharp and harsh, making you cum faster than you ever have before. he holds you down too, the way you squirm annoying him.

he'll only soften up at the end after you're completely fucked out, covered in his cum and yours, he'll kiss you gently, helping you get all cleaned up. he's the best at aftercare, no matter how mad he was before he'll be so so sweet and gentle and make sure you know you're loved by him <3

[galatially]

❝𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 "𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧" 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 x 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 — you called and i came, the history between us too broad to ignore; when he showed up on your doorstep five years after he disappeared in the middle of the night, logan howlett decided to clear the air

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 5K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, strong language, exes, angst, smut, soft boi™ logan, exes to tentative lovers

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — it is time to spread the agenda of logan howlett and his influence on my brain rot for most of my nerdy life. shout out to lizzy mcalpine for making "ceilings" and having me spiral over it for a year!

also also, y'all, i know. i'm horrible at deadlines. but it's what y'all love about me lol

also also first post of 2024!

as always, lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your fingers rubbed moisturizer into his skin, your fingers both light and firm. 

“You have so many scars.” He grunted in response. “When you tell me, am I going to have to set a house on fire?”

Logan laughed. “And why would you do that, bubba?”

“To defend your honor, of course.” You laid across his back to whisper in his ear, the warmth of your breath making the hairs on his body erect. “Can’t have you being the hero all the time. My shoulders are strong, too.”

“…listening? Logan? Logan!”

He blinked, his vision focusing on Ororo’s concerned gaze. 

“What’d you say?”

A soft smile graced her lips. “I asked where you were going.”

Logan hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

Ororo hummed. “Would this have to do with a certain someone that lives in the Canadian mountainside?” He didn’t answer as he threw the bag in the back of his truck. “Do you think that’s the best thing for her right now?”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay, Munroe.”

“And then what?” Ororo crossed her arms. “What are you going to do when you see that she’s fine?”

He threw her a hard glare. “I just want to see her. Is that so fuckin’ wrong?”

Her features softened. “You had another dream about her.”

Logan turned back towards the garage. “What does it matter? I just need to see her, Munroe.”

She held her hands up. “I can’t stop you. I just worry that you’re about to uproot this woman’s life because you can’t let her go.”

He took in a sharp breath. She wasn’t wrong; he’d spent the better part of six years raking himself over the coals at how he ended things. If he allowed them, the memories of you screaming and your brown eyes red and puffy from crying haunted him more than any battle he’d ever been in. 

“Look, if you’re so hellbent on going to see her, then go. You’re an adult and you have to live with your decisions.”

He walked around to the driver’s side of his truck. “Tell our fearless leader that I’m goin’ out of town and I’ll be back when I can.”

Ororo nodded and waved, a sad smile on her lips. 

He shouldn’t fucking be here.

The second Logan crossed the border, he could think of nothing else but to get to you. Thirty-eight hours and he didn’t sleep for any of them. No, his mind’s eyes played memories of you: how soft your skin was, that fig and jasmine perfume you loved. The silken warmth of your cunt. He fucked his fist like a horny fourteen year old in that dingy hotel in BC. If he focused hard enough, he could get the tone of your voice just right — those breathy, pleading moans that you let out only for him. He could get lost in the memories, pretend that he was beside you in your bed, other people be damned. 

But that was thirty-eight hours ago. 

Now, here he was. His hands gripped the steering wheel of his truck until his knuckles went white, silently cursing himself for even showing up. He hadn’t seen you in, what? Six years? Who the hell was he to appear on your doorstep after the shit he pulled? 

His eyes scanned the forest surrounding your home. He hated that you lived so far away from immediate civilization. It took you thirty minutes to get into the nearest town for work and you essentially lived off the grid. When he’d happened upon your home that fateful October evening, he was amazed that you had a working phone, let alone Wi-Fi. Whenever you crossed his mind, he thought the worst. He used to beg you to get an apartment in the city, but you always refused. 

“I’m not ready to let get of this place just yet.” You looked up at him from drawing circles on his bare bicep. “Unless you want to give up city life and live out here with me?”

He didn’t answer; even back then, Logan knew that he was bound to hurt you. His refusal to give you more than idle pleasure was a point of contention for you both. Jean always said that he could be hard to talk to because if he wasn’t picking a fight, he was evading questions. But unlike Jean, you weren’t one to back down. When he’d divert or blatantly ignore your questions, you stood your ground. You didn’t give him the chance to distract you with sudden affection. You wanted to resolve issues as soon as they were made present. 

It’s something Logan both loved and hated about you. 

“Fuck this.” He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. He blew out a determined breath and opened his car door, his feet moving before he changed his mind. As he got closer to the house, he noticed the red “SOLD” sign on the lawn. His chest thrummed with…pain? Remorse? Fear?

What would he do if you left?

He was on your porch now, his heart hammering against his ribcage, fighting to get to you. He raised his hand to knock on the door as it was opening, being met with the face he’d been dreaming about for half a decade. 

Your brows were furrowed in confusion. “James.” 

His hazy memory didn’t do you justice; your eyes seemed more intense than the last time he’d seen you. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt — eerily familiar to an old Pink Floyd shirt he thought he’d lost years ago — and shorts barely peeking out from under the hem of the shirt. Your skin smooth and begging to be touched. Your dark coils were thrown into a bun, pieces falling out in various places. You weren’t outwardly upset but you could school your features better than anyone he knew. Your body was half-facing him and half-facing the tiny hall that led to the inside of the house. There was a solemnity to your face that he didn’t recognize. 

A voice in the furthest part of his mind whispered that it was because of him. 

“Y’know you’re the only person that still calls me James?”

Your features flattened. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just passin’ through Edmonton and ended up here .”

“You drove for three days on a whim?”

“I was on my way back from handlin’ somethin’,” he said, the familiar finality in his tone. His gaze went past your shoulders and into the darkness of your home. “Have you eaten yet?”

You blinked. “Not yet.” 

He nodded, his blue eyes back on you. “Can I come in? I’ll make you somethin’.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve slammed the door in his face and went back to packing up the rest of your bedroom. But instead, you moved to the side and let Logan inside. He thanked you and walked inside, toeing off his shoes, and heading back towards the kitchen like he’d been doing it forever.  

You looked out at his old, rusted truck one last time before closing the door and going to the kitchen. From the tiny hallway, you could hear him humming to himself; an old song his mother used to sing to him, he’d told you once. He’d put his hair up into a bun at the top of his head, a few strands falling to frame his face. His tan skin, the same skin that had scars that even his mutation couldn’t heal, glowed under the dull glow of your kitchen light. You used to always tell him beautiful he was, but he’d wave you off in that Logan way, telling you that no one was as beautiful as you. 

You leaned up against the doorjamb. “Last I heard, you were living in New York. You teach at some fancy school?”

Logan chuckled, mincing up onions and garlic. “I wouldn’t say teach.”

“So, what, you get paid to hang out with fourteen year olds in upstate New York? Sounds kind of sketchy.”

“I teach hand to hand combat,” he glanced over at you, “the kids that I teach it to are like me. Mutants.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I never liked that word; mutants. They make you all sound like failed experiments.”

“Aren’t we?”

“No.” You crossed your arms. “Far from it.”

Logan nodded, more to himself than your declaration, and moved to face the stove. He dumped his vegetables in a small pan to cook. He reached to the left of him — muscle memory, you reasoned — and grabbed a jar of maize. “You’d like it. New York.”

“You think?”

Logan lifted a shoulder. “Be better than livin’ all alone in the mountains.”

You let out a hum. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“Where you headed?”

“I don’t know yet,” your eyes dropped to your fidgeting hands, “I didn’t think that I’d be able to sell the house, actually.”

“Why did you? Sell?”

“You know why,” you said, your voice lowered to a whisper. “I held onto it for her and when she died, I didn’t want to stay.”

“‘M sorry I didn’t reach out. Your mother was a remarkable woman.”

You made a bitter sound. “Yeah, well, you’re good at leaving when the wind blows.”

He pursed his lips, turning around to turn off the stove. “You got any plates or bowls left out?”

“James, I —”

“’S fine, Y/N. Bowls?”

You blew out a breath and walked over to the cupboard beside the stove and grabbed two plates, handing them over to Logan. Your knuckles brushed up against his but you kept your eyes on the oak wood of the cupboard. 

“Thanks.”

You rushed out a hushed “you’re welcome” and moved back to stand in front of the sink. The air was tense and you had to fight the impulse to pull Logan to you and let him consume you, if only for tonight. You tightened your hands into fists, feeling the bite of your nails as they embossed your skin. 

Logan handed you a plate and walked to your tiny kitchen table in the far corner of the room. He sat in his chair: close enough to the back door and facing towards you. Where before it was to smile and regard you with tenderness, now there was unease in his eyes. 

You’d forgotten that you didn’t ask what he was making, so the spread in front of you gave you pause: it was your mother’s polenta recipe. “You remembered.” The words came out airy, surprised. 

“You’re the last thing that I’d ever forget, bubba.”

“Don’t do this, Logan.” You set your spoon down. “Just…don’t.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, either!” You pinched the bridge of your nose. You pushed your plate away and looked away from your former lover. 

What were you doing? He showed up, out of the blue, making you dinner…to do what? The question had been clawing at you the entire visit. Why now? What could Logan possibly want from you after all of these years?

Logan leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking in protest against his broad frame. You kept wanting to speak, break the tense silence, but you couldn’t find the words. Looking at him, he seemed too still. Like a marble statue molded to the chair, anchoring him to this room with you. 

“I fucked up, bubba.”

Your brows canted. “What do you mean?”

“That night…the last night that I was here, I said some things that I shouldn’t have. Made promises that I didn’t know if I could keep.” One of his large hands scrubbed down his face, his eyes still on the ceiling. “I told you that I’d leave everythin’ behind to stay.”

Your bottom lip quivered. You remembered; he’d come here that night more impassioned than usual. His hair wind-swept, his cheeks wind-whipped and red, he pulled you in for one of the most passionate kisses you’d ever had in your life. A clash of tongue and teeth against fleshy lips and curves of skin that left you a shaking mess beneath the thin sheets of your bed. You laid in his arms, running your fingers along the lines of his collarbone, when you’d asked if he’d stay. You weren’t begging, didn’t even lower your voice to a low hush to persuade him. You were as direct as you always were, determined to know where you stood in the universe that was Logan Howlett. 

“You lied.”

His eyes, darkened with sorrow, finally found yours. “I lied.”

You blinked back tears. “Why? If you knew that you weren’t going to make space for me in your life, why make me believe you would? I uprooted my life for you, Logan! I was going to sell my mother’s house and ride off with you into the sunset! And for what? For you to leave me alone?”

“I couldn’t take you with me then, Y/N. Somethin’…came up.”

“I know, Ororo told me.” Logan shot forward, his eyes wide. “She came and found me two years ago. She said that there was an incident and that you almost died. Said that you kept murmuring my name, telling them to make sure that I was safe.”

He scoffed. “Always meddlin’, that woman.”

“At least she cared enough about you to come find me.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re walkin’ a thin line, bubba.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore, Logan.” You stood up from the table and opened the back door. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get. Out,” you hissed. “Thank you for making me dinner, but I want you to go.”

Logan crossed his arms, throwing you a hard look. “No.”

Your nostrils flared. “James, get —”

You’d forgotten how fast he was. He was out of the chair and in front of you in an instant, your next retort dying on your tongue. One of his large hands cupped your chin and the other slammed the door shut. His blue eyes roamed your face, searching for something. 

Though he towered over you, hell, he overpowered you, you didn’t back down. “I want you to leave.” 

“I’m not leavin’. Not until I say what I have to say.”

Your eyes brush along the seams of his lips, lingering, before meeting his smoldering gaze again. “Then say what you need to say and go. I’m done with this.”

Logan’s fingers gripped your chin harder, his gaze hard. “We’re not done talkin’, bubba.” There was an intensity to the nickname as it left his mouth that made your thighs clench together. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing up against yours. 

You gripped the sleeve of his flannel, your pulse fluttering in your ears. The hand that had closed the door moved to the small of your back and pushed you into his pelvis. You gasped at his hardened erection against your thigh. 

“You can yell at me, you can fuckin’ hit me if you need to.” He rested his forehead against yours. “But don’t tell me to leave. I don’t know where to go if I’m not with you.”

“You haven’t had me in years, James,” you said, roughly. You knew that he caught the desperation in your tone, your words. You tipped your head back and lifted up on tiptoe to press your lips to his. When you finally noticed that he hadn’t returned the kiss, you started to pull back, a pit growing in your stomach. 

