#i just undid an hours worth of work

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

Cross-stitch really does make you reconsider whether or not you understand basic maths. Like yeah, I know the difference between 4 and 5, definitely. Ignore me as I undo several stitches.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Sugar Daddy Chronicles, Part One/?

pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller/dave york/marcus pike x sex worker/sugar baby!reader

rating: E (18+ only, this is just filth, sex work, unprotected piv, foursome, anal, oral (f & m receiving), the boys use their words)

wc: 2k

a/n: i wrote this for the SWEETEST ANGEL IN THE WORLD @emilianamason and her birthday. te amo hermanita y feliz cumple !!! 🫶🏼

You’d met Dave by chance. During a short stint working as a bartender at an upscale bar, Dave came in looking as serious as ever in his expensive coat and suit—a prime target for a solid tip if you played your cards right. Thankfully, Dave turned out to be quite handsome and charming, his dark eyes and deep voice drawing you in until you no longer cared about the tip you were working for. All you wanted was him. When he took you home that night, he explained his recent divorce and inability to carry on something serious at the moment, and you accepted the fact that this would be a one night thing. But Dave had something else in mind.

“You come and see me when I call,” he said, dragging his lips down the line of your neck as he undid your bra. “I make it worth your while.”

“How?” you asked, your voice breathy and dazed.

“Anything you want,” he said. “Anything. Ask for it, and it’s yours.”

“Like…sexually?” you asked, earning a chuckle.

“Anything. Sex, money, jewelry, whatever,” he said.

And that was how your new career began.

It was just Dave for a while, but during a particularly long business trip of his, you found yourself wondering what it would be like to open your clientele up a bit, still keeping things incredibly selective, of course.

That’s how you met Joel, a gruff, single dad who owned a contracting company that had only just taken off after his fortieth birthday. Joel was an easy client. He knew exactly what he wanted from you, never pushed your boundaries, and always compensated you handsomely for your time together—not that the payment was even on your mind by the time he was through with you. Joel liked things rough most of the time—not so rough that he ever hurt you, but rough enough to leave a satisfying ache between your legs for a day or two after. And though he was rough, he loved taking the time to work up to it, telling you that he’d happily keep his head between your thighs for hours if he could, and you’d often let him.

Once Dave came back, he introduced you to a distant coworker and friend he met at a conference, Marcus, another government agent of some sort—he kept the specifics of his job discreet and separated from your arrangement, just like Dave. Marcus came to you for stress relief, and his favorite form of stress relief involved near-torturous teasing and edging until he couldn’t remember his own name. But Marcus was unlike Dave and Joel in that he liked the extra stuff that they didn’t: cuddling, kissing, conversation. He wanted to be your friend as well as your client, and who were you to deny those sweet eyes of his?

One night after a particularly athletic session, Dave had asked you who your favorite client was and why. Judging by the confidence in his voice, you knew he expected you to tell him that he was your favorite by a long shot, but truthfully, it was hard to compare them all. Dave was passionate and kinky, Joel was rough and giving, and Marcus was attentive and precise. All of them were your favorite, you thought.

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging as you tugged your jeans over your hips. “Hard to choose. I’d need to…I don’t know.”

“Need to what?” he probed, watching you from his spot on the bed.

“Need to have you all in one place to judge,” you said, giving him a mildly embarrassed smile. “But that—“

“That’s a good idea,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “I’ll win.”

You laughed at his confidence and shook your head. “Too bad we’ll never find out,” you said, pulling on your shoes.

“Why not?” You gave Dave a quirked brow. “I’m in.”

“I don’t think they’d be into it.”

“Why not ask? Worst thing they could say is no,” he said. You felt yourself start to melt at the idea of being surrounded by the three of them in bed, each of them competing to win you over and make you feel good. It was a good idea, but could you ever convince the other two?

Turns out, you could. And now you were laying spread eagle on a hotel bed recovering from two orgasms brought on by Dave and Marcus’ tongues. Dave now laid on your right, Marcus on your left, while Joel laid on his stomach between your thighs, pushing you over another peak.

“Fuck,” you cried, tossing your head back to give Dave access to his favorite spot on your neck, his hand cupping the weight of your breast while Marcus mouthed at the other, his hand on your thigh keeping you spread open for Joel. “You win,” you breathed, pushing his tongue away as you shook with every swirl of his tongue against you. “God, I don’t know if—“

“Uh-uh,” Dave tutted in your ear, sliding his hand down your stomach to circle your clit as Marcus and Joel switched positions. “We’re just getting started.”

“Mmhm,” Joel agreed, turning your chin to draw your eyes to his. “Still wanna show you how good I fuck you.”

“Not until I’m done,” Marcus said, pulling your eyes to him as he sat between your thighs, his fist wrapped around his cock as he dragged it up and down your seam. You shivered at the feeling of him against you, somehow feeling needy again already. “Can I? Can I fuck you, baby?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back against the pillows as he nodded and pressed inside you slowly, making you feel every inch. “Fuck, Marcus.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, smiling down at you as his hands moved to the back of your thighs to push them up to your chest. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your face wrecked with pleasure as he methodically found the perfect pace and angle to fuck you just how you liked, his natural attention to detail on display. “It’s so good, Marcus. Fuck.”

“Making me jealous,” Dave purred against your shoulder, leaving a love bite there. “Have I showed you how I fuck when I’m jealous?”

His words made you whine and arch your back, drawing Marcus even deeper.

“Shit,” Marcus moaned, his fingers gripping your thighs. “So good, baby.”

“You ready to share yet?” Dave asked, clearly growing impatient.

“You want Dave, baby?” Marcus asked, slowing his thrusts into a deep grind.

“Mmhm,” you nodded eagerly, biting your lip as you looked down at where Dave was stroking his thick length. “Fuck, yeah, I do.”

“You want both of us?” Dave asked, circling your clit as Marcus kept fucking into you slowly. “Marcus fucking your pussy, me in your ass.”

You whined and nodded, choosing to shove your nerves aside in favor of Dave’s sinful plan.

Marcus helped you up and took your place on the bed, guiding you onto his lap so that you could sit on his dick while Dave got comfortable behind you, coating his head with lube he must’ve brought along with this very thing in mind before pressing against your tighter hole gently.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, whispering in your ear as he kept you still on Marcus’s lap while he eased himself inside.

“Shit, it’s so much,” you sighed, trying to relax into the feeling rather than fight it.

“Need a distraction?” Joel asked, standing up on the bed at your side, his fist working his cock until it was leaking.

“You’re definitely the biggest,” you noted in a pant, earning scoffs from the two men inside of you. “What? You told me to be honest.”

Joel smirked down at you as you reached over and wrapped your fist around him only to find that your fingertips couldn’t touch.

“See?” you said, earning a grunt from Dave as he finally bottomed out inside of you.

“That’s not really what I care about looking at here,” Marcus said, his hands smoothing up your sides until he was cupping the weight of your breasts. “How about I watch you ride instead?”

You smiled and nodded, licking your lips and leaning in to take Joel into your mouth before lifting your hips to rock against both Dave and Marcus, all three men moaning in unison at your affect on them. It was intoxicating, being desired this much by these gorgeous men. So intoxicating, you thought, you might just have to make this a normal thing.

“‘at’s it,” Joel purred, cupping your cheek as you took him in deep enough to sputter. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

“You like that, baby?” Dave asked, leaning over to whisper in your ear as he started to match your bounces with thrusts of his own. “You like how being told how good you are?”

“Yeah, she does,” Marcus chimed in, smiling at you as he watched you take Joel down your throat.

Your mind was mush, nothing but a string of muffled cries and whines and the lewd sounds of Joel fucking your throat coming out of you.

“Baby, I’m so close,” Marcus announced, his hands gripping at your waist to keep you still while he and Dave alternated sharp, quick thrusts into you, the pleasure trickling down into your thighs until your legs felt like jelly.

“Need you to cum for us,” Dave purred in your ear.

“Be a good fuckin’ girl and cum,” Joel ordered, his southern drawl deep and dark and delicious.

You pulled off of Joel right before you felt yourself slipping off into bliss, your hand stroking his slick shaft as you cried out, leaning back against Dave until it felt like you were on solid ground again.

“Can I cum inside you, baby?” Marcus asked, his voice as sweet and sinful as ever. “Look so pretty full of me, yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you agreed, thanking the heavens that birth control exists. “Cum inside me, Marcus, baby.”

“Shit,” Marcus hissed, his brows screwing together as he fucked into you selfishly, chasing his pleasure until it hit him like a truck. “Jesus.”

“Look at me,” Joel ordered, using a finger to tilt your chin up at him. “Wanna paint that pretty fuckin’ face.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, licking your lips. “Go ahead, paint it.”

Joel took his cock in his hand and stroked it, it’s slick sound filling the room along with the slap of Dave’s hips into your ass and his whispered promises of how he’s going to fill you up because you were “so fucking good for me”.

“Shit,” Joel grunted, his chest heaving and muscles flexing as he reached his peak. His tense jaw went slack as he watched his release paint your face, a moan slipping from his lips when you poked your tongue out to swipe over your lips to get a taste of him. “Fuck me.”

“You ready, baby?” Dave nipped at your shoulder before leaning back to watch himself cum inside of you with a satisfied sigh, as if this had been all he ever wanted in his whole life. “I don’t think it matters which one of us is best in bed. You’re clearly the winner here, baby.”

“Yeah?” you smiled, sated and sleepy as Joel grabbed a washcloth for your face.

“I knew that from the start,” Marcus said, combing his fingers up and down your thighs.

“So, how much is this meeting gonna cost us?” Dave asked, always one to get right to the point.

“This one’s on the house,” you said, letting Joel clean your face free of his mess.

“Not gonna happen,” Joel muttered, something equally strict and affectionate in his tone. “You earned it.”

[littleboyblue1]

Your Hand On My Neck

I don't even know what this is..

warnings: p in v, first person (i started writing this way and gave up on switching to second), I think that's all?

His hand at the base of my neck was my last straw. Every part of me was so enveloped in him, I could hardly think of anything else. From his shirt on me to him right next to me, to his thumb rubbing circles where my neck connected to my back. Marc was killing me.

I wasn't entirely sure we'd make it back to the room. In fact, maybe not even the elevator.

I leaned over and whispered, "I'm not feeling so great."

Marc looked over at me, face full of concern. "Should we go upstairs?"

I nodded eagerly. He excused us from the table and brought me to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, I was on him. Lips to his jaw, hands on his stomach and hair.

He pulled back. "Not feeling well?"

"Well, fuck, Marc. I can barely breathe when you do that!"

"Do what?" He sounded confused. Had I sounded angry?

"Put your hand on my neck like that. It really flustered me."

A smug look appeared on his face. "That so?"

I nodded, then went back to his jaw. But then the doors opened to the wrong floor. Luckily, I pulled away before the little boy turned around. Marc rudely put his hand on my neck, pulling me to the wall.

"What floor?" he asked, gently rubbing circles with his thumb. It was sufficiently driving me mad.

"Eight, please."

We rode up in silence. The man winked at me as I stepped off. I gave him my best death glare. Marc led me to our room, which he couldn't get the key to work on. I felt pretty smug myself when he handed the key over to me - it worked on the first try.

We barely made it inside the door before he was on me. He tugged at my jacket while also pushing me towards the bed. His lips on my throat had me so distracted I couldn't get the jacket off.

Finally, we got it off, then he went to work untucking my shirt. I'd forgotten a white button-up, so I borrowed his. It was significantly longer on me than him. We giggled as the shirt kept coming.

"You oughta wear these more often, baby," he muttered. He gave up on the shirt, starting on my pants instead. I kicked them off quickly.

"Take your clothes off," I ordered as I got fully naked under his shirt. I kind of felt like Tom Cruise in that one movie.

Just to torture me, I swear, Marc undid his belt and folded it up. Then he undid his tie and put it in the dresser. "I'm only gonna wait so long," I told him. He waved me off. He unbuttoned his shirt unbearably slowly. I sat down on the bed.

I guess the speed was worth it. I got to take in the glory of his upper body for a bit longer. All tan and pretty, his chest shone under the dull light of the lamps we'd left on hours ago. The dark hair littering his chest growing ever greyer as time passed.

His abs, I must say, are where I stare the longest. Not the washboard abs of superheroes or bodybuilders, but the stomach of a truly strong man. Soft, but not so soft a person would be stupid enough to test his strength.