“I’m —”

His arm tightened around your middle to keep you still. His mouth molded against yours, hungry and desperate. 

You pawed at his flannel, helping him shrug out of it. Logan cupped his hands under your thighs and lifted, wrapping your legs around his waist. You sucked a bruise along the curve where his neck and collarbone meet, relishing in the hiss he let out. 

“Wait, wait, wait.” He pulled back, his gaze intense. “I need to say this before anythin’ else happens between us.” Your brows creased. “I hurt you. I hurt you and it fuckin’ killed me, Y/N, and I’m sorry.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know Logan enough to know his favorite color or his mother’s name, but you knew enough about him to know that he didn’t apologize. Didn’t matter if he was wrong or right, he just didn’t. But the man before you wasn’t the man you knew six years ago. Now that you were looking at him, you could see it all: the dark circles, the stiffness of his body that only came from being nervous. 

Despite your assertive nature, you didn’t hold grudges. Those types of feelings need to constantly be fed into and that was energy you couldn’t spare. Not even for men that you fell in love with too quickly.

You put your lips to his again. He mirrored your movements and carried you to your bedroom. He sucked a bruise onto the skin between your ear and shoulder, making you let out a whimper. You ground your hips against his hardened erection. 

“Fuck, honey,” he hissed. 

“I need you inside of me, James.” You nipped at his earlobe. “Please.”

He kissed you, long and hard, before helping you out of your thin shorts. His thick fingers glided through your puffy folds, a guttural groan leaving his throat. 

“You this wet for me, Y/N?”

You mewled in response, your hips moving against his digits, begging for pressure on your swollen pearl. 

He gulped, his eyes hungrily tracing over your lust-drunken expression. His cock was straining almost painfully against the denim of his jeans but he couldn’t stop staring at you. He drew the pad of his thumb along the curves of your parted lips, sucking a breath when the tip of your tongue barely swept against the skin. 

He dipped the digit between your lips, watching with rapt pleasure as you suckled and moaned around it. He groaned and curved his free hand around the base of your throat. “Such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You shuddered. “I can be.”

“Oh, yeah?” He suckled a love bite onto your skin. “You think you can be mine tonight?”

You nodded eagerly. 

Logan chuckled and threw you over his shoulder, taking what seemed like three large steps into your bedroom and tossed you lightly onto the bed. He took hold of your face and slotted his lips over yours, licking deeply into your mouth. 

You pawed and pulled at his flannel, clumsily helping him out of it while trying to keep kissing him. He hummed against your lips and worked your thin shorts down your thighs before ripping them down the middle. The cool air against your bare cunt gave you gooseflesh. Your hands moved to work at his belt buckle as his own pulled at the shirt you wore.

“Was wonderin’ where this went.”

You chuckled. “You barely wore it.” You made a triumphant noise upon getting his pants undone and to the floor, looking up at him from beneath your thick, dark lashes. 

He wanted to devour you. One of his big paws cupped your face and he ground out, “Are you sure, bubba?”

You took his heavy cock in one of your hands, moving up and down the length of it. You smirked at his sharp breath as you eased down to your knees. Without breaking eye contact, you took him into your mouth, a low groan vibrating against your tongue. 

“Jesus,” he gripped your curls into one fist and threw his head back, “just like that, sugar.”

You hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, the tip of your nose pressing against his pubic mound. The hand that wasn’t giving gentle squeezes to his thigh when to massage his heavy balls. 

A low groan, bordering a growl, tumbled past Logan’s lips. “You have to move, baby. ‘M dyin’.”

You moved your hand from his balls to curl around the base of him, slowly working in tandem with your mouth. You moaned around his cock, spit dribbling down the sides of your mouth. You lightly scraped your teeth along the length of him. Logan hissed and gripped the sides of your face and started fucking your face. Your eyes were rimmed red, tears streaming down your face, and yet he looked at you with the reverence reserved for altars and gods. 

“‘M cummin’…’m —”

He came in thick ropes into your mouth, his hips stuttering as he was coming down. His hands fell from the sides of your face to rest them on the tops of his thighs. 

You pushed off of Logan with a faint “pop” and sat back against your calves. Your eyes trailed up and down Logan’s frame; you’d forgotten how big he was. Broad shoulders and back, large hands, thick, corded muscles. He could sometimes be as foreboding as he looked. 

Then, post nut clarity smacked the shit out of you. 

“Shit.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, me, too.”

“No. I mean, shit like we shouldn’t have done that.” You pushed yourself onto your feet. “Where’s my shirt?”

“You mean my shirt?”

You ignored his jibe and scanned the room for the garment. One of his hands shot out and pulled you onto his lap. 

“I can smell ya, sweetheart.”

Your brows creased for a few seconds before you understood what he’d meant. You gulped, your chest rising and falling in hard pants. “Doesn’t matter, James. This was a mistake.”

His eyes — those intelligent, ever-searching eyes — darkened, a hunger in them that you hated that you missed. “Was it? What’s so wrong about two people findin’ each other again?” His thumb swept along your bottom lip. “‘M all yours to do whatever you need, baby.”

Your tongue darted out, barely pressing against his skin before his mouth claimed yours.  He eased you onto your back as his hand traversed the expanse of your torso. His hands pawed and kneaded at your breasts, rubbing and twisting your nipples into stiff peaks. Your back canted towards his touch. His mouth suckled at your right nipple, his other hand still playing at the other.

“James,” you pleaded.

“What, bubba?” He chuckled darkly. “Use your words.”

Every word that flashed in your mind died in your throat. Only incoherent pants and groans left you. Logan switched to your left breast and one of his free hands cupped your mound. Your eyes screwed shut. The rough pad of his thumb brushed up against your clit, sticky with your slick. 

“So wet and I’ve barely touched you.”

Your hips bucked and he rubbed the bundle of nerves again. Slow, tortuous swipes that sent shocks to your system and tightened your belly with need. Just before the coil snapped, his cock drove into you. Tears fell from your eyes and a choked gasp ballooned in your chest. 

“Fuck, honey, s’good.” Logan’s voice was hoarse and desperate. He fucked into you like a man possessed; his big hands gripped your hips, surely leaving bruises behind. He moved one hand to curl at the base of your throat. Vignettes of memories past played in your mind’s eye and you let out a ragged keen, moving your hips to meet his thrusts. His name passed your lips. “Yeah, baby?”

You gripped one of his forearms. “‘M close.”

Rough skin swept across your clit. “Let go for me, bubba. C’mon.”

Your back canted as a guttural moan ripped from your throat. Logan pulled you into his chest, whispering my good girl and I’m here in your ear as you came down. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. He’d never left you behind six years ago and this was just another evening for the two of you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you buried your face into his chest. 

“Hey.” He lifted your chin to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate this,” your voice quivered, “I hate that you came back. I hate that I still — ” You shook your head. “We shouldn’t have done that, James.”

Logan cupped your face in his hands. “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anythin’ you ask me to, Y/N, you have to know that.”

“Do I?”

He pulled out of you and gathered you in his arms as he tucked you both into bed. His deep, even breaths reverberated up your spine. You sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. 

“I never meant to hurt you. Hurtin’ you was the last thing that I wanted to do and there’s nothin’ I could do to fix that.” He pressed his lips to the nape of your neck. “Just…talk to me. Please.”

“You broke me, Logan, do you know that? I broke all of my rules for you and it broke me. I was already grieving my mother and you made me grieve you when I never had you to begin with.”

“I know,” he rasped. 

“Do you?”

“When Storm came to visit you, she wasn’t jokin’. I almost fuckin’ died.” He ran the backs of his fingers up and down your spine, his tone faraway. “I was slippin’ away, could barely focus on anythin’ in front of me for too long. Then suddenly, your face was the only thing I saw. I could picture you so clearly, down to the micro expressions that I didn’t even realize I’d paid attention to.” He rested his chin atop your head. “I’d made sure that I never thought of you too often or I’d leave everythin’ behind to come back to you.”

“And yet, here you are.” Your voice wobbled at the end. “You broke the one rule you shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, rules are meant to be broken. I don’t regret showing up. Even if this is the only thing I could get, I’d fuckin’ do it all over again just to see you, bubba.”

You turned over to face him, your brown eyes hard. “Yeah, but bodies weren’t, James. You shouldn’t have to nearly die to decide that I’m worth seeing again.”

“You really love half-listenin’, don’t you?” He held your chin between his fingers, lifting your eyes to his. “I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left, Y/N. The only reason that I didn’t keep in touch was because I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me. Like you said, bodies weren’t meant to broken.”

“Neither were hearts,” you murmured. 

He nodded. “And would yours consider lettin’ me back in? It’s selfish to ask, I know, but I don’t want to let you go again, bubba.” 

You threaded your fingers between his. “I want to. But how will I know if you’ll stay this time, James? What’s changed in the last six years?”

Logan brought the back of your hand up to his lips. The warmth in his eyes, while not unfamiliar, made your breath catch. For a split second, you remembered that he could hear your heartbeat fluttering madly in your chest, your pulse against his forearm. 

“When do you leave for New York?”

Your brows knitted together. “I should be done packing in a few days. Why?”

He pulled one of your legs over his hip, laughing when you sucked in a breath. “We’ll go into town tomorrow, pawn all the stuff you’re not usin’ anymore, and pack up the rest in the truck. We’ll make a trip out of it.”

“And where would we go after that? I’m not living in a boarding school.”

“I have a place of my own, thank you very much,” he said, smirking, “it’s not much but it’s mine. It could use a…softer touch, I think.”

You sat up on your elbow. “Yeah?”

“‘M gettin’ old, bubba. Like, obviously not so much physically, but mentally? I’ve seen wars, watched people that I care about die. Walked away when I should’ve stayed.” He threaded his fingers through your free hand. “I’m sayin’ all this to say that, if you’ll have me, I want to stay.”

You hummed, looking down at your joined hands. If tonight proved nothing else, you and Logan were tethered each other for better or worse. There would never be a moment where you wouldn’t think of each other and that scared you. But if you knew nothing else, you knew that you loved him. You loved James Howlett. 

“Will you want to stay? I’m not about to uproot my life just for you to leave me again.”

He pulled you close, putting his forehead to yours. “The worst mistake I’ve ever done is leave you behind Y/N Y/L/N. I should’ve told you that I loved you five years ago.” You gasped. “I love you, bubba, and I regret everyday not that I never told you.”

“Say it again.”

He took your face in his hands and smiled, the peach hue of the sun warming his face. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve loved you for the past six years and I will never stop lovin’ you.”

Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. You wanted him to say these words, waited for them for over half a decade. But they were…heavier than you anticipated. Though your own confession sat on your tongue, too much clung to them; the last fight you had, your mother dying shortly after and how you resented him even more for leaving you alone at a time like that. More than anything you hated that you cared about him so quickly just for him to leave. 

“You don’t have to say it back yet.” Logan smiled some. “Five years is a long time to grieve something.”

You put a hand to his cheek. “You know that I want to, though, don’t you?”

“I know,” he kissed you again, “and we’ll get you there. One day at a time.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — given the fact that i haven't written in literal months, y'all have no idea how happy i am to have churned this out. happy 2024!

[freckles-a-constellation]

The Doctor is a tragic character in the best Greek tragedy tradition.

So y'all know how the most common driving factor for intelligence to develop in species is if they're social? (Octopi aren't very social but let's ignore that real quick, the Doctor's a vertebrate anyway so invertebrate intelligence can probably be dismissed as irrelevant) Because after a point, more intelligence isn't really needed to avoid danger or gather food. But more intelligence does make it possible to communicate more efficiently, form more complex social bonds, eventually develop culture. Cue why social species tend to be more intelligent than solitary ones of otherwise comparable lifestyle. And cue why humanity is the way it is.

Now look at Gallifreyans. (I am purposefully ignoring the Timeless Child thing bc I don't rlly believe it and besides, even assuming it's true, The Doctor is similar enough to Gallifreyans to have flawlessly believed himself/themselves/herself to be one for 13+ regenerations, so anything that can be concluded to be true from analysis of Gallifreyans has good basis to be presumed true about the Doctor, whatever the fuck semantics you wanna use) So, Gallifreyans. A species much more advanced than according to DW canon humanity will ever be. More intelligent than humanity. High levels of education and not on the basis of private tutoring. Lives in cities. Has complex language and technology capable of instantly translating pretty much any language of any other species to be understandable to them. (Hell the TARDIS consistently still translates shit to English for the companions while they're outside it.) Complex social structure. That's one fucking social species.