His arms, oh god, his arms, bulge with muscle. Each movement flexes them, pulling the skin so taut the muscle might explode out. I get the urge to bite his biceps, but I resist, instead watching him finish the mini-show he's put on.

Just in his boxers is enough to get me off. With all his upper body and his legs out? Yeah, that's enough. His thighs are sculpted by the very gods who once controlled him, I swear it. I can see the tendons move in his calves as he steps over to put his clothes in the dresser. Ew, what kind of weirdo puts their clothes in hotel dressers? How did I not notice that before?

"Hello?" Marc asked, falling to his knees before me. "I was doing a little something for you there."

I laughed. "Sorry, I distracted myself." He smiled. rubbing circles into my thighs.

"You look so pretty, baby, especially in those suits. I'd follow you around the world to every one of these if I could see you wear it every day."

"Jesus, isn't that sweet?" I giggled as I pulled his face up so I could kiss him. His stubble had grown out during our week's stay - some genius forgot to pack a razor - and it tickled my cheeks.

He dropped his lips down to my jaw, then all around my throat. "I love this look, but this is coming off," he said, slowly unbuttoning it. His movements were gentle, but there was an urgency to it. His fingers were swift with the buttons.

The tips of his fingers brushed along my shoulders as he peeled the shirt off. "I really should fold this," he muttered, kissing my collarbone as he fought off his urges.

"Get it done, quick."

Marc smiled as he folded up his shirt to go in the dresser. People think Steven's the nerd, but it's totally Marc. For a moment, he got carried away folding his shirts better so he could fit them all in. I just sat criss-cross waiting for him.

When he finally turned, he had the softest smile. "How did I ever get so lucky? A woman like you waiting for me like this." He stripped his boxers and began crawling up me. I don't know what could have turned him on so much, but he was rock-hard already.

"Dunno, guess you're just lucky," I teased as I pulled his face down to mine. He laughed into my mouth.

He hiked my leg up on his hip, then bottomed out in one swift thrust. I'm not sure which of us moaned louder. "Jesus, Marc," I mumbled as he set a quick pace. He grunted with the force of his movements.

It wasn't long before I felt that familiar tug at my abdomen. By the way of Marc's thrusts, I could tell he was close too. Apparently, we'd both gotten ourselves worked up before getting around to it.

He dropped a hand down to circle my clit. The sudden stimulation made me arch up into him. He moved his free hand from my face and pulled my back up to get us closer yet. The warmth radiating off of him was so calming that my orgasm washed over me quickly.

Instead of going to his throat, I put my lips to the arm holding me up. I left marks all along his bicep - which was flexing so hard as he held me up that I could see it shake a little as he kept thrusting.

It was when I bit down a little harder that he groaned, then spilled into me without warning. "Fuck, fuck," he muttered, sloppily thrusting into me as he began relaxing a little.

I pulled him down for a kiss, tender and sweet. "I love you," I said, so sure of it, despite it being the first time I'd said it to him. His eyes widened, but then a smile relaxed his face.

"I love you too."

Marc promptly laid down on top of me, not even bothering to pull out. We fell asleep like that. His hands holding me so close to him we nearly melded into one. Mine in the beautiful curls of his hair, scratching at his scalp in the way that he likes so much.

[donnerpartyofone]

I destroyed the house. I've been slowly neatening and cleaning and making things liveable bit by bit for weeks and it's all gone. People joke about the whole Sisyphus thing and they usually mean the rat race of work and bills and not getting ahead, but when I say every day is the same I really mean it. The drawers I "fixed" have stopped closing again because I had to look for something and my "organizing" couldn't withstand that, so now we're back to square one. The clothing I sorted and washed and put away is once again in a 3' deep ocean all over the bedroom, because I had to look for something. The art and comics and little gifts people gave me that I "put away safely" is all wrecked because I had to look for something. The little bags and boxes I made to consolidate different types of things are all over the place again, because I had to look for something. The jewelry I finally organized (after I destroyed more than half of it by trying to clean it) is a mess again because I had to look for something. And I didn't even find the main thing I was looking for, which had a very definite place-it-belongs and is more than a foot long on each side and would be awfully conspicuous in an apartment this size, and whose ENTIRE PURPOSE WAS HELPING ME STAY ORGANIZED, is just gone. I really don't get what could have happened, I must have just slipped into a fugue state and thrown it in the trash. I don't even think I spent my own money on it, I think my husband bought it for me which makes my chronic and destructive wastefulness even more shameful than usual. I was supposed to walk a block and a half to the pharmacy hours ago to find out if they had my backordered medication, so that I could know if I then had to spend the rest of the day calling other pharmacies for the same reason. There's no way I can do that very important thing now, even though the medication is directly related to why I just totally ruined the house and undid months' worth of careful, patient organizing so I could try to live something like a decent, normal life. I should have applied for jobs today. I should have worked on my project that could actually turn into a job if I really try hard. I should have done normal cleaning like laundry and dishes and showering. I should have run a few errands and gotten some fresh air. I should have read one of the many books I'm half way through. Just one of any of these things would have justified getting out of bed today. I should have done anything at all to just inch my life forward a little bit, to just try to be a little bit better than I was yesterday. But instead I'm just still living an endless repetitive day that started sometime when I was in my 30s, or my 20s, or when a was a child, a day I will never get to the end of because I can't complete anything. I can never get to the next step of anything. No wonder my family talks to me like I'm still the same laughably stunted and incompetent 12 year old they had to carry through life decades ago, it makes me mad that they won't treat me like an adult with real thoughts and feelings but actually I totally deserve it because from the day I was born nothing has changed. I'm still just lying around pissing my pants and wondering how I got all wet.

[dwarrowdams]

7 Snippets, 7 Mutuals

Thanks to @otemporanerys for the tag!

I'm tagging @angry-jager, @sinelaborenihilsr2, @serendipitys-teapot, @kalliesa, @dispatchwithlove, @diaphanouso, and @westernlarch

1. Measurements - romantic walk in the Presidium

This was their last night together, and she wanted to drink in as much of him as she possibly could.  She was staring, but she was leaving tomorrow, and it wasn’t worth bothering to hide it.  Besides, Garrus Vakarian deserved to be admired, especially in his current attire.

He caught her gaze, his mandibles flaring in a smile.  “See something you like?”

“A lot,” Liv said, hoping he didn’t notice the quaver of emotion in her voice.  “I wasn’t kidding when I told you you’ve got great proportions. I’m just lucky I got to design for you.”

Garrus chuckled.  “Thought I was in for a miserable time when I got chosen for one of the gala outfits, but these have been some of the best months of my life.”

“Mine too,” Liv said, surprised by the veracity of the words.  “Not just because of the career opportunity, but because I got to know you and spend time with you.”

2. Measurements - closed-off sitting room tryst

She undid the first couple buttons of his shirt, sliding her hands beneath to feel the vibration of his subvocals. "You feel so good," she said. "It's almost a shame you can't undress all the way."

Garrus made an amused sound. "For someone who worked so hard to design this, you're awfully eager to get me out of it."

"I'm not vain enough to think my designs are the only things worth admiring," she said as she ran a hand over his keel. "Your body deserves attention all by itself."

3. Alterations (sequel to Measurements) - my beloved fertility cycles headcanon

“You know about turian fertility cycles?” he asked.

Liv nodded.  She’d done her research, which Garrus had supplemented in some of their previous conversations.  “Is there something else I should know about them?”

He shifted uncomfortably.  “Sort of.  There’s usually one time of year where things are…more intense.  There’s not as much daylight on Palaven, so it’s safer to, ah, procreate, so everything’s escalated.  Sensitivity, stamina, attraction…”

He paused, shaking his head.  “Spirits, I know how ridiculous this must sound, Shepard,” he said.

“Not at all,” she replied.  “Lots of humans go through the same thing, or at least something like it. It’s not a coincidence that I’m most easily aroused when it’s theoretically most likely I’ll get pregnant: it’s evolutionary.  Sounds like something similar happens with turians.”

4. Fealty (squire!Garrus fic) - squire oath

“Do you, Garrus Vakarian of Palaven, pledge yourself to serve as a squire of Fenghuang, undergoing the training and duties required to serve and protect the royal family to the best of your ability?”

“I do.”

The queen nodded to the princess, who stepped towards Garrus and pressed her mouth briefly to each of his mandibles.  Her lips had barely brushed him, but they felt impossibly soft, and he yearned to feel them again, only if for a moment.  He took half a step towards her, ducking slightly as he pressed his mouth to each side of her face, fluttering his mandibles gently against her skin.  He could’ve lingered there for hours, his mouth pressed to her skin, her body less than a hand’s breadth away from his, but he stepped back, facing the queen again.

She nodded in acknowledgment.  “The oath is sealed with the royal ambassador as witness.  By the power vested in me as the sole ruler of Fenghuang, I am pleased to be the first to address you as Squire Garrus Vakarian.”

5. Fealty - sparring that totally doesn't awaken anything in Garrus

 She pushed him against the wall, her body pressing into his to pin him into place.  He hesitated for a moment, struck by the way she was holding him down, the way her body felt against his, before gripping her wrists and flipping their positions.  She tried to duck out, but he stopped her, planting his knees on either side of her hips.  He counted—one, two—but she struggled free, crouching beside him.  He bent towards her, ready to tackle her to the ground, but before he could move, she swept her leg out, knocking his feet out from beneath him, and he fell to the ground.  He tried to sit up, but she was already on top of him: her shin holding down his thighs, her torso pressed flush against him.  Even if he had a chance of moving, he didn’t want to, not now that he felt both the power and the softness of her body, pressed against him with only a few layers of fabric between them.

The tap of her hand on the mat pulled him from his thoughts: one, two, three.

She’d beaten him, and had done so admirably.

6. Fealty - Princess Liv gets emotionally vulnerable

“I wanted to talk about last night,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I wish it had gone differently, but it meant so much that you were there for me when I was upset. I’m not great at trusting people, but after last night, I feel like I can trust you.”

He reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You can, Princess,” he said. “With anything.”

“Thank you,” she said.  “For showing me that it’s safe to let other people know how I feel.”

“Princess,” he began, but he didn’t have an end to the sentence.  What could he possibly say to this incredible, vibrant human who cared so deeply about others but didn’t feel safe when expressing her own feelings?

7. steampunk AU - Garrus catches a thief, but oh no she's hot

“You don’t need to bother with that [sign language],” she said, turning so that he could see the metal device curling around her ear.  “Don’t think I could keep up for very long anyways, not with these [candlesticks] in my hand.”

Her voice was sharper than that of the human nobles he’d spoken to, but somehow, it suited her.

“What are you doing with those?” he asked.

She chuckled, her mouth curving into a grin.  “It’s the middle of the night and I’ve just climbed in through your window,” she said.  “D’you think I’m here to polish the silver?”

Garrus’s eyes lingered on her mouth, pink and full and practically begging for attention.  If he took half a step closer, he could touch them, run his finger over the seam and—

No, he couldn’t, not when she was in the process of stealing from him.

[ksascriptt]

“Settle Down,,

Character: Brant “Goody” Goodleaf x F!Reader/Afab!Reader

Warnings: Smut mdni !! lil bit of fluff, sexual behavior, swearing, if u squint a hand kink, fingering, goody has bde, slight size kink?? p in v, porn w some plot, I tried to limit anything that wouldn’t include certain readers! Goody’s in love 🩷🩷, no aftercare shown but it’s implied :), no beta we die like McDreamy

Word count: 1,102

Summary: You and Goody watch a movie at your condo, which is long forgotten.

A/N: I’m sorry bro he is just such a fuckin munch 🩷

———————————————————

Sitting on the dark grey couch in your condo, you gave the man next to you a mildly annoyed glare. Not so much mildly annoyed as desperate, but annoyed nonetheless. Brant, or Goody as he was typically called, had a reputation for being possibly the most chill guy in the world. His demeanor never broke, especially not when you wanted it to, or when he was pulling shit like this.

The two of you had made the executive decision to watch a movie at your place, and on the surface, it was a pretty good idea. As getting 45 minutes into a 2 hour long movie proved, it was not a good idea. Goody had spent the better part of the night with one arm around you, his other hand in his lap. As you contorted to get comfortable on the couch with him, his hands had started to wander, naturally. On your waist, your thighs, one resting on your hip.

You loved Goody, you really did, but he made it unbearable to just sit alone with. He got so handsy when it was just the two of you. Laying across his lap, there was one hand on your thigh, inching higher. “Goods, just watch the movie,” you said with a pointed look. Neither one of you was paying too much attention to the film on the TV, but you made the attempt to at least try.

Goody was bored out of his mind. That was the fact he wasn’t sure he could make clearer. He was desperate to haul you to the bedroom and have a much better time there than he was now. But, seeing your miniscule expressions as his warm hands creeped closer to where you needed it, made it almost worth it. Your words were strained as you spoke, and Goody knew exactly why. “You know I can’t.” A toothy grin fell upon his face, hand massaging your upper thigh.

Sitting up from your sprawled position, you reached for the TV remote to press pause on the discarded movie. His eyes met yours as he helped you swing a leg over his, straddling his lap. Your hands met at the back of his neck just as his large hands found your hips, thumbs starting to pull down your waistband. “God, you’re unbelievable, Brant,” you spoke with a grin, leaning in to kiss him harshly. The light scratch of his beard was welcomed as your fingers found their way into his dark hair. “Settle down.” Brant was a calm person for the most part, but god if you didn’t have his mind wheeling around. If nothing else, the feeling of his erection pressed against your ass would. Of course, he had gotten you worked up enough, he was fairly confident in his chances. The smirk on his lips was covered by yours, the harsh kiss met with all teeth and tongue, his hands moving your hips back and forth on his lap. “Oh fuck, Goody..”

One of his hands gripped the bottom of your shirt, gently pulling it up and over your head. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, everything about you just drawing him in. “Shit, honey,” his soft spoken words were accompanied with a light chuckle as he pulled your (his) sweatpants down, letting them fall to the ground. You helped him pull his t-shirt off, heavily kissing him in between. His long fingers moved to your clothed clit, his pinky moving your dampened underwear to the side. The light, breathy moans escaping your lips had him grinning like a dumbass the entire time, brown eyes roaming your body. As you undid his belt buckle and jeans, he found it the perfect time to slip a finger inside of you, the sharp inhale punctuating the curl of his digit. Your head fell on his shoulder, moving your hips against his hand. The pad of his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, a second finger pushing in. It had been a while, admittedly, so the stretch of Goody’s thick fingers had your insides feeling like you would pop. “Goody, please.. I-“ Curling his fingers just right, the man held a steady hand on your hip, gliding you through your climax. “Holy fuck,” you breathed, hips falling from their movements. “Settle down, sweetheart.” Pressing a few kisses to your neck, the man let you pull down his jeans and boxers just enough to let his cock spring free. Precum dribbled from the red tip, your hand coming to softly stroke it. Goody’s head fell back on the couch at the feeling, inhaling deeply. Your hand barely fit around his dick, a fact that had your boyfriends balls tightening. He grabbed your wrist softly, pulling your hand away. “You’re ready?” He asked in confirmation, using one hand to help lift your hips up, the other ready to push his cock in. Your mind was hazy at the feeling, nodding quickly to his question. Looking up at you with a smile, he finally pushed in with a groan. The stretch was intense, the initial pain replaced with a feeling of pleasure.

He had both hands on your hips now, slowly easing you down onto his thick cock, not quite bottoming out. Goody held you there for a second, the gasp you let out making him grin and raise his eyebrows. "You like that, sweetheart?" he asked, out of breath. Lowering you down, he chuckled as your head fell into the crook of his neck. He gave you a short moment to adjust before he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, starting to slowly drag your wet cunt up and down his girth. His eyebrows furrowed together at the feeling of you clenching around him, a few stray hairs sticking to his sweaty forehead. "God, this pussy is unreal.." the words were quiet, soft under his heavy breaths. The sounds of your moans, your cunt repeatedly bouncing on his cock, both of you harshly breathing, all filled the lowly-lit room, soaked up by no one except you two. Goody couldn't get enough, feeling you clenching around him as you neared another orgasm. "Oh shit, goddamnit.." your exclamations were followed by your climax, Goody following not long after. He clenched his eyes shut as he shot ropes of hot, thick cum deep inside of you. Your mouth fell open as you tried to catch your breath, removing one hand from the mans back to cup his bearded jaw for a kiss. "Holy shit, that was.." you were at a loss for words, staring into his dark brown eyes.

"Settle down."

[floef-likes-everything]

Nightingale Adventure

(Based on Apo's lore stream of 28-8)

They hadn’t been sailing for more than an hour when the weather had turned sour. Apo didn’t understand how, because when they left the port there was not a cloud in sight. He liked to think he could predict the weather quite accurately now, but today had proven him wrong. The worst part was that he had decided to board Acho’s ship instead of going on his own, which meant he was just a passenger. Acho knew how to sail and with a good crew of Nightingales there really was nothing to worry about. Still, when the first lightning bolt struck the sea Apo couldn’t help but flinch.

“Lightning scared ya, Apo?” Michaela noticed, a smirk on her face as together they undid the ropes that held the small sail down. With winds like this, they really didn’t need all sails up to keep them going. Will and Graecie were up in the mast, hoisting the sail upwards and fastening it.

“Caught me off guard,” Apo deflected. A little storm didn’t faze him, he’d sailed in too many storms to get scared this easily. “I just hadn’t expected a storm to roll in this suddenly.”

“I agree with that,” she said, trying to wipe the thick hair out of her face as she looked up into the mast, where the other two were working hard to tie the sail down. Acho, from behind the wheel, was shouting out orders to the rest of the crew but Apo couldn’t hear him over the sound of the waves. “I’m happy we went with Acho, their ship is by far one of the best from our fleet. No offence.”

“None taken,” Apo muttered, though he would’ve loved it if they had decided to take his ship and let him be the captain. “Do you really think we are going to run into Aimsey on that island?”

“I hope we do,” Michaela’s expression hardened. From what Apo managed to piece together, Michaela knew Aimsey pretty well. She had told him a little about how their families were very good friends and that that was the reason Michaela had come to the Faction Isles in the first place. She was supposed to stay with them for a while, but due to bad weather she arrived later than expected and at that point disaster had already struck. She was told only snippets for what supposedly happened to Aimsey and today the Nightingales hoped to uncover more of what happened that mysterious night. Apo sometimes still had nightmares about the storm and those nasty, purple tentacles.

“Land ho!” Ros yelled from high up in the crows nest. She was brave staying there with this wind, though Apo assumed she was too scared to climb down at all. She was lovely, truly lovely and a true Nightingale at heart but she wasn’t the best pirate. She had however been determined to go along on this venture. She had been so adamant about it that nobody had dared to tell her no.

Acho gestured for Apo to join them, so he swiftly made his way over to them across the slippery deck. He almost stumbled on the stairs, but managed to keep himself upright to present himself to his friend. Acho had been so stoic this journey, as if they had something to prove. Despite them being new to the faction, they were amongst family. They didn’t have to prove their worth to this crew.

“With the weather like this, I can’t dock safely,” they explained to Apo. “I’ll get as close to the shore as I possibly can, but we’ll have to take the sloop to the docks.”

“But we docked safely in that first storm,” Apo argued. “With an entire fleet, even. Sure, the weather is a bit worse than that night but – “

“I won’t put my ship in jeopardy,” Acho interrupted him, set on their own plan. “We had some very good sailors leading the way, that night. We can’t afford losing this ship, we’ll be marooned.”

“Then why did you ask?” Apo said, confused by what Acho wanted from him.

“To inform you to prepare the sloop,” Acho recovered with just a slight hesitation in their voice. “We’ll drop the anchor here. I’ll gather Ros, Will, Graecie and Michaela. The rest of the crew will stay here.”

Apo opted to not go against his friend again and just do as he was told. Acho was on edge, for good reason in all honesty. They were still a bit weary of Willow, the Nightingale that had just come back from a rather large and long journey. He’d been with the Faction for years already, so he knew how things were run amongst their family. Apo somehow assumed Acho felt threatened by that. They must come from a very demanding environment, but Apo didn’t want to get into business he wasn’t supposed to. If Acho want to tell him about their past, they would.  

So, as Acho gathered the Nightingales that would go to shore, Apo prepared the sloop. It wasn’t much and it would be a hell of a job to get this thing to the island that was just about visible through the rain. It wasn’t particularly far and the waves weren’t nearly as bad as on the open seas, but they would have to work hard to row against the tide. Nightingales were though, however, especially when they said their mind to something. With some struggle and good directional ques from Ros, the six of them managed to get the sloop to the deserted docks. When everybody had set foot on solid land and the wood creaked under their feet, they took a look at the island before them.

Apo could feel his mouth drop. It didn’t look anything like the last time he had been here. The goop was gone, the purple tentacles that had engulfed the small seaside down where either gone or had turned to solid stone. It was deserted, as it had been before and cold wind and rain swept against his face. If only he could be back in their tavern with a keg of ale in his hand near the warm fire. But no, they had to set sail to this wretched place they already knew. They weren’t Herons, who looked to discovery every mystery of the world. They weren’t Kestrels, looking for treasure even in places like this. They certainly weren’t Kite, despite them looking for one now.

“This is not what I remember from being here last time,” Graecie was the first one to break the silence. “Where… why has everything turned to stone?”

“I’ve been here once after Aimsey disappeared,” Acho said, which was yet another piece of information Apo wasn’t aware of. “It was a couple of weeks ago, I think, and by that point the stone was already – wait, did you see that?”

Acho pointed towards the sky and Apo had to pull out his spyglass to even see they were pointing to the top of a mountain. He saw nothing but rain and rocks, so he turned to his friend with slight concern.

“I see nothing,” he stated, though Acho looked as if they’d seen a ghost. “It must’ve been the lightning.”

“No, I swear to the Sun God,” Acho argued. Their white hair was plastered to their face and they squinted to look into the distance, the spyglass on their hip entirely forgotten. “There it is again, take a look!”

They pointed, sprinting forward a few steps until Graecie caught them by the collar. Apo followed the gesture with his eyes, but he still had no idea what Acho was talking about.

“What is it, Acho?” Ros asked, her soft voice barely carrying over the sounds of the storm.

“The purple particles!” Acho argued as they turned around, brushing Gracie off. “I – I’m not crazy!”

“We don’t say you are,” Ros assured them with a weak smile. “But let’s not go running off on our own. We already lost a friend here, we wouldn’t want to lose another.”

Ros was the kindest soul Apo had ever met, and he knew quite some people. Yet, on the entire Faction Isles there wasn’t a person as compassionate as Ros. If Apo had to describe what it was to be a Nightingale, he would pick Ros as an example. She would do anything for her faction, even if that particular thing wasn’t in her skill set. If you asked Ros for help, she would drop everything to come to your aid. She cared for her crew.

“I see it too!” Michaela then yelled, pointing to a wildly different spot Acho had earlier. All six of them turned their heads and now, Apo couldn’t deny it. There was something purple far up the mountain, something small and moving. For a moment he thought of cruppy, that weird little creature Olive had encountered on this very island. It had somehow followed them all the way back to the Faction Isles and it seemed to like it there. Yet, this was different as purple particles seemed to flow in the air, clearly visible despite the darkness and the rain. Mere seconds before it blinked out of existence, Apo swore he saw a pair of eyes.

“Where did it go?” Acho questioned and from that point onward, nobody seemed to keep Ros’ warning in mind. Acho was the first to run away, making their way further into the town looking for a way up into the mountains. Michaela followed in their footsteps with her sword in hand. With two already gone, the four remaining Nightingales had little choice but to follow the crew. Apo fell behind as he tried to pinpoint the location of the strange visage again.

There! He spotted it, near where the rest of the crew had gone of to. Through is spyglass he could take a closer look. He had been right, it was more than just particles! There was a figure amongst the strange magic, a face lined in dark hair and shrouded in purple.

“Aimsey…?” Apo muttered aloud, his voice lost to the rain. The appearance looked like them, but he didn’t remember Aimsey being purple. Had they been here the entire time? Why hadn’t they returned to the Faction Isles?

“Aimsey… were are you going?” Apo yelled it into the wind, but the question didn’t seem to land. As his crew scrambled their way up the mountain, the visage had already moved. Apo got into motion, making his way over the slippery rocks and through the mud, battling to keep his balance. They might not be Herons, but this was a discovery worth chasing after. They had come here so Will and Michaela could witness this island for themselves, but none of them had anticipated a chase like this. Had Apo hoped to find Aimsey here? Sure, but he wanted the Aimsey he knew. They had been very welcoming when he arrived at the Faction Isles despite the reputation of the Kites.