And it gets better. The TARDIS is meant to be operated by a team of six. And even if River was joking about six, it's still clear that it should at least be more than one. Compare the Doctor steering the TARDIS alone to when he was with Susan. I mean, even those two looked like they could use an extra hand. Have you ever seen a human private use vehicle designed with 2+ pilots in mind? Definitely a species more social than humanity.

And the telepathy thing? Hello? Insanely, mind-boggingly social species.

Now take a being this fundamentally social and do something to them so that they see no recourse other than to take one (1) same-species (as far as he was aware disclaimer ig) companion, steal a ship they have little to no clue how to pilot, leave everything and everyone they've ever known and run without ever stopping for breath, no matter how much they miss home, no matter if it hurts. (And I do believe something must have happened to make him run like that, since the beggining, way before the Time War) Have them be scorned, judged, punished, mistreated and rejected by their species, again and again, for ages. Have them love, again and again, only to always lose everyone they've cared about, through abandonment or death. Have them essentially be forced to exterminate their whole species and believe themselves to be the last of their kind, only to be proven wrong by the whole Master situation, which alright is better, but also in some ways is worse. Have them, once again, form deep bonds with companions and once again lose all of them in various varyingly tragic ways until they have no hope left that anyone can ever truly stay for any amount of time even close to satisfactory, that love can for them end in anything but loss and pain. And they can't even avoid love altogether in an effort to spare themselves the inevitable agony of losing loved ones, because they're incapable of not growing to care for those around them. And they can't be without company either, because their sanity goes straight to hell in a handbasket within like,, 5 minutes of being alone.

Let me remind you this is not a human we're talking about. It's a member of a species much more inherently social than humanity. My point?

The Doctor is literally more lonely than the human brain can comprehend.

[sissylittlefeather]

Let's Forget About the Stars: Chapter 7

A/N: A BITCH IS BACK Y'ALL. I apologize for the hiatus. Hopefully this will jump start lots of writing again. Anyway, this is the next chapter for Dove and Elvis in December '57/January '58 right after they get engaged. I know this one is moving slowly and taking forever, but I love them so much. I hope I'm not the only one.

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, missing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), swallowing, and the slightest bit of angst/drama

Word count: ~2.8k

Gladys is relieved to know that they will be married soon. Still, the stress of Elvis's impending departure has done its damage and she sighs with exhaustion. Tomorrow, there is work to be done, but tonight she needs rest. Surely that will help her feel better.

******

Later that day, Elvis takes Dove to a jewelry store and convinces her to pick out a beautiful three-stone diamond ring. At first, she wasn't sure about the diamonds, but he encouraged her not to think about the price and instead to get what she really wanted. When the jeweler pulled the three-stone ring from the case and she gasped, he knew that was the one. He slipped it on her finger and it fit perfectly, so he wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

"Dovey, you're marrying Elvis Presley. You need to get used to nice things." She rolls her eyes.

"No, I'm marrying my Jumbee. And I'll love you even if we live in a shack." This warms his heart more than he's willing to admit, so he wraps her in his arms and kisses her deeply right there in the jewelry store. The jeweler clears his throat to remind them that he's there. Elvis blushes sheepishly and pays for the ring.

As soon as they hit the door of the jewelry store, though, the press descends on them like a pack of wolves. They holler questions as Elvis shields Dove and they try to make their way to the car.

"Elvis! Are you really engaged?"

"Do you have a message for your heartbroken fans?"

"Is that the girl? Who is she, Elvis?!"

Elvis does his best to ignore the questions until one of the reporters steps over the line.

"Elvis, you could have any girl in the world! Why would you pick one that isn't even-"

He knows the end of that sentence and it fills him with a boiling hot rage.

"I'm going to stop you right there. My fiancée is the love of my life. I will not hesitate to defend her in any way that I need to." He slides into the car behind the steering wheel and closes the door.

"Elvis, was that a threat?" The reporters knock on the windows and continue to holler questions.

"Fucking vultures." He mutters under his breath as he starts up the car and drives back to Graceland. He's almost to the gates before he realizes that Dove has been crying quietly for a while. "Dovey? Are ya okay? What's wrong?"

She shakes her head and looks out the window. Everything the Colonel has ever said is running through her mind. Has she ruined his career?

"Honey, talk to me." She turns to face him, her cheeks glistening with tears.

"This is what our whole life will be like. You'll have to fight for me every day. You'll have to fight for our kids. Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure I'm worth all this?" He parks the car and turns to face her on the front seat of the pink Cadillac.

"Eleanor Morningstar, I want you to listen to me right now." She looks at him intently. He's never called her Eleanor before. "You are everything to me. I'll fight the whole damn country if I have to- the whole damn world even. I love you with all my heart and I don't care how much trouble it is. You will always be worth it to me. Always, Dovey. Now, come here."

She scoots towards him on the seat and lets him wrap his arms around her tightly. He kisses her hair and holds her, his hands moving up and down her back softly.

"You called me Eleanor..." She whispers. He chuckles gently.

"Yeah, I needed you to know I was serious."

"It definitely got my attention."

"I knew it would. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Jumbee. I trust you." He lets out a relieved sigh.

"Good." She nods and he tilts her chin up to him, kissing her lips gently. "Did you mean what you said about loving me even if we lived in a shack?"

"Of course I did."

"Then I don't wanna hear any more about whether you're worth the trouble. We're in this forever, baby. You're mine and I'm yours. Okay?" She nods and he kisses her again, this time more passionately. His tongue slips into her mouth and his hands begin to roam. She pulls him against her and moans softly into the kiss.

"Elvis." He groans.

"Yeah, baby?"

"We have a perfectly good bedroom upstairs." He kisses down her neck to her collarbone and lays her down on the seat.

"We do." His hand slides up her thigh under her dress. "You wanna go inside?"

She whimpers as his fingers find her center, deftly moving her panties to the side and slipping one finger inside her. A soft moan escapes her lips as he pumps his finger in and out and rubs his thumb over her clit.

"Y-yeah..." She grinds her hips against his hand and he moans in response.

"Kinda wanna make you cum first." He whispers into her mouth. She whimpers again as his hand continues to work its magic and she feels the pleasure build between her thighs.

"Oh, God, Elvis, don't stop." He smiles against her neck and drags his tongue up to her mouth, kissing her again. His fingers tickle her g-spot and he moves his thumb faster over her sensitive bud. He feels it harden and knows she must be getting close.

"Cum for me, baby. Right here." She gasps and moans as she dances on the edge of her orgasm. The exposed nature of sitting in the driveway in broad daylight while he does this turns her on more than she wants him to know. Anyone could walk by and see them with his hand buried in her skirt, her chest heaving as he kisses her neck. Her pussy clenches on his finger at the thought and he groans. "You're so close, honey. Let go."

"Oh, fuck Elvis, oh!" She moans loudly as she cums hard on his hand, her climax rushing through her from her fingertips to her toes and back again. He smiles as he feels her walls pulse around his finger, her clit softening as he rubs it gently. She tries desperately to catch her breath as she comes down from her high. He slowly slides his finger out and puts her panties back where they belong.

"Now we can- Dovey!" She sits up and her hands go to the zipper on his pants. "Oh... yes..."

He moans as she pulls his cock from his pants and begins to stroke him up and down slowly. His hips buck involuntarily into her hand, begging for more friction.

"I wanna try something." She whispers, nibbling on his earlobe. She pulls back and he looks at her, eyes fluttering with the sensation of her hand pumping him.

"What?"

"Just... tell me if you like it." She leans forward and, holding his foreskin back, licks the tip of his dick.

"Fuck! Dovey!" No one has ever put their mouth on his cock before and the feeling of her soft, warm tongue is almost enough to push him over the edge. She licks his head again and he moans loudly, his hand taking hold of her hair. He tries desperately to keep his hips from bucking up into her mouth, but it feels so good and he needs more. "Baby, try putting your whole mouth around it."

"Like this?" She pulls as much of him as she can handle into her mouth.

"Fuck! Yes! Like that! Oh God..." She picks up a steady rhythm of bobbing up and down on him using her hand and her mouth. Then, she tries again to pull all of him into her mouth, letting his tip hit the back of her throat. "Dovey, I'm not gonna last long like this."

She thinks about what will happen when he cums, the way it shoots out of him. He can't make that kind of mess in the car. She thinks quickly, making a decision in the moment. He taps on her head frantically.

"Baby, I'm gonna cum... now!" She doesn't pull away, though. Instead, she lets him fill her throat with his hot release, swallowing it as best she can as he cums. He shudders, his legs shaking, as he jerks his hips up while the orgasm rips through his body. She continues to suck on him until he relaxes and leans his head back against the seat. Sitting up, she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand.

"Was that good?"

"Good?! Dovey, that was the most amazing thing I've ever felt. Goddamn, baby. Where did you learn that?"

"Well, you use your mouth the same as you use your hand. I figured I could do that too."

"But you... you swallowed my..." She giggles softly as he blushes.

"Yeah, I guess I did. I just didn't want you to make a mess in your car." He laughs loudly.

"You're so considerate, Dovey. Wow. Baby, that was incredible. Did you like it okay?" She nods.

"I like making you feel that good. And it wasn't bad to swallow it."

"So you'll do it again?" She laughs at his eagerness.

"Yeah, I'll do it again." He pulls her into him and kisses her deeply.

"God, Dovey, I love you so much."

"I love you too, Jumbee." He puts his cock away and zips up his pants. His mind flashes back to the feeling of her mouth on him and he starts to harden again, but he knows he has to find a way to distract himself.

"Let's go in. We need to show Mama and Daddy your ring." Dove nods and follows him out of the car. Both of them are a little unsteady on their feet after their orgasms, but they recover quickly as they walk up to the front door.

Inside, Gladys gushes excitedly about the beauty of the ring they chose and Vernon smiles quietly.

"You two sure were in the driveway for a while." He mutters knowingly. Elvis turns bright pink and stumbles over his words.

"Y-yeah we were... w-we... umm..."

"We were talking about the wedding." Dove comes to his rescue and he squeezes her hand.

"Yeah. The wedding." Elvis smiles awkwardly and Vernon chuckles.

"Mhmm."

Elvis drags Dovey upstairs and Gladys and Vernon look at each other and laugh.

******

In January, Elvis makes his way to California to film King Creole. Dove stays behind in Memphis to plan the wedding with Gladys and her mother, who flies in from Oklahoma one weekend at the end of the month. They've chosen Valentine's Day as the date, which doesn't give them much time, but they need to be married before he leaves for basic training in March.

Everything is going pretty well when Dove gets an envelope in the mail from the Colonel.

"What is it, sweetie?" Her mom asks curiously. She can tell her daughter is anxious about the contents of the envelope. Dove's hands tremble a little as she opens it. She pulls out a small stack of photographs. There's no letter or anything, just the pictures. When she looks at them, her blood runs cold.

It's Elvis.

But it's not just Elvis. It's Elvis with Sophia Loren on his lap. And he has his arms around her and her hands in his hair and they're laughing. In the last one, he's kissing her sensually on the cheek. Dove's stomach turns over and she feels like she might pass out. Gladys notices how pale she is and takes the photos from her to flip through them.

"Oh, honey, you know who he is."

"Who is he?! That's not my Jumbee."

"No, it isn't. That's Elvis Presley." But Dove isn't satisfied with hearing it from Gladys. Her mother is silent, not sure what to make of the situation. She saw them together, saw how much he loves her. How could he act like this with another woman?

Dove tosses the photos on the dining table and runs upstairs. Both mothers assume she just needs some space to cry, so they're completely shocked when she comes down with a packed suitcase.

"Dove, where are you going?" Her mother asks. She recognizes this look from her. It's the same look she had when a club owner in Tulsa told her she'd never make it and she decided to come to Memphis. She grabs the pictures off the table.

"California."

"Oh, sweetie-" Gladys cuts in, but Dove shakes her head.

"He can explain this to me himself. Or he can find a new fiancée." And with that, she's out the door. Gladys picks up the phone quickly to try to warn Elvis about what is headed his way.

"Mama, you know that don't mean anything!" Elvis tries to frantically reassure her.

"I know that, baby, but she wouldn't believe me. She's on her way."

"Goddamnit."

"Elvis!"

"I'm sorry, Mama."

"You better make this right."

"I will. I-I-I'll figure something out." They say the appropriate salutations and hang up the phone. Elvis stands and stares at it for a few minutes silently. Damn the Colonel. But maybe it's time for them to have this conversation.

******

Elvis sends a car to pick up Dove from the airport and bring her to the set. She sits in the backseat fuming that he wouldn't even come get her himself. The car pulls up just as filming finishes for the day and Elvis breathes a sigh of relief that she won't have to wait for him.

"Dovey!" He hollers, a wide smile on his face. He hasn't seen her in three weeks and missing her has almost killed him. She walks up to him and slaps him hard across the face. "What the fuck?!"

"Sophia Loren?!" He holds his cheek gingerly and his eyes flash with anger.

"Calm down, Dove."

"No! I will not!" He looks around and realizes everyone is watching.

"Then at least come with me somewhere more private."

"Worried your fans might find out who you really are?! No, Elvis, you don't get to hide- PUT ME DOWN." He throws her over his shoulder easily and carries her towards his trailer. It's obvious that trying to reason with her is not going to work when she's like this. She wiggles around on his shoulder trying to get free, but he's significantly bigger and stronger than she is, so he succeeds in keeping her where she is. He gets her into the trailer, slams the door, and sets her on the couch. Even in his anger, he's not rough with her, though.

"ELVIS, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU THINK-"

"CAN I TALK FIRST?!" He yells at her, matching her volume. She reaches in her purse and grabs the handful of photos, throwing them at him.

"Sure. Start talking." He sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand on his hip.

"Dovey, you know who I am."

"I thought I did!"

"No, that's not what I mean. I am Elvis Presley. That comes with certain expectations..."

"That's a pretty lame excuse."

"Okay. I have to kiss two women in this movie. Are you gonna flip out about that too?!" She stops and thinks for a second.

"No. Because it's not you; you're acting. It's your job."

"Yes!" He grabs her shoulders. "Dovey, Elvis Presley is just another role that I play. It's not me."

"You're... acting..." He picks up one of the pictures from the floor.

"Yes. This is not me. This is not your Jumbee. This is Elvis Presley." She takes the photo from him and looks at it, her heart clenching in her chest. It's hard to see this and think of him as not being him.

"It looks real."

"I'm a better actor than people think." Dove looks at him silently trying to decide if she wants to believe him. He can tell her wheels are turning. "Dovey, I ask you this all the time, but I need you to really think about your answer this time. Do you trust me?"

She softens a little more than she'd like to. A big part of her wants to stay mad, throw his ring in his face and call off the wedding. He didn't even actually apologize. But then she considers what it would be like to be without him again. Is this the cost of marrying him? She knows being with her isn't easy for him. Maybe this just evens the score.

"Yes."

"Then you have to trust me when I say that it's not anywhere close to the same when I kiss other women." He walks over to her and cautiously puts his hands on her hips. "You're my Dovey. You're the one I want to marry, the one I want to come home to at the end of every day. That's what's real."

He presses his forehead to hers and she closes her eyes. It hits her how much she's missed him over the last three weeks and she wraps her arms around his neck, breathing in his scent.

"You still wanna marry me in two weeks?" His voice is soft and quiet. She sighs.

"Yeah. I've already bought a dress. There's no going back now." Elvis chuckles and tries to imagine what kind of dress she might've picked. Then, his mind drifts to what it will be like to take it off of her after the wedding.

Two more weeks. And then she'll really be his forever.

******

Until next time!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@wildhorseinkansas @ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley

[i4bellingham]

GO PUBLIC: jamal musiala x reader

SYNOPSIS: in which jamal's fans finally know about your relationship in a quick series of photos in an instagram post. or in which jamal accidentally (drunkenly) posts your private photos together.

NOTES: never ever letting his tags go dry 😋 here is a fluffy fluff fluff 3OOO for my fellow musiala girlies mwuah 💋 i hope you enjoy reading!

jamalmusiala10

❤️ 💭 ↗️ 　　　　 • • • •

Liked by alphonsodavies, jobebellingham and 987,612 others

jamalmusiala10 für die schönste person, ich liebe dich, meine liebe ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ to the most beautiful person, i love you my love

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alphonsodavies wrong account mate haha 😀

user1 wait is that who i think it is-

user2 “we're only friends” my ass 😭 y'all keep on lying

user3 isn't that yourusername 😟

user4 that is her 😭

user5 mate really posted an entire relationship lmao

alphonsodavies is he drunk?

yourusername i can vouch, he is :D

yourusername keeping his phone away for the entire night!

user1 yourusername no bestie we need the explanation now 😭

“Please don’t look at me like that.” Jamal sighs.

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

“Als hätte ich deinen hund gekidnappt oder so...” He moves away from the bed, standing directly behind you in the vanity mirror. Liked I kidnapped your dog or something...

“Du hast unsere Beziehung öffentlich gemacht-” You made our relationship public

“I was drunk-”

“Idiotic drunk is what you were.”

Jamal groans as he buries his face on your nape, already knowing the height of how much he fucked up when in his drunken stupor, he managed to post photos of you together which left the fans to conclude your relationship to what it really is. It also didn't help that the team’s PR manager had been blowing up his phone with multiple messages, emails and phone calls (that were all left unanswered) since last night and was just basically telling him not to do an even more stupid decision than this one.

A drunk mistake it may be but Jamal felt no remorse on how the people found out about your relationship. It's been a solid year and a half of hiding, attempting to steer the media’s eyes away from the both of you as you go on dates, strolls and doing what normal couples do but ultimately needing to cut them short because of the nearing media presence.

Jamal is certain that you're not bothered by him posting those images, but he knows you're more anxious of what the people might think and how they might react despite having an entire supporting shipping fanclub yourself even with the minimal public interaction you've done.

You're both... loved, if you will. There is still some negativity here and there but it's mostly dominated by supporting fans wanting for the both of you to date. So Jamal really doesn't see any problem why he should be regretful to what he has doneㅡ even though it was obviously a very drunken accident.

“But you're not really upset with me, are you?” You turn around to face him, cupping his cheeks and he automatically nuzzles his face on your palm.

Jamal knows you're not. He's just looking for some extra guarantee.

“No, I'm not. How could I ever be upset with you?” You tell him, voice falling into a whisper before you're being caged in his arms.

“Just so you know, I’m not regretful that I posted those pictures.”

And you laugh. “Ich weiß.” I know.

You laugh because you knew.

[thepaintedlady00]

Nepenthe

Character Intro | Chapter 2

Chapter One: The Hanged Man

TW: blood, gore, some very intrusive and vividly dark thoughts about murder killing and so on, this ones gonna be a dark fic so if that's not something you're into steer clear y'all! But, all in all, first chapters pretty tame for the Dark Urge character. I'm going with a Durge that slightly differs from game Durge as she always has a hesitancy to killing and actively "fights" her dark urges from the start which isn't how I feel the in-game character was potrayed, but it's how I wanna do this series so 🤷‍♀️, I also really wanna let everyone know I'll be taking some creative liberties with the story and I'll be making the villains a bit more "redeemable" (mostly Gortash) they'll all still be the villains and they'll still do the evil shit but with Gortash in particular I wanna add some hints of regret and remorse for his wrong doings so I can give the asshole a happy ending! Because I am a whore for redemption arcs and happy endings! 😅😂

nepenthe • \nuh-PENTH-ee\ • noun. 1: a potion used by the ancients to induce forgetfulness of pain or sorrow; 2: something capable of causing oblivion of grief or suffering.

I had been called many names. Thief. Urchin. Whore. Murderer. Assassin. Monster. Demon. They all held some modicum of truth; after all, how else was one such as myself supposed to live? I bore no family name and held no lands or titles. All I had was a dagger and the blood on my hands. All I had to guide my path… To help me understand who… What I was was but an ember. A word whispered on hushed, fearful tongues.

Bhaalspawn.

It was a myth. Some horror story told by parents to keep their children in line. I knew there could be no truth in it… knew there could be no chance of it being a reality. I'd hunted down every piece of evidence I could over the years, and all of it told the same story. The spawn of Bhaal were long dead - all of them.

I could not be this. And yet the word echoed in me, rattling against my skull almost as loudly as the call for blood. And so, I continued hunting this rumor to the ends of Faerun. Hunting and hoping and killing and running. It was a hideous, pathetic life, but it was all I had. All I'd ever have if I stopped searching now.

Most would find the prospect of being some murderous creature horrifying. Most would have stopped searching when it became possible, but they didn't have this hunger. They didn't feel their skull burning, their whole being screaming for blood. They weren't like me.

From my rooftop perch above the city, I watched the people live their boring little lives. The marketplace was full of bodies, bags of flesh and bones and blood, hurrying and shouting and laughing without a care in the world. Sheep. A pen of them, mindlessly baaing to one another, completely unaware of the wolf lurking above them.

How I longed to leap down from that roof, to slither in what shadows I could find and circle them. My mouth went dry as my heart began to race in my chest. All sound faded, replaced by the symphony of rushing blood and beating hearts. I'd pick the one furthest from the group, the blacksmith. He smelt of salt and metal, a large man with a round belly that was practically begging to be sliced open. The edges of my vision darkened as I stared into the forge. He looked strong, but he'd be slow - much slower than he'd need to be to kill me before I did him. It would be easy.

My body drifted forward, leaning over the ledge of the rooftop. Every inch of me hummed as my fingers wrapped around the hilt of my dagger. So easy… Giggling children broke me from the dark fog. They ran through the streets together, playing whatever games normal little children play, as their families watched with a bright look. I'd studied that look often, how they smiled and their faces creased with joy. It was a look I had never known.

I remembered then the simple house with the green door. I remembered how it looked splattered with their blood - blood that oozed between the floorboards and dripped down the steps. The humming of bloodlust ebbed inside me as I pictured the bodies that littered the cobbled path to the house. Their eyes were dull and lifeless, not a spark of that bright thing… Not a spark of anything. The last one still breathing had crawled back inside, not strong enough to run but still not weak enough to just lay and die.

When I'd followed after her, dagger in hand and blood dripping from me like rain, she'd looked at me with a dark expression. Disappointment mingled with fear and disgust. That was the look I knew, the one she'd always looked at me with. As I got closer, the woman who called herself my mother spat her blood at me and growled out one last word before I watched her bleed out, "Monster." 

That house - my house - had been the first. The first time, I'd let the hunger, the insatiable thoughts of bloodshed, win. The family I massacred that day had been my own, but I never regretted killing them, not for one moment that followed. They'd only been the first of many… Too many.

My rancid blood whispered to me: kill, kill, and kill again. This body of mine craved only death. Not my own, but that of others - everyone. In the beginning, I'd hoped it would fade, yet with each death, each lifeless body I left behind, the hunger only grew. The longing to kill again was never far from my mind, and it terrified me. 

What kind of person… What sort of thing had this urge? A dark, twisted urge so powerful it consumed me, possessed me until I satisfied it with the blood and death it craved. My lungs filled with the cool city air, and the blurred edges of my vision slowly faded, replaced by the pain at the base of my skull growing as the urge festered, unsatisfied.

A heavy sigh echoed beside me as the rooftop shingles shifted under the unpredictable steps. "Restless already, young Master?" 

"I just…" My mouth tasted rancid, the intrusive desire to snap my teeth down on my own tongue making the words difficult to get out.

"Which of the lovely little sheep calls to you this time?" He hummed, turning his head to look out into the crowd with an almost gleeful smile. "The baker?" He giggled, jumping in excitement. "No! The shopkeep! He looks like he'd make a particularly fascinating corpse!" Turning, his beady eyes bore into mine again as he examined my expression. "Not him either? One of the children, perhaps?"

"No!" I bit out, trying not to linger on how that prospect appealed to me. "The blacksmith."

The Butler turned his head eagerly and wiggled his fingers, clacking his claws against the shingles. "Oh, excellent! He'll be no match for you, my dear Master. So big and slow, with a copious amount of blood and viscera to work with. A most excellent choice indeed!"

My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides as I forced my lungs to fill with the fresh air. "I'm not killing him. I'm not killing anyone."

"Not this again," The Butler chided. "Young Master, you must–"

"You do not tell me what I must or mustn't do!" My voice was low but a whisper in the wind, but Sceleritas heard it. He heard it as though I'd screamed it at the top of my lungs. For a fleeting second, it looked as though he'd been hurt by my words and my dismissal of him. With a sigh, I shook my head and knelt beside him. "Sceleritas…"

He made a tsking noise and combed his claws through my hair, delicately brushing it back into place. "I live to serve you, young Master. Whether it leads to glorious blood and viscera or not, I live to serve."

I held his hand for a moment. "Thank you."