“We should take different routes to this mountain!” at some point, Acho was close enough for Apo to hear them. “Take the left, Apo. We think it’s Aimsey!”

It was good to know Apo wasn’t the only one that thought so. He followed Acho’s instructions without giving it much thought, keeping his eye on what they thought to be Aimsey through his spyglass. It moved fast, way to fast for a regular human. Once he had reached the place it had been earlier, it had moved far away. Air started to burn in his lungs and he didn’t know how much time had passed when he found himself on a muddy shore, all alone and in the dark.

“This isn’t going to work,” he muttered to himself, turning around slowly in hopes to spot his crew. He didn’t, however, so he opted to return to the dock where they had set foot earlier. When he finally arrived, soaked to the bone as he had to wade through waist deep water to get back, he found that others had made the same decision. Acho was waiting alongside Will and Graecie. They, much like Apo, had their hair and clothes stuck to their skin because of the weather.

“Apo!” Will sounded delighted to see Apo. “Have you caught them? Have you caught Aimsey?”

“No,” Apo said, still catching his breath. “Did they look weird to you as well? They looked… purple, despite those weird particles.”

“Something is off about this place,” Graecie confirmed. “We… we didn’t get close enough to them to ask them anything. What concerns me more, where are Ros and Michaela?”

Acho snapped to attention as if he hadn’t noticed they were missing two of their crew members before that. The two must still be on their way to the docks, Apo told himself. Sure, this island hadn’t taken another soul. He wouldn’t believe that.

“I – Let me go look for them,” Acho decided all on their own and before the others could go against it, they had already disappeared into the town. Apo opted to go after them for a moment, but that meant he had to leave Will and Graecie behind on the docks. Acho could fend for himself, Apo considered them to be one of the Nightingales best swordspeople.

“When you told me you’d show me a special place, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Will said as the rain started to die down. Apo had no idea how long they had been running around the island, chasing Aimsey, but he swore he could see the beginnings of daylight at the horizon.

“Well, we weren’t exactly expecting to run into an adventure quite like this,” Graecie admitted. She pulled her hair together to wring the water out of it, shifting her eyepatch in the process. She quickly put it back into position. “Do you guys think we should tell anybody at the Faction Isles?”

Apo hadn’t even thought about that yet. Was a wild goose chase on this mystic figure really something they wanted? Sure, Apo wanted to know what was happening here but not at the cost of any more lives. Some mysteries where better left uncovered.

“The Herons might be helpful in this endeavor,” Will opted. “They love their mysteries, if I remember correctly. If anybody knows something about this, it must be them.”

He was right, the Herons might just know a thing or two. Maybe the Herons that roamed the Factions Isles right now had never encountered anything like this, but those of old might just have. Apo knew of their vast library with maps and documents. He was happy he didn’t have to add anything to it.

“Michaela, they are here!” Ros turned a corner and suddenly, she and Michaela had made it to the dock. Their sudden appearance startled Apo, though he hoped he had concealed that first reaction good enough. Michaela still had her sword out, gripped tightly at the hilt. There had been a point at which Apo had questioned if she hadn’t been more on her place with the Kites, but she never meant any real harm with her threats. The Kites did, Apo had had enough running ins with them.

“I touched the cloud,” Michaela stuttered and Ros instantly wrapped an arm around her to console her. “I… they were there. They were friendly. The cloud didn’t hurt me.”

Apo couldn’t really string together what she meant by that, but he didn’t dare to ask. She seemed shaken by whatever had happened to her. All that mattered was that both of them had gotten back safely.

“Great, and now Acho is running around looking for the two of you,” Graecie sighed. “He’ll be smart enough to return swiftly, right? – Oh, speak of the devil.”

Acho reappeared on the other side of the dock, but clocked the group quickly enough. They came running towards them, boots splashing on the waterlogged planks and their coat swirling around their legs.

“Is everybody alright?” they asked and Apo couldn’t help but notice he didn’t sound particularly out of breath. That was impressive, in all fairness. “Have you caught the… whatever that was?”

“It’s Aimsey,” Michaela said with confidence. “Or… it looks like them. Something is off with this island, with them, I don’t know! We should do something.”

Apo had never struck Michaela as someone desperate, but she sure sounded like it. Of course she was, she just wanted to safe her friend.

“We should ask the Herons for advice,” Graecie said, repeating her earlier thought. “If anybody has the information, they do.”

“No Herons!” Acho almost yelled, which wasn’t necessary anymore as the storm had settle down just as suddenly as is had appeared. “It – this doesn’t concern them at all. If anything, we should inform the Kites. Aimsey is one of them, after all.”

“I’d rather not talk to the Kites,” Michaela said and a frown appeared on her face. “One of them keeps threatening me he’ll murder me once I set foot off the Isles. Some of them are… a bit wicked. Aimsey was the most reasonable of them. I like the idea of going to the Herons.”

“What about the Kestrels?” Acho continued, clearly not happy with the idea of going to the Herons. “Wasn’t Aimsey quite close with one of them?”

“With Guqqi, you mean?” Apo had to dig deep in his memory to come up with that name. “The one person who also went missing on the same night?”

“We don’t know if she’s missing,” Acho said, though Apo doubted anybody had heard from her since she had taken off with those cloaked fellas. Apo didn’t talk to the Kestrels that much, there was only Martyn he could sometimes have a normal conversation with but the others were just to stuck up with themselves. Apo didn’t think he could ever be that selfish.

“How about we discuss this back at the Faction Isles?” Ros proposed as more light started to spill over the now calmed down ocean. “We should all get a chance of dry clothes, we��ll get sick like this.”

There was a grumbling agreement and in a somewhat awkward silence, the crew returned to the sloop. Apo couldn’t help but wonder why Acho seemed to have such an aversion to talking to the Herons. He thought the Herons to be quite pleasant to be around as long as you didn’t start about their achievements. Once they started their tales, they wouldn’t stop talking no matter what you tried.

As they rowed back to the ship, Apo threw one last glance back at the island. Now, with the light of day creeping in long shadows were cast over the stony structures looking very much like tentacles. All of the stone had been purple once, whatever had happened to it for it to look like this? Apo was afraid they might never know, which in turn would mean there was little chance they would get Aimsey back. Whatever had happened to them, Apo could only pray the thing that did it stayed on that island.   

-------

This was my first time tuning into an Apo lore stream and I might just tune into a bunch more, as I had a blast! Also, I'll protect Ros with my life she is so very dear to me.

(also please to scream at me if I got any pronouns wrong by mistake)

[whump-me]

Martyr, Chapter 15: The Occasional Luxury

Chapter 15 of Martyr, a novel-length sci-fi whump story about a captured Martian rebel with a secret and the renowned interrogator who has waited a decade for the chance to break him. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: whumper POV, no onscreen whump (but read it anyway, it’ll be worth it for what it leads into in the next chapter, I promise)

---

Isadora

She had gotten to him.

Oh, he had tried not to react. But as it turned out, when he was listening to one of his fellow rebels scream, it was a lot harder for him to summon that irritating smirk to his face. She had seen the stab of anguish he had tried to hide, and heard it in the rasp of his uneven breathing.

He was still stubborn, of course—if she had asked the question a third time, he would have given her a third refusal, and perhaps even begun to steel himself against his fellow prisoner’s pain. Which was why she was giving him some time to think instead. A few hours in his cell to picture everything she could inflict on the other man would do it. No doubt whatever his imagination conjured up would be worse than the reality.

Stubborn was fixable. The important part was that she had elicited a genuine reaction. Finally, she had read the man right.

The ghost of a genuine smile played at the edges of her lips as she strolled into her small bathroom. She knelt by the side of the high-walled bathtub and turned on the water.

The bathtub wasn’t exactly standard issue. One had to conserve every resource on a lifeless hunk of rock like this, which made baths an appalling waste of water. That was why the bathtub was so short that she could only sit in it with her knees pulled up to her chest—the room wasn’t built for one. She had put in the day after Earth had given her the top desk.

Rank had its privileges.

She almost never took advantage of those perks. But every so often, even she desired her creature comforts.

She tested the water under her hand and adjusted it until it was hot enough to turn her pale skin lobster-red. She poured in the scented oil she had imported from Earth at great expense. The rich scent of jasmine filled the air, activated by the heat of the water. A sheen of oil coated the surface, shimmering with amber light.

She undid each button on her uniform coat, with the slow solemnity of a sacred ritual. She slipped it off her shoulders and let it puddle on the floor. Her shirt followed, and her pants. Her undergarments went last, tight and functional things that held her body under as strict control as she kept her mind. They left red marks behind on her skin—just under her rib cage, at the tops of her thighs, and a thick angry stripe across her waist.

She dipped one toe into the water. The temperature was perfect—a mere few degrees below being boiled alive. The bathtub was the one place she preferred to feel something other than cold. As she slipped into the water, her breath sighed out of her, taking the day’s tension with it.

The tub had been built to her exact measurements—even with her knees up to her chest, the water rose high enough to brush the top of her kneecaps and nearly hit her chin. The water rippled in the wake of her movement, wafting the jasmine scent up toward her nose. She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes.

Those who worked under her said she indulged in nothing. It was part of her mystique. And for the most part, it was true. She allowed herself no distractions—not the large ones like idiotic workplace flirtations, and not the small ones like following some sports team. The only thing she allowed herself to care about was this hateful planet, because somebody had to.

She had bristled when her therapist had brought up survival guilt, but now, with the distance of years, she could see it as a plain fact. Back then, she had felt the need to earn her life, because having it handed to her through sheer dumb luck was not only profoundly unsatisfying but left her making fruitless calculations about who the universe should have saved in her place, based on their relative value to the military and to humanity as a whole.

By the time she had gotten that out of her system, she had been with Special Security long enough to see that the sloppy attitudes that had led to the attack had not abated. After that, it was about the fact that no one else was willing to make the sacrifice. No one else was willing to be what was needed—an avatar of singleminded devotion. Melodramatic? Perhaps. But better that than careless.

In ten years, she hadn’t had any lovers. She had no vices, both because she didn’t have the time and because indulgence was a bad habit that led to sloppiness and laziness. She had seen it ten years ago in the resentful soldiers who coped with their disappointing assignment by spending their time drinking and gambling and coaxing their way into the local girls’ pants. And every time Earth sent her a fresh batch of new recruits, she had to train them out of the same habits.

She’d had no visits with her family back on Earth for years—her aging parents, her brother, her two nieces. Not only because of the distraction, but for pragmatic reasons—trips back and forth were simply too expensive. They used to send messages back and forth, but they had all fallen out of the habit over the years, because they couldn’t relate to her life and she couldn’t relate to theirs.

But every so often, when she achieved an exceptional victory, she allowed herself a reward. A water-squandering bath to ease the ache in her muscles that came from long hours pacing back and forth in the interrogation rooms—not to mention the constant adjustment to the dome’s gravity, which she still hadn’t fully adjusted to, even after this long. And, to go along with her bath, a bar of fine imported Earth chocolate.

Both were, of course, strictly forbidden. Her office would need to forge paperwork allowing a special dispensation for the water usage—a flagrant misuse of Special Security resources—and chocolate was on the list of nonessential Earth imports, which had been closed off for the past four years. But for the head of Special Security, the authorities were willing to look the other way. And knowing whose palms to grease didn’t hurt.

She knew she really should have waited for the bath until she had persuaded Wraith to both give her the statement and give up the other rebels. She hadn’t won the final victory yet. But her muscles needed the relaxation. Besides, there would be victory celebrations aplenty when she brought down the leader of the rebellion for good. Earth would throw her a parade if she made it possible for them to stop pouring so much money into Special Security’s operations. She would put on the face of the conquering hero for them, show them what they wanted to see. But this moment was for her alone.

She slid deeper into the water until her chin dipped under the surface. The water lapped at her lips. She tilted her head up, eyes still closed, and let out an involuntary moan of satisfaction.

She dangled one hand over the side of the tub, leaned over, and fumbled around on the floor until she found the small glass plate that held her chocolate bar, already unwrapped. She brought it to her lips, breathed in the dark, rich scent, and took a bite.