"I do wish you'd be true to yourself," he said carefully. "But, if you wish to fight your urge, I'll bite my tongue and let you make your own mistakes."

"Sceleritas," I scolded with a half smile.

He quickly shut his lips tightly and bowed. "Since we're not killing anyone, may I inquire as to what we're doing among the sheep?"

Rolling my eyes at his theatrics, I looked back out to the crowd. "Rumor has it this city has been plagued with worshippers of Bhaal. People -" Sceleritas gave me a confused look. "The sheep," I clarified, earning a toothy grin from him. "Are saying there's an old temple somewhere nearby."

"And you intend to find it?" He asked, pride and mischief filling his tone.

"If anyone will have answers for me, it'll be them." I looked down at the odd little goblin-like creature that had been by my side since I first woke, covered in blood. He had leathery skin and a small hat lined with the bones of a snake I'd killed. He kept his clothes neat, even amongst the blood. Sceleritas was still quite the mystery, and everything about him, right down to how his beady eyes watched me with that sparkle of darkness and his claws clicked together as he idly thrummed his fingers together, making it seem like he knew more than he let on. "Unless you, dear butler, know anything about this temple?"

His hands splayed across his chest as his mouth fell open in surprise. "Why, me? Young Master, I've been ever at your side! I know only what you do."

Narrowing my eyes, I watched his lips turn upward in a grin. "Hmm, we'll see."

"Enough chatter!" He plopped down on the rooftop, kicking his feet over the ledge. "You hurry on with your questioning. I'll be waiting right here when you're done."

"I'll be back before nightfall," I assured him, lifting my hood.

"Of course you will. Unless… perhaps, you find a worthwhile distraction," he said, eyes turning away from mine to stare down at the blacksmith, whose full belly jiggled as he laughed.

That longing hum… That dark urge made my head swim for a moment. Kill him, it demanded. Break his bones! Bathe in his blood! Take his life, for it is yours to take! I shook my head and quickly turned away. "I will be back before nightfall."

"As you say, dear Master."

I dropped into a dark alley, my ill-fitted boots doing little to save my knees from feeling the force of the ground solidly meeting my feet. The alley stank with piss and rotting food, a stench that hung over the poorer districts. It was stripped bare of the fragrant roses and perfumers of the upper city. Stripped of everything, with people still demanding more be taken in the name of their lords and ladies and their fine parties and expensive silks.

Baldur's Gate. A beacon of hope and second chances. So many poured through the city gates with those big eyes, spilling with joy and relief, and it would be those eyes I'd see months later devoid of all that sparkle. Joy is a difficult thing to nurture when you're starving and flea-ridden. Baldur's Gate. The city where any and all are welcome to live and create a new life for themselves. A lie.

As I stepped over the multitude of beggars that no longer whispered pleas my way or anyone else's, I held onto that bitter feeling that had festered since I'd stepped foot here. My hands bore the blood of thousands, innocent and guilty alike, but even I was above the cruelty of this city. I was a killer, to be sure, but this city… The cursed Baldur's Gate was just as much a killer as me. At least I didn't pretend to be something else.

I moved among the crowd, ignoring that tingle that sent shivers up my spine at the sight of so many opportunities to slit someone's throat or tear their stomach open. Keeping my head down and my hood high, I kept my feet steadily moving. "You hear about this, uh… Shipment… That arrived late last night?"

"Which one?" The butcher replied, trying not to seem so interested. I slowed, lifting an eye towards them as they stood beneath the canopy of the butcher's stall.

"The metals," the twitchy man continued. "The ones that went straight to that abandoned church."

In one quick slash, the butcher's blade buried into the wooden board before him, slicing clean through the thick red meat. "What 'bout it?"

The twitchy man scratched his neck. "Rumor has it one of the smugglers is a madman. Er'yone that's seen 'im says he's makin' some kinda beast."

"A beast 'O metal?" The butcher laughed, waving off the man with a slab of meat in his hand. "Yer nutty if you believe that! Now get out me stall! Scarin' away payin' folk with yer twitchin'."

I watched them bicker for a moment longer before the twitching little man scurried away. Gossip and rumors were prevalent on the streets, necessary for anyone with no money to their name. Information was just as valuable as gold, but using such currency often required more than one's word. Proof came in various shapes and sizes. Eyewitness, a crumb of physical evidence, or even mentioning names… People higher up on the social ladder than anyone dwelling here. This system served me well. Though plagued by the constant urge to maim and dismember, my mind held information like a vault.

As I walked the streets, it quickly became apparent the well of gossip revolved around some useless arms dealings. I half listened, filing their names and the vague details away in my head while changing my path. If I wanted more than the current babblings today, I'd need to go to the source.

Baldur's Gate held many rivers that information flowed through. The servants working in the Upper City would flow down from those rich establishments and find whatever little pocket of people they belonged to. Taverns, inns, brothels, all little wells collecting information like buckets. Wells that I found most useful in my hunt for the truth. Past the layers of boring city gossip of who fucked who or who wore what lay the drops I required - the drops that would finally satiate my thirst. It was a simple matter of extracting such.

The Elfsong Tavern was bustling with people and flowing with drinks. It was a gem of the Lower City, though its outward appearance did not reflect anything grand or unique. It had ale and wine and clean rooms, which was enough for most people. The chatter that met my ears was akin to that of insects. I brushed past everyone else and quietly stood beside the bar, waiting for a cleaning to speak with the elf behind it.

The barkeeper and owner of the tavern was a soft-faced half-elf, Alan Alyth. He had dark hair and light in his eyes, still hopeful of his future within this city. Unlike the other patrons, he heard everything and saw all, and he wouldn't waste my time with idle chatter. Alan knew nothing about me, but he knew how much I hated talking.

Our eyes locked as the bodies cleared away from him, and he sighed. "What can I get for you?"

"I heard a rumor about Bhaal worshippers and a ruined temple."

Nodding, the elf wiped up a spill. "Few nights ago, two men came in spouting about it."

I set a single coin down on the bar. "I need the details."

Alan examined me for a second but took the coin and continued to speak, "Dunno much, but they said they believed the entrance to this temple or whatever was somewhere near the docks."

Without a word of thanks, I turned and exited the establishment, my feet moving quickly and my heart pounding steadily in my chest. I longed for this to be the one - for this rumor to lead me somewhere. The docks were even busier than the tavern, with shipments coming in and out, people selling fish right out of the barrels, and captains and crews inspecting their vessels. 

I could catch a ride on one of the ships, I thought. It would be easier to sail away from this horrible city and find a secluded place to live the rest of my days alone. Still, the nagging feeling wouldn't go away no matter how far I sailed. I would still always wonder what I was… If I belonged anywhere.

I remained near the docks, listening, watching, and even searching for hidden doors or loose stones that could have contained a clue, a hint even. There was nothing. No talk of Bhaalists or odd symbols. Nothing but the stench of fish and the annoying voices of the sheep. As the sun set, it became increasingly clear that this had been another dead end.

Waste of time, I scowled as I walked the now clear paths of the dark city. It'd been foolish of me to believe that anyone would have anything of substance. Why would idle gossip lead me to some long-lost hidden temple? It was foolish. Hopeful. 

My body roared with disappointment and anger. The feeling of it made my skin itch and my limbs ache. Curse that damned hope, I thought as I neared the rooftop where the butler would be waiting. I felt more breathless with each step, a sickening feeling washing over me as the edges of my vision swam with shadows. 

Don't fight it, that dark part of me urged. The bellows of nearby fire sparked in my ears, accompanied by the clash of steel. I sucked in a deep breath, halting my steps to try and regain control of my thoughts - of my own hands as they shook. Give in. A tang of ash and a tingling of metal filled my mouth. Give in to yourself. I stumbled, my feet shuffling of their own accord away from the rooftop towards the hazed orange light. 

Kill.

My fingers curled around the hilt of my dagger.

Kill.

My body hummed as the heat of the fire washed over my face.

Kill.

My lips curled up in a happy, satisfied smile.

The stone ceiling of the blacksmith's workshop was coated in billows of dark smoke and embers. They danced along the top of it for a moment, sparkling and crackling before being swept up in the midnight breeze and lifted out the tall open windows. My chest heaved with each breath, the air tasting sweet as I drew it deep into my lungs. I felt lightheaded, exhilarated, and satisfied. My mind felt clear for the first time in weeks, and my skull didn't throb. 

The sensation of thick, sticky liquid rolling down my neck pulled me from the enjoyment and relief. I lifted my hands to touch it but found them to be wet. All at once, my mind became my own again, and the sweetness of the air suddenly became heavy with blood. My fingernails dug into the skin of my neck as quiet whimpers filled my throat.

"Oh, how inspired!" Sceleritas purred with gleeful claps. "Artistry as always, my dear Master!"

My neck strained as I lowered my eyes to the corpse I straddled. The blacksmith lay lifeless beneath me, utterly unrecognizable. His eyes, filled with playful mirth and pride this morning, were now raw pits of exposed blood and muscle. The dark hair that once filled his head was scorched off, still smoking and singed with embers. One of his arms had been torn off, hanging from his anvil where the hand had been bludgeoned until the bones turned to dust. Long, intricate cuts lined his remaining arm and torso, leading to the gaping hole in his stomach. His insides were strewn about the room, hanging like dripping vines. And there, plunged into one of the many stab wounds in his chest, my dagger gleamed in the firelight.

I wanted to throw up, to scream and deny, but all I could do was sit there and stare. A prideful feeling simmered in my gut, finding beauty in the gore surrounding me. It was wrong… Beyond wrong… It was demented, deranged, sickening. Yet the feeling remained just like it always did. Sceleritas dug my dagger out from the blacksmith's chest and smiled as he held it out to me with a bow. Then, he noticed my grip on my neck and quickly tutted.

He placed my dagger back in my sheath and gently pried my hands from my skin. He dabbed the angry welts left by my fingernails with a small cloth. "I'm a monster…" I whispered.

Sceleritas' claws poked my cheek as he forced me to look at him. "You are perfect, Master." He combed his fingers through my hair, tucking it from my face. "Absolutely, positively perfect."

I closed my eyes, fighting back tears as the surrounding houses awoke, likely coming to see what the noises had been. They'd come, they always did, and they'd find me covered in the blood of an innocent man, a friend even. From there, things would be exactly as they always were. I'd be forced to flee, vanish, and always be apart like the rest of the monsters.

"Come, we must go," Sceleritas whispered, moving to check the streets.

With quivering breaths, I blinked away tears. What was the point of fighting if the urge would win out eventually? What was the point of any of this fucking life? Pushing myself to my feet, I wiped my hands on my shirt, as if it'd help clean them of blood, before turning to follow Sceleritas when a blink of movement caught my eye. 

There, standing in the doorway to the home attached to the workshop. His eyes were fixed on the body, the guts that hung from the room, filled with fear and despair at the sight of the larger man's lifelessness. Guilt and disgust warred within me against the satisfied bloodlust and pride. The child's lips quivered as tears began to stream down his cheeks. "Pa…"

Sceleritas' hands gently wound around my arms, tugging me away from the pitiful scene I had orchestrated. "Away, young Master. Come away."

The streets blurred together as I followed Sceleritas' sure-footed steps. I could hear the angry shouts and the calls for justice as the sheep turned to wolves. Tears burned my eyes as I considered stopping and submitting to my fate. I deserved it. I deserved to be torn apart just like I'd torn the blacksmith apart or any of the others before him. I was a monster.

Sceleritas turned then and slid to a halt just beneath an old archway. He scrambled, clawing the debris and dirt away from the small sewer cover. "This way!" He hissed. "We will find safety with the others!"

"With the others?"

"The worshippers of the Lord of Murder, of course!"

 "You knew where it was from the start," I bit out, glaring at the creature. 

"We haven't the time for this conversation, Master. Quickly! Come!" He screeched, desperately waving me towards the sewer entrance.

The ground shook with the rushing footsteps of the mob, a thundering anger filling the air like lightning. Grinding my teeth together, I slid through the small, dark opening and landed in the muck. The butler followed close behind, closing the opening just as quickly as he'd uncovered it. I could see the shadows of the mob pass overhead.

Sloshing through the putrid liquid, Sceleritas kept moving forward. I glared at him, using my anger to ignore how the smell burnt my nose and threatened to choke the air from my lungs. "Where are we going?"

He turned, teeth glistening in the low light. "You wished to find the temple, did you not?"

I followed him a few feet forward, watching as he flicked his clawed fingers, and an array of resting magic forced the stones ahead to part, revealing the ruins behind it. Sceleritas bowed, gesturing towards the opening. "After you, young Master."