The chocolate snapped off cleanly between her teeth. She closed her lips around the small chunk and let it melt on the center of her tongue, turning from a solid to a thick liquid nectar. This was the good stuff—not the cheap grocery-store chocolate of her childhood, and certainly not the synthetic chocolate they tried to pass off as the real thing here on Mars, the crumbly bars that tasted of sand and sawdust with too much sugar mixed in. This was bitter melting into sweet, until she couldn’t tell the difference between the two. It flowed past the boundaries of smell and taste to encompass all her senses, transporting her to an ancient forest filled with mist and tree trunks too wide for her to stretch her arms around, and a candlelit underground cave thick with the loamy smell of history. It transported her off this barren rock, and that alone was worth the bribes she had paid on top of the import fees.

A soft ping made her eyes snap open. Someone was at the front door.

She looked down at the rest of the chocolate bar, barely touched. She had planned to make it last another twenty minutes at least, until the water cooled enough to stop making her skin tingle with heat. That was usually long enough for her to grow restless and abandon her brief indulgence for the constant pull of her duties.

She had been looking forward to those twenty minutes.

She closed her eyes and waited. Maybe if she did nothing, whoever was there would assume she wasn’t in. But the Earth forest was gone, and so was the cave. The only thing she could picture was someone waiting impatiently at the door while she lay here unprepared.

The ping came again.

She reached over the side of the tub again, dripping oily water all over her pristine bathroom floor, until she found her comm. “This isn’t a good time,” she said, her voice tightly controlled. “Come back in half an hour.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” came Grayson’s voice, “but this is urgent.”

The chocolate was melting in her hand, leaving sticky smears across her fingers. She set it down carefully on the plate. “I handed over everything to you until further notice,” she reminded him. “Are you saying you can’t handle that?” Then she frowned. She had handed Special Security over to him for a reason, and it wasn’t because he was incompetent. “Are you telling me something came up that you can’t handle?” For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what that might be.

“You gave me responsibility for everything but your current prisoner,” he answered. “And this is about that prisoner.” He followed up with a disconcertingly long pause before adding.

“Five minutes,” she snapped, and disconnected the calm.

Five minutes later, she answered the door with wet hair dripping all over her rumpled uniform. If the sight—or the smell of jasmine drifting off her damp skin—surprised him, he had the sense not to show it. His face was a mask of professional neutrality.

Except for the panic deep in his eyes that only Isadora’s professionally honed senses would have been capable of picking up.

Isadora tensed at that look. It didn’t belong on his stolid, capable face. “Come in,” she ordered.

He walked in, closed the door, locked it, double-checked the lock. “I had a little free time after lunch,” he said. “I took the liberty of sifting through some old files, trying to bring closure to a certain matter that was never resolved.”

“In other words, you wanted to go above and beyond the task I set you, in order to impress me with your capabilities,” Isadora said. “There was no need for that. If I didn’t already know you were up to the task, I wouldn’t have given you this responsibility.”

“Do you remember the issue with the surveillance photos ten years ago?” Grayson asked. “The glitch that corrupted the files that were rumored to show the rebellion leader’s face?”

Isadora’s jaw clenched at the memory. “How could I forget?” More incompetence from Earth—another careless failure that had cost time and effort and lives. The initial attack had been the only time the leader of the rebellion had actually come out to do his own dirty work, or at least the only time he had been careless enough to get caught on camera. And the first head of the newly formed Special Security, back when Isadora was still cooling her heels in therapy on Earth, had bungled the data retrieval and cost them their chance at the footage.

“Technology has improved on Earth in the past ten years,” Grayson said. “A friend of a friend knows a tech genius who developed a tool last year capable of restoring the footage. I called in a few favors.”

“Impressive,” said Isadora, and meant it. “If a few days to late. We already have the man in hand, remember? I’m sorry you wasted your time. I’ll remember your efforts and your ingenuity when it comes time for me to make my annual report to Earth.”

“I need to show you something.” Grayson brought out a handheld screen and started playing a blurry video. It was from a security camera, old-style footage from ten years ago when they were still working with the glitchy tech the colonists had installed. It was all shot from above, and every few seconds, wavy lines would interrupt the image.

“Based on how the others around him treated him, as well as the few snatches of conversation I was able to pull up from the unreliable audio, this man is the leader of the rebellion.” He paused the video. His thick index finger smudged the screen, stopping next to a man with his face turned toward the camera.

The man had the baby face of someone who was still half a child. He was missing most of his scars, too. All that was to be expected. If someone had shown Grayson a photo of Isadora from ten years ago, he would have been hard-pressed to recognize them as the same person.

But there were some things no amount of years could change. Like eye color, and build, and height.

Isadora looked up, voicing the thought that had brought Grayson to her door. “This man,” she said, “is not my prisoner.”

“How certain are you that this man is who you say he is?” Isadora asked, her voice tight and controlled.

“I’ll send you the file so you can review it for yourself,” said Grayson. “But between what we knew ten years ago and what I saw in the video today… very.” He spoke reluctantly, like he already knew this was bad news.

Because, of course, he had seen what Isadora had seen. Whoever this Wraith was, he was not the leader of the rebellion.

---

Tagged: @straight-to-the-pain @soheavyaburden @gala1981 @whumpacabra @sacredwrath @suspicious-whumping-egg @sonder35 @decahedron-crabclaw @seasaltandcopper @tremendousenemyhideout

Ask to be added or remove from taglist.

[eldritchlittleblackdragon]

I was going to infodump about Joella/BG3!Joey's backstory and her shared history with Astarion today. But just as I was about to finish my post I made a small mistake and instead of just undoing the mistake it somehow undid my whole post (an hour's worth of work) and I couldn't get it back. 🙃

So instead enjoy this edit I made of her using pixlr while I try to slowly rewrite my post over the course of today and tomorrow.

[livia-dovehallow]

gabrily fluff - takes place during chain of iron events

months of silence only for me to break writers block with pages worth of gabrily fluff snippets that have zero relation to one another

“Gabriel, bach, come to bed,” Cecily sighed. She stood in the entryway of Will’s office, where Gabriel had been firmly planted for hours since they took over running the Institute in his absence. Cecily knew Gabriel took this responsibility very seriously at the risk of his own health. “Will only left this morning. I’m sure whatever work needs to be done can wait until morning.”

“I’ll be up in a moment,” Gabriel answered, looking through a pile of correspondence. His head rested on his forehead, intensely focused. “You go on up and sleep, Cecy.”

Cecily frowned, her arms crossed in front of her. She knew well that if she did not bring him upstairs with her, he would fall asleep right on the desk. “Come with me,” she said again. This time, Gabriel looked up at her. “I do not want to sleep alone.”

His face softened. In the light, he looked just like he did when she met him; sharp features softened by the smile that grew across his face. “All right,” he relented. He stashed the letters he had been reading into a drawer and rose from his seat. “I can’t deny that request when you look at me like that.”

Cecily smiled. “You are not tired of waking up to this face in the morning, yet? Every day for twenty years?”

“Never,” he answered, looping his arms around her waist. She craned her neck back to look at him, the point of his jaw reaching right on the top of her head. “But you knew that.”

“I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Gabriel chuckled and kissed her head. “All right. Let’s go to bed then.”

.

Just as Gabriel would never tired of waking next to her every morning, Cecily would never tire of preparing for bed with him.

For twenty years they had their routine—a quiet and peaceful pattern where Gabriel would untie her corset and dress before moving to dress himself for bed. Then, after slipping into a nightgown, Cecily would sit at her vanity and brush out her hair as Gabriel undid his shirt buttons. He’d often catch her gaze in the mirror and shake his head affectionately, but Cecily would only wink at him. Could a wife not admire her husband?

There had been a time when Cecily dreaded the idea of married monotony—but with Gabriel, it was anything but that. He did not expect her to be docile or obedient like other women were expected to be. He knew exactly who she was and what she wanted to be when he proposed to her and had never complained, never asked for anything else from her. And, of course, their children were anything but ordinary.

“What are you thinking about?” Gabriel asked, interrupting her thoughts. Cecily smiled and placed her brush down.

“That after everything we did to move out of this place, here we are again.”

Gabriel laughed, pulling the sheets back from their bed. “At least this time your brother is not here,” he offered, climbing into bed. Cecily crawled in after him. “I do believe he chose not to acknowledge that we were married when he tried to give us separate bedrooms.”

Cecily pulled the covers over herself and turned to him with a suggestive smile. “Well, seeing as he is not here,” she sang, dragging a finger along his jaw. “And we do share a bedroom and Alex is sound asleep in the nursery...”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Our first night charged as heads of the Institute and you suggest we treat this bed as a marital bed?”

Cecily shrugged. “It’s certainly been a bit,” she said. “At our home, there is always some sort of trouble running about too close by. Here—Here, well, the boys’ bedrooms are in the other wing, as is Lucie’s.”

Gabriel’s questionable expression morphed into a ghost of a smile. “You, Cecy, are quite fearless.”

“I have been told.”

Gabriel rolled over until his hands were on either side of her head, his body hovering over hers. “Your wish is my command, Mrs. Lightwood,” he breathed.

[hidingaway1995]

More Gale stuff

Gale’s eyes popped open to total, pressing blackness. He was naked and laying on a cold metal surface. An examination of the space around him with his hands proved he was in some sort of metal box. He rapped the side with his knuckles and heard a hollow sound. Good. It wasn’t underground, meaning he wasn’t buried. Yet.

He remembered the fight, being shot in the head and chest with small caliber bullets. He must not have gotten to a safe place before his body gave out.Touching his face he could feel the dimples of bullet wounds, but they only went an inch or so deep. He’d healed enough for his brain to come back online. At least no one had tried to autopsy him yet. Small blessings. He was still, however, stuck in a drawer at what was probably the coroner’s office.

How long did he have before panic set in? Once it did, this little box would be absolute torture. He just had to hope he could get out on his own before that happened, rather than waiting for someone to open it. Explaining himself or giving an unsuspecting civil servant a heart attack did not appeal.

Gale tried kicking the metal drawer front for several minutes, hearing a latch rattling on the other side. Maybe if he could break that he’d be able to jostle the drawer open. A half hour later all he’d done was damage his foot and spit out a bullet fragment that had been working its way up his esophagus. He could feel the beginnings of fear, fizzing in his brain and making his chest feel tight.

Don’t be stupid. He told himself. It’s not like you’re stuck here forever and it won’t kill you. His instincts screamed that he was trapped and would suffocate before help came.

He gave the door one last vicious kick, hearing something snap in his ankle and wincing. He’d be feeling that later. Just then he heard a muffled, female voice. Closing his eyes to listen, he heard “- not funny.”

Maybe terrorizing someone was worth not being stuck in here anymore. He began knocking on the side of his metal prison to keep the woman’s attention. Shave and a haircut…

“If you rigged something to jump out, I’m reporting you.” She told someone and, to his considerable relief, undid the latch and opened the drawer. He waited until his head cleared the wall before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of his shelf to stand before she could slam it closed again.

“Before you-” She’d already started to scream, as had the young man who stood by the door. Gale felt a nasty pang behind one eye. Like a migraine. Logically, he knew that was a bullet trying to get into his nasal cavity as reformed brain matter and skull pushed it out of the spot it had lodged, but the timing was not appreciated. “SHUT UP!” He roared, then winced and rubbed the bridge of his nose in pain.

There was a thud. The man had actually fainted. The woman did go quiet, staring at him in abject horror, hands over her still open mouth.

“Does the office have whatever was on me when I was brought in or did the cops take it all? I’m not walking home with no clothes.” Gale tried to keep his voice level. She was having a worse day than he was.

[titus-androgynous-87]

It was easier than the old man would ever admit to his shareholders (and the international investigation team) for Nedry to gain access to the entire island's security systems. Fences, cameras, patrol schedules…it was all there at her fingertips. 

She paused, hand heavy on the mouse as she hovered the cursor over one of the sub-folders, labeled "CRYO-SYS CONTROL" and weighed her options.

On the one hand, the old man hadn't batted an eye at her blue hair, five o'clock shadow, and messy makeup that spoke to countless frustrated hours in the mirror trying to relearn a face she'd grown to hate but was slowly, so fucking slowly, starting to come around on. Her paperwork hadn't been an issue (the old man had plenty of money to throw at bureaucrats to speed up the process); deadname? 

"Who is that?" the old man would say with a knowing glint in his clear blue eyes. "I don't think we have anyone employed here by that name."