The dark path forward appeared to be part of the city once, blocked off and locked away… Left to crumble and decay. The air hung heavy with a feeling of hopelessness, death whispers filling every crack and corridor. I followed what paths I could, weaving past fallen stone and broken statues. What had it looked like in its prime? I wondered as we passed through one intact doorway.

Stones shifted beneath quick feet, alerting me to the presence of others surrounding me. The darkness had eyes that watched me as I continued to the second door. If whatever creatures took issue with my presence, they didn't make it known. I could feel Sceleritas' excitement. "Friends of yours?"

"Friends of yours, Master," he replied. "Soon to be subjects if all goes to plan."

I turned my head to glance at him, so many questions wanting to rise from my throat, but none of them could. How many years have you led me astray? I wondered. How long was spent pulling at my strings for this plan?

A shallow river of sewage split the large room in two, forcing me down the right-hand path that looked to have been patched up with wood scraps. Whoever it was that had taken up residence here had clearly put work into trying to remain inconspicuous. The twists and turns should have confused me, but my feet felt steady… Like I already knew the way.

As I stepped out into a larger clearing, the stench of sewage faded slightly. Water trickled from cracks above, and the ruins grew more solid. "This was the Undercity," I observed, peering up the old stairs that had long been barricaded off. 

Sceleritas stood beside a circular platform, flicking his fingers again and lighting two hanging braziers. "A wretched place." He hummed carefully. "But, like most ruins, it wasn't always such." Waving his hand, I could see a marvel in his eyes. "It was a glorious temple once. A place of the highest caliber! Worshipers would come from near and far to pay homage, and many found a home here."

"What happened?" I asked, a wave of solemn sorrow softening my voice.

Sceleritas shook his head with a bitter sneer on his lips. "Many things. The worshipers of Bhaal have been culled many times throughout the ages."

"Like the Bhaalspawn." I shook my head and looked at the butler with teary eyes. "Is that what I am?"

"You are-"

"Perfect," I interrupted him. "I know, you've said that before. But answer me this, please, Sceleritas?"

With a humble nod, he finally replied. "You are one of the last living Bhaalspawn. The Lord of Murder's flesh and blood."

My teeth ground together. All this time I'd spent searching, looking for answers, and the one person that had been with me from the start had them all along. "Why not tell me this from the start?"

"You were not ready then," he replied with a sigh. "You may still not be ready."

"Well, what happens now?" I asked.

Sceleritas only grinned. "You open the door."

The tall door blended in with the surrounding stone, only really noticeable but the too-perfect cracks where the two sides met, tightly sealed. As I approached, I had an itching feeling that this would not be as simple as my loyal companion made it seem. Pressing on them with my hand, nothing moved, but a voice echoed around us in a soft but powerful whisper.

"Do you have proof of your faith to our lord?"

"Proof?" I questioned with furrowed brows. "How does one present proof of faith?"

Sceleritas cleared his throat and pointed to my still-bloody dagger. "You've all the proof you need, dear Master."

I unsheathed it, grimacing at the sight of the blacksmith's blood. The image of the weeping child filled my mind. I didn't utter a word nor lift the dagger higher than my eyes, but the door saw it as if it had looked through my eyes. "A small thing, but a show of faith nonetheless. Walk in blood."

The door cracked, and the path forward appeared before me, along with a choice. I could turn back and face what I'd done. Or I could continue on this path, wherever it led me, and finally learn the truth. Sceleritas took hold of my hand and squeezed. "The choice is yours, Remora, my dear Master. I can only urge you not to run from what you are." He smiled. "I can only assure you that you are perfect, just as you are."

Bloodshed, death, murder… None of it appealed to me beyond that itch of my darker urges, but I'd killed so many. My hands were forever stained in blood, and nothing, not even facing judgment, would clean them. I'd kill again. I knew it to be true. What choice is there? I asked myself. Nothing will change unless you see this through. "It'd be a waste to turn back now." I smiled down at him and squeezed his hand back. "Besides, what would I do without my most loyal butler?"

We walked hand in hand down the decrepit staircase where the abandoned stone building came into view, nestled overtop a straight drop into nothingness. Sceleritas led me over the bridge of fallen pillars and through a low archway. I held his hand tightly in mine, using his presence as some reassurance to ease the fear and hopelessness rising in my chest. No matter what I found here, Sceleritas would be beside me. He always was.

Bright red lights illuminated as we traversed the winding, bloodstained path. Statues spoke to me, but I couldn't grasp their words beyond the sound of my heart hammering against my ribcage. The bridge stretched across, lit with fire and dark magic. Up a small set of stairs, another door stood closed. Sceleritas released my hand and skipped up the steps, turning to bow before me. "Oh, my Master! Welcome! Welcome to your royal home!"

The doors opened behind him as if on their own accord. Now or never. I ascended the stairs and walked through the doorway with my head held high. From the high ledge, I could see every corner of the room, the lights and the bodies of people gathered, but what I noticed most was the large pool of blood that stood on the opposite side of the room where a skull with bleeding eyes had been carved into the stone. 

Bhaal. My father, if Sceleritas had spoken the truth. With another deep breath, I moved past the robed figures and down towards the center of this congregation. As I passed, the cultists whispered praises, words of great joy at my arrival. Sparing Sceleritas a glance, I quickly asked, "They were expecting us?"

"You, Master," he happily replied. "They've been expecting you for quite some time."

"Praised be the Lord of Murder!" One of them softly exclaimed. 

An odd feeling of warmth suddenly erased the fear from my body. Never before had I been waited on… Met with soft words of joyous welcomes. They wanted me here. They felt some kind of love for me, and I enjoyed it. "They… like me?”

Sceleritas scoffed. "They adore you, Master!"

At the bottom of the steps, all the cultists bowed their heads. "Welcome home, Bhaalspawn. We have waited a very long time for this day."

"What day?"

The woman, who seemed to be the eldest, chuckled. "For you to ascend and take your place as Bhaals Chosen, of course!" She turned, gesturing to the pool of blood. "Go on, submerge yourself, and all shall be revealed."

By my side, Sceleritas urged me to go forward into the blood. My dark, featherless reflection hovered over the thick liquid. There was a moment of hesitation, a moment where I knew deep inside me that this wasn't what I wanted. Sceleritas' voice was soft as he seemed to answer my deepest fears. "Do not deny what you are, Remora. For it is beautiful, beloved, holy. You are perfect, just as you are."

I took the first step, giving into the deepest desire to be loved and accepted. Maybe this was the only way for something like me to achieve such. Maybe this was always what I was meant for. As the blood enveloped me, I felt warm… Safe… Powerful. Flashes of bodies torn apart and skulls growing from trees filled my vision. "Child of blood, go forth with divine purpose."

When I emerged again, the first thing I heard was Sceleritas clapping. Then, all that stood before me bowed. "All hail Bhaal's Chosen!"

This was my future - my life. All the years I'd spent trying to be anything other were wasted. Thief. Urchin. Whore. Murderer. Assassin. Monster. Demon. All those years of fighting, scraping, bowing, resisting… It had all been futile. This was what I was, who I was. Bhaalspawn.

Bhaal's Chosen.

[the-widow-sisters]

Could you do Nat and Kate with the prompt “That’s the worst reason I’ve ever heard to kiss somebody.”? 😊

A/N: Thank you so, so much for this request!!! I know I've been terribly behind on requests, but I'm trying to catch back up with them 💖 I've recently gotten a little inspiration to write, so I'm trying to run with it 😂

I hope y'all enjoy! 💗

Word Count: 1.4k+

   “That’s the worst reason I’ve ever heard to kiss somebody,” Kate raised her eyebrows, unable to help a slight chuckle, and Natasha shrugged.

   “At the time, it was a very good reason,” Natasha pointed out, looking out over the parking lot as she eyed the people passing by.

   Currently, Natasha and Kate were sitting in the car as they waited for Yelena and Carol to come back in from the store. Yelena had not originally aimed to go because Carol was the only one getting something from this place since she had wanted new shoes, but after she had picked on Yelena relentlessly before leaving to go inside, she had finally convinced her little buddy to come with her.

   So now Natasha and Kate were sitting there passing the time talking and people-watching. Kate had asked Natasha to tell her a story about times gone by, and Natasha thought of a good one about her and Steve when they had been working together when HYDRA had taken over S.H.I.E.L.D.

   “Well, I mean, yeah, I guess it makes sense logically with the whole undercover aspect, but like… kissing your friend to make enemies uncomfortable and keep them from looking at you,” Kate shook her head, rubbing her face, and Natasha could not help a slight smirk.

   “And this is Steve Rogers? Like Captain America?” Kate checked, and Natasha nodded.

   “Yeah… He was so flustered,” Natasha reminisced, unable to help a laugh as she thought of how he had reacted on that escalator when she had pulled that move.

   “Was it his first kiss?” Kate questioned curiously, raising an eyebrow as she leaned forward a little. Natasha huffed.

   “I think it was pretty close to his first,” Natasha grinned widely, and Kate shook her head, still completely surprised.

   “Wow… Did you have feelings for him?” Kate asked curiously, and Natasha shook her head instantly, her smile softening just a little as she answered Kate.

   “Not at all. He’s like a brother to me,” Natasha confessed, and Kate nodded slowly, taking it all in.

   “Oh… Did he have feelings for you?” Kate asked, her eyes on Natasha as she waited with bated breath for her next answer.

   “Not as far as I know,” Natasha stated.

   “But you don’t know,” Kate clarified, finding herself far too invested in this story considering the fact that she had never really considered Steve and Natasha in this sort of light before. While they definitely had no romantic feelings for one another at this point in their lives with Steve happily in a relationship with Carol, Kate still could not help but wonder about the past now.

   “Well, I can’t know for sure because I still haven’t quite developed the ability to read minds,” Natasha joked, her voice warm as her eyes practically glowed with a soft mirth and affection from where she was sitting in the driver’s seat.

   “But we were never together if that’s what you were wondering. I love him, but I’ve never felt that way about him,” Natasha explained, her head leaning back against the seat where she had reclined it. Her feet were resting up on the dash around the steering wheel whereas Kate kept her feet in the floorboard.

   While Natasha was not overly fond of her car Phil and did not really care too much about what happened to him, Kate did not want to get dirt anywhere except for the floorboard. She respected Natasha too much for that.

   “You got any other stories about kisses gone wrong?”

   “That one didn’t go wrong because we technically got away, but yeah. I do have some other ones,” Natasha told her, a fond smirk on her face as she glanced over at Kate. Kate watched her, waiting patiently for the next tale that the redhead would offer her.

   “Well... One time on one of the few SHIELD missions that I was not with Clint, I had to pretend this guy I was assigned to was my grandpa. But it quickly turned into another one of those moments where we had to make people uncomfortable to keep them from realizing who I was, so—”

   “Tasha, no!” Kate cried.

   “I had to kiss him,” Natasha finished her sentence, and Kate let out a deep, horrified groan. Natasha chuckled.

   “Thankfully, we weren’t in the company of the people that we already told the grandpa-granddaughter story to, so it was mostly weird because it was a really old guy and someone a lot younger than him,” Natasha told it as if it were no big deal at all.

   Granted, Kate had daddy issues and liked guys that were a lot older than her a lot of times, but she did not have grandaddy issues.

   “My gosh, Tasha,” Kate groaned, covering her face as she was somewhere between being horrified and laughing at how that must have looked.

   “If it makes you feel any better, it was actually an agent about my age. He was just wearing one of the masks that we sometimes use to hide identities undercover,” Natasha informed her.

   “Why weren’t you wearing one? You said you were worried about being recognized,” Kate questioned, feeling a little better after hearing Natasha’s explanation.

   Natasha laughed softly, and Kate looked at her with growing curiosity. Natasha grinned at her mischievously, such fondness and warm teasing in her gaze that it took Kate aback a little. Kate had seen Natasha gentle and open like this, but it nevertheless was always a little surprising to see. However, it always made her feel like she was among Natasha’s very few most special people.

   “Because sometimes I like to live life on the wild side,” she admitted, and Kate huffed as she shook her head.

   Natasha reached out, squeezing the back of Kate’s neck lovingly with a laugh before running her hand down to rest on Kate’s shoulder.

   “And people always scold me for impulsiveness.”

   “You’re just a baby, Kate,” Natasha told her, no hint of any unkindness in her words. “You’re not quite ready to play Russian roulette.”

   Kate turned her head to rest her chin on Natasha’s hand where she had it on her shoulder, and she smiled at her in spite of the fact that Natasha had basically told her that she was not ready.

   It was such a rare and special thing for her and Natasha to have time together to themselves, and she always treasured it so deeply. Just judging by Natasha’s eyes, she could tell she enjoyed it a great deal as well.

   “I’m an official Avenger now,” Kate argued, and she knew that her argument was not a strong one simply based on her tone alone. Natasha shook her head.

   “Yeah, but I love you, angel. I’m not risking you, because I don’t know what I’d do with myself if anything happened to you,” Natasha expressed gently. Kate reached her hand up, shifting her chin so that it was out of the way in order to allow her own hand to touch Natasha’s.

   “I’d be fine.”

   “I know. You’re my brave girl. But I just can’t risk you,” Natasha informed her, and Kate just huffed a little.

   However, before Kate could say anything else, Kate’s door suddenly opened.

   “Get out of my seat, Little Bishop,” Yelena grumbled, and Kate could hear Carol laughing as she started to get into the back.

   “Okay, okay,” Kate got out as she let Yelena get into the front seat. When Kate slid into the back, she looked over at Carol who currently had her head thrown back as she laughed heartily.

   “What happened?” Natasha asked finally, a certain fond exasperation in her voice as she addressed Yelena.

   “I don’t want to talk about it,” Yelena grunted, and Carol sobered just enough to try to tell Natasha in-between laughs.

   “She took her shoes off and there was this guy in there, and—”

   “Don’t you dare!!!”

   “He asked her how much for foot pics,” Carol finished, starting to cackle anew.

   “I TOLD YOU NOT TO SAY IT!!!” Yelena practically screeched, and Kate winced a little as she looked at Yelena’s face where she had turned around in her seat to glare at Carol.

   Natasha groaned deeply, and Kate shook her head, trying to stay out of it as Yelena started smacking Carol’s knee. She then looked up at the rearview mirror, seeing Natasha looking at her fondly. Kate offered her a huff and a shrug as she smiled.

   At least they had a moment of peace to talk.

[caitsyoi]

So I checked out this sci-fi movie that I saw recommended, and holy fucking shit was it depressing. It was really, really good, but also one of the most depressing movies I've ever seen. I probably should have googled it before watching. Just...Holy fuck. Spoilers below the cut because I don't want to inflict this on anyone else without warning. I just need to vent this out.

Seriously, this movie is incredibly depressing. Massive spoilers below.

The movie is called Aniara. It has really cool cover art, pretty trippy tbh. That is the happiest thing about this movie.

It's about a future where the Earth is mostly uninhabitable, and anyone with money takes a ship to Mars. Mars isn't much better, but at least you can live there. Our main character works on the ship. Specifically, she is in charge of this AI that harnesses people's memories so that they can check out from reality and into Earth as it used to be. It's kind of like soma for people in this universe, although it is just one of many things to entertain them.

The trip should take 3 weeks, but an accident causes it to veer off course, and effectively, they lose all ability to steer the ship. This causes them to be sent off into space with no immediate hope of getting back to Earth or go to Mars.

This movie does a perfect job of giving you hope and then crushing it to dust. First, there is hope that they will pass a planet that can turn them around, then there is hope that they can salvage fuel from a rocket they cross paths with, and finally, worst of all, there is hope that they will at least have each other. Absolutely none of these things work out, and each time, it's in the most devastating way.

The first thing to go wrong is that the AI people increasingly use to take a break from reality, finally breaks. It doesn't just break, the AI learns and spends so much time in the minds of these depressed people (depressed about the dying earth even before they were depressed about their situation), that it commits suicide. It starts writing depressing poetry and then dies because people refuse to leave it alone. And this is just the beginning, y'all.

There is some hope, our main character loves a pilot (wlw romance but...just wait), and they finally get together. It is one of the few moments of happiness because they are happy together (as happy as one can be), and the way they get together is kinda sweet (for this movie). They have super sweet shower sex and my God, I just wanted things to be OK for them.

This story is told in time jumps: the 1st day, 3 weeks later, 3 years later, 5 years later, 10 years later, 24 years later, and finally 5,000 years later. At 3 weeks, our main character learns that there is no planet they can use to turn around, and as far as anyone knows, they will travel along in this ship until everyone is dead. At 3 years, the AI dies, and she is tossed in ship jail because she is blamed for it. Pilot lady comes to her defense, and they get together while in jail. Another year goes by and they are released because so many people have killed themselves and they need workers. Pilot lady goes back to the control deck, main character is assigned to teach the brightest children how to operate the ship. The two get to live together in a nice cabin, and things are sorta happy for a minute.

Oh yeah, they don't run out of air or oxygen because they have a bunch of algae they use to make both. It's unpleasant on the food side, but they can live with it.

Cults start to form amongst the survivors, one of which is dedicated to the AI. Main character and pilot lady join a service where there is an orgy and pilot lady gets pregnant. Pilot lady is understandably depressed because the baby is gonna be born into this dying ship going nowhere. However, jump to 5 years and they are raising a baby, and there is some hope again! They find a rocket thing and there is hope they can get fuel from it!

...but of course, it doesn't work out. Content warning content warning content warning for suicide. Don't read anymore if you don't want to read about this.

So main character devotes her energy to sorta recreating the AI, or at least part of it. She makes it so pretty images from earth can be projected outside their windows. She did this because she wanted to cheer up her pilot lady wife and give a little sunlight to the kid. Just as she finishes it, she finds out that her wife has killed herself and her baby. I knew it was hopeless, but this still stung like a mofo.

Cut to 10 years later, and the remaining survivors gather together for an award ceremony. Everyone looks depressed as fuck. Main character is given an award for the pretty images and everyone looks dead inside. Main character goes back to her now empty depression cabin and goes to sleep. Oh yeah, the algae is also contaminated.

Cut to 24 years later, the last remaining survivors (maybe 10 or so people including main character lady) are gathered together in the dead AI room, and they are praying to the sun while in the darkness of this dying ship.

Cut to 5,000 years later, and they are all dust on a dead ship, a sarcophagus. The dead ship FINALLY passes by a planet that looks as lovely as Earth used to be. The end.

The hopelessness of their journey is so depressing. The realization that we had such a good thing going on earth and we ruined it is depressing. What was the point of going to Mars even? They would just spend their lives consuming to bury the pain of their reality. Mars is cold and barely can grow anything anyway. We had one shot with the Earth, one beautiful place to live in, and we destroyed it. What is the good of space travel if we can't go to another planet like Earth? How pointless it is that a ship actually makes it to another habitable planet, but there is no one to live on it? Love can't fix this reality. Nothing can at this point. The inhabitants of the ship are just waiting to die in their own tomb.

Holy shit did this depress the hell out of me. I think the movie is very well made but it has depressed me so bad that I can't sleep. At least venting this out was some relief. If you are still reading this, then I am sorry I inflicted this on you.

[pokemonxhyperfixation]

So, in my mind, I’m conceptualizing a Touhou based Pokemon Region, so I’mma post the starters (in their unevolved forms) to see what people think.

As a quick baseline thing, I decided against doing a fire/water/grass trio in favor of a flying/fighting/rock trio since that felt more interesting. Also they’re all at least mostly based on Touhou characters, obviously.

First

Brellapole

The Tadpole Pokemon

Flying type

Dex entry: Brellapole are creatures with a natural buoyant body, similar to a balloon, which they use to float around the region. They steer themselves using the umbrella like horn on their head. They catch prey using their long tongue which is covered in a sticky saliva. Brellapole are known for their habit of trying to scare passersby’s for fun, though they aren’t very good at it.

Abilities: Intimidate/Jumpscare (which is just special intimidate).

Hidden Ability: Sticky Hold

Rough Stat concept: Fast Hp tank. Good defenses, Really high HP (Like base 90 in this stage), and unreasonably high speed for a tanky starter.

Next

Maskimote

The Masking Pokemon

Fighting Type

Dex Entry: A strange species of bird like pokemon that hangs around towns in the Gensokai region. Maskimote always wear masks over their face, to the point that nobody has ever seen a Maskimote without their mask. Given the mask, Maskimote are not very expressive facially, but rather express themselves through dance. Maskimote are very anti-social animals, not liking crouds. Their tail is tipped with a long blade they use for hunting prey and self defence. Despite the wings on their body, they lack any form of flight.

Abilities: Oblivious/Long Reach

Hidden Ability: Own Tempo

Rough Stat Concept: Fast mixed attacker. Higher Physical attack then special, though they are very close.

Finally

Jiprentice (I spelled the name wrong on the drawing lol)

The Statue Pokemon

Rock Type

Dex Entry: Jiprentice are a Pokemon known for hanging around frequently used forest roads and trails. People of the Gensokai region frequently make offering of food and money to Jiprentice they find in the wild, due to the belief that these offerings will bring them good fortune. While Jiprentice are very sedentary creatures that move from their position very infrequently, they are far from inactive, practicing their magic day and night in order to improve.

Abilities: Solid Rock/Sap Sipper

Hidden Ability: Stall (Thankfully all these starters have their hidden abilities change on evolution lol)

Rough Stat Concept: It's a rock type. High Defenses, Low speed, the only real stand out thing is that it's a special attacker rather than physical. (It's physical attack isn't BAD per say, but it is worse than its special.)

So yeah, there's the starters! Based (loosely) off Kogasa, Kokoro, and Narumi respectively. Maskimote also takes loose inspiration from Yippees/Austism Creatures for no reason other than my inability to think of a better way to make the collection of 66 masks into a creature. I have actually designed the evolution to Bellapole (that was actually the first pokemon I drew for the whole dex), but I'll not post it now.

Kinda curious about which of these three idiots y'all would pick.

[okmissgirl]

Absolutely Normal Nonsense

HEHE I'm still alive and this some real nonsense y'all 💀

Also happens to fulfill the Future catagory for HellCheer Aniversary Week day 4.

<- Last Nonsense

——————————————————————————————————

🥜 Sweet Nothings (and sour somethings) 🥒

To you I can admit

That I’m just too soft for all of it

“You gotta try it with peanut butter.” 

“I — what?” 

“Take your spoon, scoop some of it up—”

“Is this—?”

“Nuh-uh, you have to get a lot more. Like a heaping scoop. Here, let me—”

“Sweetheart, I know the logistics of it, I can… okay that’s — Chrissy that’s just straight up peanut butter.”

“But it tastes good! Especially when you spread a bunch on top of the pickle and the juice is still there, ugh, the contrast is phenomenal… I feel like I’ve ascended or something.” 

“Ascended? Peanut butter and pickles is a religious experience for you?” 

“Yes and I am a staunch believer and no sacrilege will be permitted in my house, so here comes the um, starfighter airplane jet thing… and…” 

“Wha— don’t just! Baby, I am agnostic at best—” 

“And you will see the light and be compelled if you would only open wide—”

“Ok princess, first, before I poison myself, how did you go from oreo and peanut butter cookies to this?”

“...put it in your mouth first.”

“Wh— I am not—”

“Please? Pretty please? For me?” 

“Oh baby doll, you’re so sweet. No.” 

“But—”

“No ma’am.”

“Ed-die!” 

“Chris-sy!”

“Give it a chance, the flavors, the textures — look at me baby, would I ever steer you wrong?”

“...”

“Eddie!” 

“Sorry, but I am very sure you would, case in point, I can’t even see the beaten path right now—” 

“Oh boo, where’s your sense of adventure? Where’s the man I fell madly in love with who used to do those disgusting beer kegs in college and use the same towel every week for months?” 

“Jesus Christ, woman — that dumbass is dead. Hallelujah.”

“But I want him back! Just for tonight? C’mon sweetie, one lick.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I’ll eat the rest?” 

“And you’ll tell me who put you up to this? I brought that jar yesterday — there are only three pickles left mamacita — I know you’ve been going to town on these all day. That acid reflux is gonna be righteous tonight.”

“I promise it’s 8/10 worth the heartburn — that’s how good they are! … And I was bored, so…” 

“Bored?”

“Eh okay well, not completely, but that’s besides the point! Try it? Please?” 

“Ughhh, fine, fine…”

“Really?! Aw, Eddie—!”

“Hmm, since you asked so nicely… bottoms up, I guess…” 

“Hehe, enjoy…”

“...”

“...and?”

“Uh, cool your jets — I gotta analyze the flavor, the texture and all that shit…” 

“Oh… well, hurry up!” 

“My word, where is your patience, Christine? Hmm, I guess… it’s um… huh.” 

“Huh?”

“...s’not bad.” 

“Not bad? So that means… you like it?”