Nedry spared a quick, nervous glance at her messenger bag tossed on the corner of her, admittedly, very untidy desk. An odd wave of shame washed over her as she picked up an empty chip bag and tossed it in the vague direction of her cubicle wastebasket, missing entirely and letting it gently settle on the low-pile industrial carpet as she continued to weigh her options.

The old man had been kind enough.

And it wasn't bad work.

But the pay…

While it was far and away the best money she'd ever made, having to pick up your life and move to a tiny island off the coast of Costa Rica decimated her savings and set her back to square one with everything. 

Especially…

"Fuck it," she muttered, double-tapping the mouse to open the cryo storage system control panel.

She would have been horrified at how simple it all was if she'd given herself a moment to care. But Nedry knew that if she stopped now, she was fucked. Part of her wanted to document it all to really rub salt in the wound, but Hammond didn't deserve to be tortured like that. She was doing enough damage as it was.

She turned her attention from the bank of monitors on her desk to see if anyone was paying attention to her. Of course they weren't. Why would they? She's a woman, after all, hardly worth noticing. That was the catalyst she needed.

Within 5 minutes, she was sprinting through the secured employee parking lot, keys in one hand, the other clutching a modified Barbasol stash can. Her hands shook as she tried to unlock her Jeep, dark clouds roiling overhead.

"Fuck!" she shouted as lightning struck close by, the crack and smell of ozone causing her to drop her carabiner of keys.

She quickly scooped it up and entered her car just as the heavens opened and rain came pouring down, picking the wind up with it.

The rain was blowing sideways as Nedry picked her way through the muddy jungle roads.

"Got billions for bringing back dinosaurs," Nedry muttered to herself as the windshield wipers kept furious time trying in vain to keep the glass clear enough to see the path ahead. "But you can't fucking pave the roads?"

It happened so quickly, Nedry wasn't sure how she ended up with her Jeep half hanging off the side of the road. A nearly sheer drop waiting below to swallow her, and the rain. 

With a very irritated growl, she got out and undid the safety latch of the tow winch mounted on the front of the vehicle. She was soaked to the skin in seconds as she trudged through the slick, sticky mud to anchor the winch to a thick, sturdy looking tree.

As she turned to walk back to her Jeep, a small chirp made her turn back.

A small reptile, about knee height on Nedry, was standing near the edge of the road, looking at her curiously, chirruping.

She didn't know what it was, and she didn't care. She had places to be and money to make.

She threw a stick at it, which it easily dodged, hissing in disapproval as it darted back into the soaked underbrush.

Once back in the Jeep, Nedry flipped the power switch for the winch, motor whining to life as she gently goaded the vehicle forward, foot barely on the gas. It wouldn't do to get impatient now.

But for all her careful planning, all that time spent covering her digital footprint, Nedry forgot one thing: an open Jeep door.

She felt the sharp, searing pain of teeth in her shoulder and claws scrabbling at her skin before she saw the dark shape looming in her rearview mirror. Panicked and surprised, Nedry instinctually slammed her foot on the gas pedal, sending the vehicle surging forward through the rain and mud.

The two tires she'd been guiding back onto the rapidly washing out roadway skidded off once more, causing the car to go careening over the steep side of the mountain. She let out a terrible scream as the reptile in her car attacked once more, then the winch wire pulled taught as the Jeep ran out of slack. But the weight and force of the drop made the anchor tree bend and snap.

It wasn't until a few weeks after the incident that UN soldiers and INGEN actuaries found the Barbasol stash can smashed open, vials of long-dead and rotted embryos strewn about the floor of a Jeep that was well on its way to being reclaimed by the dense jungle. 

They should remake Jurassic Park but the moment of foreshadowing in the presentation-ride is "we used AI to fill in the gaps in the DNA samples"

[simply-hyacinth]

Hello, Stranger.

First writing post ever. Unedited and essentially my transition into this stuff. Will maybe edit it (can you edit on tumblr later on?)

“This is the seventh order this week,” You murmured to your coworker. “They must really love our cakes.”

She laughed as she packaged the cakes, tying a pink ribbon around the boxes and fluffing the bows to perfection. “They must be rich. To order this many cakes and have a designated person to pick them up is the sign of a loaded customer.”

As if her words held summoning magic, a well-dressed older man came in, the little bell above the door ringing cheerfully. He didn’t need to say anything, you knew very well what he was here for. While your coworker dealt with the payment and signatures, your fingers found themselves twirling a pen, which gave you a quick idea.

Grabbing a small sticky note, you scribbled a message onto it and stuck it on one of the boxes, then stacked another on top of it so it wouldn’t be visible at first. As you handed them off to the man, you continued to wonder what kind of person would ever be ordering this many cakes within a week. Surely this had to be for a group of people, or a party, right?

“Nope,” Your coworker answered later on. “That man confirmed it was only for a single customer.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you shook your head. “Well, I hope they enjoy it while they can. At this rate they’ll die from an overload of sugar before the end of the month.”

“If anything, you should be proud. I mean, they are your cakes.” 

“Doesn’t mean I like making so many of them in such a short amount of time.” You sighed, spraying down the counter and wiping a towel across it. The man always came to pick up the desserts right before closing, which was quite a late time to be eating cake. 

Together, you and your coworker spent the rest of the night cleaning the bakery and discussing your theories on who this rich and mysterious customer may be. Eventually, after a couple hours of exhausted debate, you came to the conclusion that he was an old man, older than the one that came in to pick up the cakes. He lived in the houses that lined the outskirts of the city, and he was so fragile that he could not even get out of bed. The only thing that made him feel better were your cakes, which were made using a modified version of your grandmother’s recipe.

“Perhaps he knew your grandmother, and eating your cakes is the only reminder he has of his youth.” She hummed, plopping down onto the floor and pulling you to join her.

“I think we’ve imagined quite the tragic backstory for him already,” You laughed, still finalizing the money count. “Good lord, they’ve spent over two-thousand dollars on these cakes. That almost makes my sprained wrist worth it.”

Your coworker yawned, to which you encouraged her to go home. You offered to handle the rest of closing, after all, you lived in the loft right above the bakery. After she left, you finished inputting the sales into the system before heading up to bed.

When you awoke, you could not have been more angry at the time for moving so fast. Closing late and opening early was one of the parts of running a business you dreaded the most. Regardless, you trudged back down to the bakery and undid all the work you had just done a few hours ago.

By the time the bakery was actually open, you were still so sluggish and exhausted that you hadn’t even noticed the customer that had been there since the first hour of opening. Eventually, your eyes scanned the mostly empty shop and met another pair, staring right back at you.

You blinked in surprise, not knowing how long they had been looking at you for. With a nervous wave, you took a closer look at the customer, who had several papers splayed out in front of him and a cup of tea that looked relatively untouched. He was thin, and in your honest opinion, looked as if he hadn’t seen the sun in quite a while. Upon further inspection, you noticed his odd sitting position and the dark circles underneath his eyes. But what interested you the most was the look he fixed you with, as if he were able to read your entire personality like it were tattooed on your skin. 

“Is there anything else you need?” You ask him, coming closer to clear the table of the couple who had just left. He didn’t answer, prompting you to say something else. “Is it your first time here?”

“No.” His voice was soft, an accent you couldn’t quite place tinting his tone. “I was here a little over a week ago.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together, trying to remember if you had seen him here around that time. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. But you’ve been here a while. Are you waiting for someone?”

He looked up at you, the darkness around his eyes more prominent under the lights. “You could say that.”

Confused as to what he meant by that, you thought about what typically attracted customers to the bakery, specifically, who had random men waiting around for her. Your face went red and you laughed nervously. “Oh! You must be waiting for Eva. She’ll be here around noon if you’re willing to wait that long.”

His expression didn’t change one bit. “Is she the one who makes the cakes?”

“What?”

He pulled out a little sticky note from his pocket - the same note that you had sent off to your mysterious cake-loving customer the night before. In your state of tiredness, you had completely forgot about it. 

Hello, stranger. If you adore my cakes so much, why don’t you come by and I can give you a few other desserts to try? All on me :)

After your discussion with Eva last night, you had built up this image in your mind of this weak, pathetic, frail old man who was on the verge of death. And so, the first thing you said in response was, “But you’re so young!”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Oh?”

You winced in embarrassment, not knowing how to explain your words. “I just…I didn’t realize it was you. I suppose I owe you some free desserts then, don’t I?”

A light smile tinted his lips and he returned his attention to his papers, which you were unable to decipher as anything recognizable from the quick scan you did of them. As you went to grab a selection of sweets, the oddity of the stranger finally hit you.

From the several orders of the same cake, to the weirdly uncomfortable way he sat on his chair, there was nothing normal about him in the way you were accustomed to; not that you minded. And so for him, you took your time picking out a variety of different pastries and cakes. Eventually you amassed enough that any other person would mourn the loss of such profit, but there was something about the person they were going to that you could not help but be excited.

“Here you are,” You laid out the tray in front of him, noting the way his eyes examined each and every dessert carefully. “Made by yours truly.”

“All of them?”

You nodded at him proudly. “I normally make all of the food here since I live here, unless of course, I’m overwhelmed with several cake orders within the span of one week. In that case, I have my coworker come in and help out.”

He regarded you with an amused look before reaching out for a macaron. He stared at it for a moment, as if wondering whether or not you had poisoned it. Then, he gestured to the empty seat in front of him. 

“Join me.”

Surprised, you gaped at him for a second. He sounded serious, his hand still extended out towards the chair. You scanned the practically empty bakery and decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a break for a bit.

You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you were sitting in front of the tray of food, each and every option better looking than the last. You picked out a cookie and took a bite, pleasantly surprised with your skill.

He didn’t take a bite of his macaron until you had finished your own cookie, an act which did not go unnoticed by you.

“Do you like it?” You asked, oddly nervous. You really shouldn’t have been, after all, he had already made it fairly clear he was a fan of your baking. But for some reason, you still eagerly awaited his response.

“It’s quite good.” Was all he offered you.

Not sure if you were disappointed or not, you turned your attention to the papers he had begun filing away. “What are those for?”

“Just some research for an assignment of sorts.” He responded, now enthusiastically helping himself to more pastries.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you in school?”

“No, not anymore.”

He seemed young, young enough to be in college like you. Yet, you recalled the sheer amount of money he had managed to spend on just cakes. What did he do that allowed him to be so wealthy? You wanted to ask about his “assignment”, but eventually decided against it, and instead gave up more information about yourself.

“I dropped out,” You admitted, sighing. “It may have been the worst decision of my life.”

He looked up at you, a blank expression covering his face. “Then why did you?”

“I needed to take care of my mother, so I dropped out to run the bakery and cover her medical bills.” You pointed to the paintings on the walls. “She painted those, by the way. She was quite the artist.”

“Was.” 

“Hmm?”

He took a bite of the same kind of cookie you had eaten. “You used the past tense when referring to your mother. I assume those medical conditions have something to do with that?”

You stared at him. “Blunt of you to say, but yes. She passed away a couple years ago. I had every intention of returning to school, but running the bakery consumed so much of my time that I never got around to it.”

“It was a part of her you don’t wish to lose, I assume?”

His sentences were sharp and factual, not a hint of empathy or surprise within his words. It didn’t offend you, but it was still a stark difference to the conversations you typically had with people. 

“Yes, this bakery was hers. It’s small and not the most popular, but we have loyal customers who seem to enjoy our food.” You gave him a light smile. “Kinda like you.”

He didn’t reply, but took a cupcake. Then, after a minute of silence, he got up abruptly. You were surprised to see that he was taller than you had previously thought, as he slouched over so much you assumed him to be shorter. 

“I’ll be taking my leave now. Thank you for the dessert.”

“Of course,” You beamed at him, the nervousness in your words less present than before. “Will I be seeing you around?”

He collected his papers and looked around cautiously. “Most likely not.”

Disappointed, your shoulders fell. “Oh, I see.”

He studied you with terrifyingly intelligent eyes, and then held out a pen. You understood what he meant, and enthusiastically took it, looking around for a piece of paper. 

“I don’t have any - here, give me your arm.” You reached over and took hold of his wrist, to which he let you. Rolling up his sleeve, you noticed how pale he was, his veins prominent underneath the paper white of his skin. 

You quickly wrote down your number along his forearm, along with your name and a smiley face. “I’ll honestly respond anytime. I’m up most hours of the day and night normally.”

He let out a sound that may have been a quiet laugh of amusement, but truly sounded nothing like it. “I am as well.”

He turned to walk out, and you simply stared at him. There were still several desserts laid out on the table, but you took no notice of them as you replayed the exchange over and over again in your mind.

What an interesting character. You thought, clearing the table.

So interesting, in fact, that it never once occurred to you throughout the interaction that he had not given you his name.

[finelinevogue]

hey, if you have the time can you write a blurb where harry gets home from the studio and he's stressed, so the reader ask him to take a bath with her? and it's really fluffy, with rose petals and wine glasses? I know this is all over the place, I'm sorry shakshskwh

we all need a bit of domestic harry fluff in our lives so here we are <33 hope you like it;

You knew something was wrong without having to ask him.

Harry had rushed out of the apartment this morning to go to the studio, having had an important call from Tyler about something, leaving you to clean up around the house all day. However, there had been no good morning text from Harry, or even one from a lunch break, and he hadn’t picked up your call when you did. Harry never ignores you, unless he is in a really bad mood. Something to do with not wanting to be a burden and pass on his troubles to you. So you, being the best girlfriend in the world, had decided to do something kind for him when he gets home.

About an hour ago you’d texted Harry just to check up on him and also so you could time your plan of making him feel better.

To Harry: I love you. Hope you’re okay. Let me know when you’ll be home❤️

From Harry: Sorry about today love. I’ll be home at around 7pm. I love you xx

You’d bought the raw ingredients from Asda and made blueberry muffins - Harry’s favourite - along with buying some avocados in case he preferred to have that on toast when he gets in. You’d bought a bottle of red wine, the cheapest you could find obviously, and poured two glasses waiting. Finally, you’d ran a hot water bath with lavender soap and added a few rose petals, because you knew they were good for calming and relaxing. The bathroom smelt soft and cosy, like a warm blanket on a winters evening.

It was 7:08pm when he walked through the door, you hearing the door shut with a heavy sigh of relief from your boyfriend. He slipped off his blue checkered vans and walked through into the kitchen, his keys making a clattering sound as he dropped them in the key-bowl.

“Y/N, love?” He called out to you, but you didn’t respond. He furrowed his eyebrows at the silence, but even more so at the arrangement that was left on the kitchen counter-side for him.

He made his way over, his socks making him slide slightly on the shiny marble floor. He took in the selection of things on the side; the blueberry muffins, the avocado, the glass of red wine and its’ bottle and even a little cut out photo of you and him that he knew you’d stole from a photo frame - somewhere around the apartment. He smiled as he picked up the photo and remembered the memory well; you latched onto his back as Harry waded through a muddy puddle back in Holmes Chapel, because he didn’t want you to get wet and he’d been the only sensible one in wearing welly boots. You were both laughing and it made Harry’s heart swell at how much your happiness could bring him his too.

He placed the photo down and turned to the envelope that sat next to the plate of muffins. It was a white envelope signed ‘H x’ on the front and underlined. He turned it over and undid the seal, bringing out a card that had written on the front ‘You’ve got this!’ which Harry could’ve sworn he saw in Asda the other day underneath the exam congratulations cards. He smiled at your kindness, turning it over briefly but then sighing when he noticed you’d written a message too.

“God damn you Y/N.” He muttered under his breathe, tears forming in eyes from the overwhelming amount of love he had for you - just as you had for him.

Harry, it read, I know today had been tough but look, you got through it and i’m proud of you and for that you deserve a blueberry muffin! If you’d rather share a glass of wine with me then come join me upstairs and we’ll finish the bottle together. I love you always. Yours, Y/N. It was signed with a kiss of your lips in pink lipstick. Harry brought the paper to his lips and kissed over the mark where you’d kissed, never feeling so loved than right now.

You were an absolute treasure.

Harry picked up his glass of wine and the bottle, before heading off upstairs. Originally he’d thought that you’d been in bed, waiting for him with a tub of raspberry ripple ice-cream and the latest episode of Love Island, but as he ascended the stairs he could smell the lavender bubbles and the even sweeter scents of your rose petals you loved so much.

He walked into the bedroom first, just to make sure that you weren’t actually in there, before making his way to the bathroom. As he opened the door, the heat hit him all at once making him feel so cosy and blanketed.

Then he saw you.

You were shoulder deep in the bath, which was tucked into the corner of the room in a triangle sort of shape, looking as beautiful as ever. Your hair was up and out of the water, it not being its’ wash day today, and you’d accidentally given yourself a bubble beard. You looked innocently perfect, even with a glass of wine in your hand. You smiled when you saw Harry, moving from the far side of the bath to the side closest to Harry. You rested your arm on the side of the bath, propping your head up to have a steadier vision of your boyfriend.

“Hello.” You spoke softly as Harry walked over to the bath, placing both his glass and bottle on the side of it carefully. He then came in front of you and crouched down with a crack of his old-man knees.

“Hi beautiful.” He stroked your cheek with his fingers, watching as you hummed in sight of having him so close and so loved up.

“You okay?” You asked, looking into his eyes for any sign that he was about to lie. You wanted him to be honest with you and honest he was.

“I can’t lie and say everything was perfect today, no.” He chuckled, you pouting when you heard his answer.

“I’m sorry. Want to take a bath with me?” You asked and this is exactly what Harry loved about you. You didn’t force him to talk about whatever had happened when you could clearly see he was still working through it himself, instead you simply comforted him and tried to help him remind him that you were here for him whenever he was ready to open up.

“Love to. Let me just go undress.” He stood up, but you reached out to grab him on his blue jeans before he could get very far.

“Don’t go. Undress here, please?” It was the little please that made Harry cave, not wanting to make you upset. He’d do anything to make sure you were happy.

He nodded and pulled off his socks first, making you laugh as he wiggled his oddly sized toes. Next was his grey TPWK jumper that he pulled off over his head along with his t-shirt.

“Damn.” You wolf whistled as his torso became exposed, making Harry shake his head and laugh at you from your silliness. “This strip tease is ten out of ten, Styles.”

“Oh shut up you.” He laughed as he pulled his jeans off and then finally his boxers. He didn’t even hesitate on that last item of clothing, both of you being absolutely comfortable with exposing yourself in front of each other. There was nothing sexual about being naked with each other, however, this time. You were just in love with each other. Simple as that.

He stepped into the bath, you moving back over to the far side so he could climb in. Once he sunk down and submerged his body he let out the biggest and happiest sigh, making you giggle. He took his glass of wine and took a large sip from it, leaning his back in relief afterwards.

“Nice?” You asked, knowing the answer already because it was sat proud on his face.

His eyes met yours and you pursed your lips under his gaze. You could see the cogs turning in his head and you only wished that you could see inside his head, just for a moment, to understand how he felt.

“C’mere.” He spoke softly, turning to put his glass back on the side as you shifted over towards him. Once you met him, he took your glass.

“Hey!” You whined in protest.

“Can have it back in a minute. Just want you for a bit, okay?” He explained, devoting his entire attention to you now. You sat on his lap and spiralled your arms around his neck, Harry’s hands finding their home on your waist.

Your lips both did the talking then.

He cupped your face gently and pulled you into him until your felt his plush pink lips kiss yours. You divulged in him and his love, feeling his warmth everywhere and your mouth. He was warming your heart the same way the bath warmed your bodies. There was nothing rushed or sensual about the kiss, it was simple and pretty. His lips moulded to yours perfectly and his tongue made sure to slide it’s way inside your mouth for a taste. You tasted divine - like the richest, most expensive, of wines. He pulled back first, not before you could push an extra peck to his lips for good measure.

“I’m so lucky to have you, Y/N.” Harry smiled, keeping ahold of your face as he spoke to you.

“And I you.”

Harry shook his head as the misunderstanding of his words. “No. You seriously have turned my life into something worth living and I couldn’t be happier to be with you. Y’so special to me, Y/N, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry.” You leant to kiss him again. “And i’m here for you for anything.”

“I know. That’s why i’m lucky to have you.”

[superiorsturgeon]

You know what? I WILL tell you! Strap yourself in, because it’s story time!

The farm where I work has an old Honda ATV, and one day we noticed an odd noise coming from the engine. My boss asked me to change the oil, and when I undid the drain plug roughly a teaspoon of oil came out (for reference this thing was supposed to have like, 100x that amount).

I’m lying under this thing like:

We frantically topped up the oil, but as if it realized we had seen, the engine chose that moment to start dying a slow, tortured death as the internals gave out from running without lubrication.

The maintenance guy was looking at the guy who liked to hot-rod this ATV around the farm like…

…and promptly refused to work on it because we clearly weren’t caring for our equipment and he had other projects that were more important.

So, after a month of struggling with this ATV that burned oil faster than gasoline and vomited smoke like it was determined to single-handedly kill the planet via global warming, I was going through a rarely-used shed and found…another ATV!!

The prospect of once more being able to ride instead of walk three miles per day has me all…

…right up until I ask my boss about it.

“That thing? I think it’s got a fuel leak, needs a battery, and hasn’t run since the Obama administration. I forgot it even existed!”

Me:

Me after another week of not being able to get the first ATV to run and having to walk to the far corners of the farm any time something happened:

…so I gathered up my $57 USD worth of tools and my YouTube account and got busy trying to restart a 20-year-old piece of equipment that hadn’t run in years.

10 hours and three cans of starter fluid later, I’m met with unexpected success as this ancient machine roars to life!

…aaaaaaand pisses oil and fuel all over the floor.

Apparently someone back in the depths of time had encountered a slight fuel leak while driving this ATV, and responded by assembling a bizarre intersection of Rube-Goldberg machine and Frankenstein’s monster using zip ties, electrical tape, and fuel lines, which did very little to contain petroleum products.

I must have stared at the filth-encrusted underside of this thing like a Magic Eye picture for two solid hours until I realized that there was a missing part that tied three different hoses together. This was the point where I realized exactly what it means to work on 20-year-old vehicles…

…discontinued parts!

I then proceeded to spend the next week on eBay and Amazon running down parts that were probably worth $35 in 2003 but were now $400 and up!

5-13 days of shipping time and 3 weeks of waiting for reimbursement later, I install the new parts. I pull-start the engine and hop on!

Let’s ride!

The ATV:

Me, staring at the smoke wafting from behind the body panels:

Now, I’m actually proud of how I stripped the front of that ATV down until I found a burned wire, but I now had to track down a part that only exists in the form of junked versions of this particular model of ATV, all to avoid the prospect of fiery death.

Back to eBay I went…!

To prevent a long story from being even longer, I’ll summarize the next few weeks: I replaced the oil hoses, fuel lines, electric starter, and brake system one piece at a time like the ship of Theseus until I had basically assembled an entire ATV from Amazon and eBay parts, but finally… FINALLY…there is now a working ATV at my place of employment! I’ve updated my resume several times to reflect repair skills I’ve acquired just from this project, but we now have a working vehicle for running around the farm!

Tl;dr: I restored a 22-year-old ATV because nobody bothered to change the oil on the one we had.

I want more broken machines content. If I don’t get my fix soon I think I’m gonna die.

[bkwrm523]

Debriefing

Title: Debriefing Rating: Explicit Pairing: Bruce Wayne/reader Word Count: 2986 Warnings: Smut, batcave sex, table sex, oral, vibrators, daddy kink, feels confessions. Summary: Bruce and the reader have an argument after patrol Author’s Note: As usual, this is about no particular universe’s Batman.  You get to see whichever one you want.

The car pulled to a stop inside Bruce Wayne’s garage, and you exhaled a sigh of relief as you turned the car off.  You’d almost stopped to pick him up, but Alfred over the coms had assured you that he would drive the Batmobile home.  Probably a better idea than you picking him up, anyway.  It would have been hard to explain.  With all the punishment you’d put Bruce’s car through, you were a bit surprised it had managed to limp all the way home.

“Alfred,” you said aloud, your voice picked up by the com unit in your ear.  “Is-”

“Master Bruce is already here.”  Alfred answered, not needing to wait for the rest of your question to know what you were asking.  “He’s currently in the cave, if you wish to speak to him.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”  You signed and shut your eyes for a minute.

Bruce had almost died tonight.

You could tell something was wrong with the supervillain he just charged into, and tried to warn Bruce to take it slow and careful.  He hadn’t listened, and you’d had to rescue him.  By stealing one of Bruce Wayne’s cars and trying to run the villain over.