“I do not hate it.” 

“You love it!”

“It’s palatable, princess.” 

“See!! Oh my gosh, I told you! I told you, it’s the fucking contrast — like peanut butter and jelly!” 

“Uh, strong comparison, but I get what you’re saying. Now, who rummaged through our cupboards and got pickle juice all up in the peanut butter jar? ‘Cause I know it wasn’t you — that’s something you’d get mad at me for.”

“Well… Robin came over…” 

“Of course. Of course — you know, I walked into that one. Like in the back of my mind I thought “Eddie, what if it’s Bucklely who’s eating all your shit?” and at the time I didn’t wanna believe it but, tsk… should’ve known.”

“What! How could you say that? Robin’s so much fun!” 

“Yeah, until she starts packing our food in tupperware boxes and taking it to her place.” 

“She does not do that.”

“I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, Missus Munson.” 

“Edward Munson! You know how boring it is, staying at home 24/7?! All I ever do is fold, wash, and dry all the clothes we brought and then dig out some more for tomorrow to fold again and then I eat and watch reruns of Seinfeld. I try to cook but then my feet hurt. I try to drive to the grocery store but no, I can’t get behind the freaking wheel! I want to practice the stretches we learned in class so I put on exercise videos but I can’t even follow along with them! I sit there like a beached whale! There’s no one to call and everyone’s at work except me! There’s nothing to do, I’m slowly going out of my mind and, and… you know what, give me that—”

“What are you — hey! I was gonna—”

“NO! You don’t deserve a peanut butter pickle! Shame on you, making fun of me like that when Robin was so kind to come over and watch a movie with me, help make cookies, and introduce both of us to this delicious delicacy. You should be thankful!”

“Aw Chris, I am thankful; just didn’t know you had it so rough baby—”

“Ey! Get away, you! Don’t try to kiss me! I’ll stick this glob of peanut butter in your hair—”

“No you won’t.”

“I will.” 

“Uh, okay… I’ll just eat it off, but sure. “

“Eddie!” 

“Okay, okay pretty girl — I’m thankful that Buckley broke into our house so you could have some adventure for the day—”

“— I mean, you told her where the house key is buried, so that’s kinda on you—

“However, I’m at your beck and call whenever you need me.” 

“... I guess.” 

“You guess?” 

“I dunno, Munson. The way you look at those campaign sheets sometimes… kinda has me worried, is all…” 

“Perish the thought, fair maiden! For I find you tantalizing, bewitching — the object of many a man’s desire but alas, you are mine, Christine, and I’ll fall upon my own sword if there ever is a day I find myself blind to such godlike beauty…” 

“... hmm…” 

“Hmm? Too much?”

“No… I never said that… “

“Then pray tell… hmm, what? Is it a secret? Would you whisper in my ear? Don’t be afraid, you can tell me…” 

“No, no secrets here.”

“Oh…? “ 

“I do have a question though.” 

“And I await with bated breath to hear it.” 

“.... you fancy me a goddess, good sir?”

“Of course I... yes.”

“Am I to believe I am just a simple spirit you found looking into the glade?” 

“N-no, never you are not just any goddess. You are more brilliant than Aphrodite herself.” 

“You swear?” 

“On my life…” 

“...”

“... Chris—”

“Alright, help me get down from here.” 

“Oh! Uh, sure, but why do you—”

“Honestly, my ass is getting numb and I didn’t really think this through once I actually got up here so…” 

“Well, can’t have a sore ass on my watch, sweetheart — just lift your—”

“I’m heavier than before okay, so be careful with you back and don’t—”

“Pfft, babycakes you weigh 30 pounds soaking wet as we speak… there we go. Hmm.. I kinda like it, actually.” 

“Like what?”

“You know…” 

“I don’t, actually.” 

“Well… I’ve been meaning to ask… is my queen gonna claim her throne tonight?”

“... Eddie—”

“I’ve been waiting. Thirsting. Praying fervently that I could show my fealty to you once more. So… please…I—” 

“What… what if I’m… I’m not… too…”

“Never, never… ah… never, Christine…”

“Shi… I… okay.”

“Okay?”

“Please.” 

Oftentimes, Eddie is struck by the fact that he gets to come home to Chrissy Munson née Cunningham everyday. To find his wife sitting on the kitchen counter, scooping peanut butter onto a pickle stick, so far removed from the hustle and bustle of his chaotic workday. But he guesses that’s natural. 

He hopes the feeling lasts a lifetime. 

*BONUS*

“fifty-eight one-thousand, fifty-nine one-thousand… and… okay… okay, that’s…”

“...Chrissy? Chris, what are you doing in the shower? Is everything okay…? Cause uh, I woke up and your side of the bed was like wet with… something. I didn’t smell it or anything but uhh… you can wake me up when stuff like that happens. I know it’s normal and I can help—”

“Eddie! You thought I wet the bed? I’m no child!”

“Well yeah, I know that… but you’re also—”

“I’m in labor. Well, I’m pretty sure I am, at least. My water broke in bed.” 

“...what.” 

“Yeah, I woke up and it was like, everywhere, and it kept dripping down my legs… kinda gross. I wanted to take a shower.”

“Wha… holy fuck, can you rewind to, uh, Jesus… um, are you really, seriously—”

“Yup, I think so. Can you help me get out of here please?”

“Uh, uh, okay, yeah, no problem I can — I can do that.”

“Great!”

“Shit… maybe we shouldn't have done so much last night?” 

“No. We do a lot most nights. I don’t think that made a difference here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Honestly? I think it was the pickles.”

[cryptid-artha]

I have a friend who is going through absolute hell because some unhinged kid decided to stalk them and make their life hell. From my understanding, this kid tried to initiate all sorts of inappropriate interactions, which this friend turned down cold. I'm not sure on all the context, but the friend did everything right. Turning the kid down, not shaming the kid, treating the kid like a human being. I believe there was a story-based group RP they were both involved in and some interactions between their characters? But I'm still not entirely sure on the details, just that the kid was taking completely normal stuff and forcing it into a very creepy direction. It got to the point where the friend would interact in the server, but ignore the kid, but the kid kept trying and trying to come on to this friend, even after the friend blocked them. As is perfectly normal for teens, the kid, at least this is what I think may have happened, got a crush on my friend. And of course, no adult in their right mind is going to reciprocate nor encourage such feelings, and of course the kid got rejected. The adult in question did not, in fact, have any feelings for this 13 year old child. As is normal and to be expected from an adult. What is not normal, however, is this kid turning around and making this friend's life a living hell, getting them thrown out of every single community they get involved in with unfounded allegations. Things like.... cracking a dirty joke in a public server to another person while the kid just happened to be in the same server being twisted into a targeted attack with cherry-picked and altered screenshots. A joke, mind you, more mild than the ones the kid himself cracked constantly. Things as simple as... this person has adult content art in their gallery... under an adult content filter, not shared in any public spaces. Being twisted into them showing this art to the kid simply because he found their account, lied about his age to bypass the filters, and actively sought out and viewed the adult content in their gallery. Things like the kid trying to initiate inappropriate conversations and the adult ignoring it or steering it away being twisted into the adult encouraging it and "gr/ooming" the kid. And screenshots of the kid behaving creepily being twisted into evidence that the adult was encouraging it, when the adult was actually actively disengaging and trying to ignore the kid’s advances and talk about other stuff to other people. Many of these screenshots taken after they blocked the kid because his behavior was making them very uncomfortable. Kids having crushes on adults is normal. And it is our responsibility, as adults, to not reciprocate, not encourage it, but also not shame the kid for having these normal feelings. Kid crushes are going to happen, it’s a part of growing up. It’s going to happen no matter what. I had a huge crush on one of my teachers when I was a kid, and nothing unsafe ever came from it because the teacher did not reciprocate but still treated me like a human being. 

It's the adult's responsibility to handle it in a way that is safe for the kid without making the kid feel ashamed of something they can’t help. The kid might be upset at their crush saying no, but it is safer for the kid in the long run, and the right thing to do. Which is exactly what my friend did, did not reciprocate any of the kid’s advances, at all. What is not normal, is kids twisting it around and using it to hurt innocent people. Y'all need to stop always taking the kid's side on these things and actually make sure you know the context before acting to take down somebody who is innocent and was trying to do the right thing. Some of these kids just crave the pity and attention they get from spouting these accusations. Sometimes they have untreated trauma of their own that they are taking out on innocent adults whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The kid gets pity and positive attention, and suffers no consequences... All the while, the person being accused of gr/ooming and being a creep gets their life utterly ruined, even when it is completely untrue and they have proof of it being untrue. People don’t look at their proof, they don’t actually listen to their side at all. The adult loses their friends. They can lose their job, they can even get into legal trouble. They get pushed out of every social circle they are in. They lose their ability to make money from their art because they get connected to the accusations the kid spouted and people can’t just change their art style and rebrand, because they’ll always get ratted out and canceled. Trying to face the accusations and prove them wrong is never enough, or seen as wrong. Trying to stay quiet and let it blow over doesn’t work and is seen as wrong. It always comes back to haunt them. Trying to simply distance themselves and rebrand, letting their old name die doesn’t work and is seen as wrong… they are literally stuck in a situation they are unable to get out of. Their mental health gets chipped away, because wherever they go, these accusations follow them. They can be completely untrue. Completely unfounded, with no actual proof, but people just blindly believe everything they are told and ignore the person’s proof otherwise. And that hurts innocent people. Do not be so quick to villainize and cancel somebody. There are always two sides of a story. Is there actual proof that somebody did something bad? Then yes, spread the news if you feel they are an active danger to kids online. Keep them out of your communities, especially if there are kids around. But if there's no proof... if it's just word of mouth, ignore it. Or, at the very least, ask for the other person's side of the story. Don’t just jump to conclusions from only one side of the story.

Of course, this goes without saying, don’t completely discount every kid that comes forward about inappropriate actions taken towards or around them. Make sure that kids can feel safe around you and in spaces you are a part of or moderate, but please, please actually step back and look at both sides of the story to make sure an innocent person isn’t getting caught up in all this.

[blurrypetals]

Bride by Ali Hazelwood

originally posted oct. 14, 2024 - ★☆☆☆☆

Oof. Or, should I say, woof.

I really have to stop taking book recommendations from Facebook and Instagram Reels (sorry, not a TikTok user). I've never read any of Ali Hazelwood's work. Something about the covers just set off alarm bells for me, like a poisonous plant flagging its toxic nature to those who see it, so I steered clear. This book, however, seemed not only directly up my alley, but had a cool cover that seemed to say: hey, this book is different from her other work.

How wrong I was.

This book and I immediately started off on the wrong foot when it was revealed the book is, for a reason I cannot comprehend, set in the modern day. Nothing about the synopsis indicates this and the worldbuilding is so god-awful, it doesn't matter one single bit that it's set in the modern day at all, beyond talking about phones and internet.

It's not that having a vampire (ahem, sorry, vampyre) and werewolf romance set in the modern day is inherently bad, it just does not fit the plot at all and it isn't used to the story's advantage either, so it just feels awkward and out of place. Why do these werewolves have spyware? Spywerewolves. Stupid.

Also, this is, uh...allegedly supposed to be enemies to lovers? Where are the enemies? They just seem like slow-burn friends, for fuck's sake. Lowe also has like, no personality and while Misery has a personality, it's poorly-written and overdone. The sex was also extremely lame, and everything about his knot (which I wasn't prepared for one single bit) made me laugh so hard, so uncomfortably. Holy shit, y'all, this book was so fucking weird and stupid.

The side-characters are all absolutely wildly undercooked, too. Ana is quite literally every precocious child character I've ever read about, especially the badly-written ones. I also really don't understand how Misery so cartoonishly hates children (to the point where she can't tell the difference between a 3-year-old and a 13-year old? Excuse me?) except for this one kid because she's so special.

And speaking of children, the worldbuilding was so wild, it felt like a toddler who just learned what werewolves and vampires were trying to tell me what they were like: So, uh, the werewolves and vampires don't like each other, and the vampires are spelled with a Y instead of an I, and the werewolves have green blood, and the vampires like the sun but it can still hurt them and—

I couldn't stand this book. I don't understand why it's popular, but that's been the same song and dance for me all year, it seems. The characters were flat, boring, and had zero chemistry, even when they were fucking, the worldbuilding is absolutely laughable, some of the funniest shit I've read all year, and the writing is awful. It's incredible how bad this all is.

Thanks, but no thanks, Ali Hazelwood. I should have known this would be a poisonous plant, too, and stayed far away.