You finally pushed the car door open, heaving yourself out of the car and walked into the house.  It felt like it took an hour for you to reach the batcave, so massive was the house.

“So, that went well.”  You spat sarcastically as you descended into the Batcave.  You could see the top of Bruce’s head around the desk and monitors, and walked slowly towards him.

“It could have been worse.”  He replied, not turning towards you.  “Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”  You told him calmly.  “It wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d just listened to me from the start.”  Your voice was clipped, not afraid to make your annoyance audible.  You finally walked around the computer, and his form came fully into view.

And damn was that a mistake.  He was shirtless.

You’d been working for Bruce for months, and had been suppressing your feelings for him the whole time.  He was miles out of your league.  You could never quite tell if he’d figured it out or not.  Bruce wasn’t the easiest person to lie to, but the way he behaved… it was either totally innocent, or he was enjoying toying with you.  It made you frightened and excited all at once.  

Bruce still wore the pants and boots of the Batsuit, but he’d discarded everything above the waist.  Your mouth went dry, and you suddenly forgot how to form words.  You swallowed, an effort of will keeping your jaw from dropping to the floor.  It was quite difficult to remember why you’d been angry.  There was a large bandage on his shoulder from where he’d been grazed by a bullet.  The rest of his torso was a mass of bruises.  It was hardly a secret how much Bruce worked out, and damn did it show with the view of him without a shirt.  You couldn’t take your eyes off his chest.

“I’ve faced skilled opponents before.”  Bruce said calmly, turning to face you.  Somehow, you managed to force your eyes off his chest and back to his face.  Was that a smirk?  Shit, his face wasn’t any better.  You took in a breath, looking away from him and down at the desk, searching your brain for the arguments that had been so clear before he’d taken his fucking shirt off.

“We… uh, we needed a plan.”  You stuttered out, sounding anything but convincing.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” Bruce replied, sounding amused.  He stepped closer to you, and you felt your breath catch.  You didn’t think you could handle this.  “I know what I’m doing, and I felt I could handle the situation.”

“You wanted me to be a part of this team because you wanted my advice.”  A full sentence!  Fantastic!  And all that went out the window when your eyes flitted over his still bare chest again.  Fuck.  “If - if, uh, you don’t listen to me, then… then I’m not - not sure what I’m, uhm, doing here.”  Look away from his face.  Look away from his chest.  Fuck, just look away from him in general.  You quickly dropped your eyes back to the desk.  Safer that way.  Bruce moved again, stepping into your space until you could feel the warmth from his body.

“I won’t always agree with you, but don’t underestimate your contributions.”  Bruce replied, smooth and comforting.  He rested a hand on your arm, and you nearly moaned aloud at the touch of his skin on yours.  He rubbed a thumb gently against the skin on your inner arm, and you swallowed again.  His other hand gently grabbed your chin, lifting your head to force you to look at him.  You had to fight the urge to let out a squeak, feeling trapped under his gaze.  His eyes… the best you could describe it, was predatory amusement.

“I, uh…” you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.  A smirk curled his lips as he stared at you.  “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”  Bruce said, his voice filled with amusement as his smirk grew smug.  He stepped forward again, forcing you to stumble backwards until your ass hit the desk.  His steps were slow and measured and confident, where you were an undignified scramble, nearly falling before you hit the desk.  You could feel his breath on your lips, making your own breath catch.

Finally, after months of teasing, your patience snapped.

You leaned into him, crossing the last of the distance between your lips and his.  Bruce growled, and this time you couldn’t stop the squeak that emerged from you.  A small smile curled his lips briefly.  The hand that had been on your chin moved to cup the back of your skull and hold you in place as his tongue pushed into your mouth, ravaging your lips.  You moaned, leaning into him, overwhelmed with sensation.  His stubble was starting to grow back, making the kiss pleasantly rough.  His hand on your head, his other arm on your back, the warmth of his bare chest pressing into you.  He kissed you aggressively, leaning you back against the table.  You lifted your arms to wrap around his shoulders, clinging to him as he dominated the kiss, trapping you against his form.  A thigh pushed between your legs, pushing one leg out of the way.  His pants were armored, so you couldn’t tell if he was erect under them, but you’d be willing to bet he was.  You tried to mumble around his lips and tongue, but everything came out muffled, and all you could do was surrender and moan.

When Bruce finally released your lips, you dropped your head back and gasped for air.  A moment later, the breath left your lungs when you felt Bruce’s lips on your neck.  The stubble that had been pleasant during the kiss was so much more stimulating on your neck, and your knees simply gave out.  The hand on your head dropped to your back, and his grip tightened around you, holding you aloft.  He lifted you a little, setting you down on the desk.  The elevated height brought your face about level with his, and he finally stood up straight.  Your mouth went dry again, trying to take everything in at once, for about a second before he was on you again.

Your legs went around his waist, his chest pressed against you again.  One arm went around your back, and the other lifted to tilt your head to the side, giving him access to your neck.  You whined and squirmed in his arms as his lips stole your ability to think.  He leaned into you, his hips making little thrusts into you.  Your head rolled back on your shoulders, and your fingers scratched at his bare shoulderblades.  You whined his name, panting and trying to find the breath to plead.  He gave a groaning growl and leaned into you.  You whined more and ground into him, wishing he’d just take off his pants already so you could feel him.

One of the arms on your back went lowered, until it was practically around your ass.  He pulled your hips into his, holding you tightly to him and ground back into you.  You cried his name as his teeth bit into your neck, biting and sucking just where you were most sensitive.  He rubbed against your clit until your eyes rolled back in your head.

“Bruce,” you breathed, your hand unconsciously lifting to bury in his hair.  Another growl came from your neck.  His hips rhythmically rocked into yours, making you whine and moan and plead.  You tried to squirm away, but his grip was a vise, and you weren’t escaping any time soon.

Bruce ripped away from you, stepping back and withdrawing his heat from you as suddenly as he’d attacked you, leaving you dazed, breathless, and confused.  He held your gaze for a long moment, before dropping his eyes down to his pants as he undid the latches.  You almost leaned forward to help him, but resisted the urge; his pants were armored, and bound to be complicated.  However they were designed, he’d be much more efficient at removing them than you would.

A moment later, it occurred to you that his hands were busy.  That they would be for a few moments, at least.  You pulled your shirt off quickly, tossing it heedlessly to the side.  Your bra was discarded an instant later.  You leaned back a little, dropping your head back on your shoulders, sliding your eyelids partly shut and cupping your breasts with your hands.  You tweaked your nipples, giving a soft sigh at the stimulation.  You kept your eyes on him, and so you saw the exact moment he heard you sigh, and saw his eyes snapped up to you.  They narrowed when he saw what you were doing.  A small growl escaped his lips, and you bit your own lip to suppress the noise that tried to escape you.  His movements on his pants were swift and clipped, and in no time he had removed the rest of his clothes.  He took a swift step forwards, and you dropped your hands to the desk and smirked at him.

“You realize you’re going to pay for that, kitten?”  Bruce asked, giving a crooked, confident smirk.

“Worth it,” you giggled.  Bruce held your eyes for a moment, then produced a zip tie from a drawer.  He didn’t give you time to speak, but pulled your hands behind your back, and secured them in place.  He pulled the zip tie tight, but looser than you expected.  You wiggled a little, testing it; it was tight enough to keep your hands there, but loose enough that you’d have no trouble pulling them free if you really wanted to.  Bruce waited for you to finish testing it, until you looked back up at him.  He kissed you again, gentle this time, cupping the back of your skull again with one hand and planting the other behind you.  You squirmed a little, struggling fruitlessly against the bonds and his hands, but got nowhere.  Bruce leaned forward, slowly pushing you back.  You leaned into his arms, letting him support you as he carefully pushed you down onto the desk, lying somewhat awkwardly on top of your bound hands.  He released your lips with a parting nip, letting you gasp for breath as you tried to guess his next move.

You half expected him to attack your breasts, but instead you felt his hands at your pants.  He undid them, pulled them off, leaving you lying naked on the table.  You could suppress the small ‘meep’ that emerged when you saw the way he ogled your naked pussy ravenously.  Bruce turned his torso around, looking around the small space you were both in, until he spotted the chair.  He grabbed it, pulling it over next to the space of counter you were lying on, and sat.

Oh.

He intended to take his time with you.

You swallowed reflexively, nervous and excited all at once.  It must have shown on your face, as Bruce gave you a smirk with eyes full of mischief.  From the angle you had, you couldn’t really see much more than his face.  But you suddenly felt his fingers tease your opening ever so lightly.  You gave a loud moan and dropped your head down on the table with a thunk.  When you felt a vibrator teasing around your clit, you gave a yelp and your legs jerked.  Where the ever living fuck had he gotten that from?!

Bruce didn’t show any mercy, continuing his teasing of your clit as he leaned in.  You felt his breath on your pussy lips, and your eyes slid closed as your breath came in short, quick pants.  His tongue pushed into you, and you felt as much as heard his pleased groan at your taste.  A small whine left you at the noise, the vibrations from him and the vibrator teasing you more than stimulating you, leaving you desperate for more.

“Bruce,” you gasped.  “Please.”

The vibrator grazed your clit then, and your legs shot straight up.  Bruce leaned into you, burying his face in you and devouring you ravenously.  He rested his free hand on your hip, holding you steady as he tortured you with tongue and vibrator until you screamed.

Two or three orgasms later, you’d lost count, Bruce sat back and removed his stimulation, finally letting you come down.  Your legs (you hadn’t quite registered it, but apparently they’d been sticking out totally straight while he’d been working on you) fell back down to the counter.  You panted hard, trying to catch your breath after the marathon he’d put you through.

Bruce stood, leaning over you and resting his arms on the table to support his weight.  His expression was tender, gentle, in a contrast to the pleasurable torture he’d just put you through.  One hand stroked a lock of hair out of your face.

“Can you do one more, kitten?”  Bruce asked you softly.  You didn’t even have to think, you just nodded.  

Bruce dropped a short, soft kiss on your lips, then nuzzled his face into your neck.  Your overstimulated nerves jumped at the feeling, and all you could do was give a weak moan and squirm a little.  He leaned his hips into yours, until you felt his erection against your pussy, sliding against your clit.  The orgasms he’d given you made you still wet enough that it felt amazing.  You groaned, and Bruce stopped his teasing of your neck to sink his teeth into your skin and growl.

“‘M ready.”  You gasped out.  “Please.”  That drew another growl from Bruce, and he let your neck out of his teeth, resting his forehead against you and panting into your wet skin.  One hand left the table, going between his legs to position his dick as he pulled back.

When Bruce finally slid into you, it was so painfully slow that you couldn’t help but squirm and whine.

“Stop.  Moving.”  Bruce growled, his voice dropping into his Batman voice, only arousing you further.

“Please, daddy!”  You cried, then froze.  The words just came out without thinking, and you didn’t know if he was into that.  Bruce stopped moving for a moment, as well, and for a horrible moment you were terrified that you’d killed the mood.

“Be patient, princess.”  Bruce growled into your ear, nipping at you.  Lust filled his voice, soothing your worry that your exclamation had been unwanted; far from it.

Bruce kept pushing his dick into you, continuing until he bottomed out.  Then he just sat there, frustratingly patient, waiting and panting and nipping at your neck while he waited for you to adjust.

“Please, daddy, just fuck me!”  You finally cried, unable to wait any longer.

And boy, did he.

Bruce’s hands on the table moved, grasping the far edge of it with both hands to hold it steady as his hips thrusted into yours.  Your head rolled back, arching your back into him.  You were utterly unable to speak, tiny unintelligible noises emitting from you.  Bruce buried his face in your neck, alternately sucking and nipping hard at your neck as he made the table shudder from his thrusts.

You were still overstimulated from the earlier orgasms, and he was so aroused already, it didn’t take you both long to climb to the precipice.  Your vision whited out and you screamed, feeling him orgasm inside you moments later.

When you came to, you were still in the batcave.  Your hands were unbound, and your shirt and pants had been put back on you.  Judging by the feel between your legs, he’d taken a damp towel or something and wiped you clean, and then apparently set you in the cot he had set up down in the batcave.  You made a small inquisitive noise, stirring, and Bruce suddenly came into your line of vision.  He walked over to you, and sat on the side of the bed next to you.

“Hey,” you greeted him, your voice rough and groggy.  Bruce looked… uncertain.  Nervous.  You pulled a hand free of the blankets and held his, wanting to reassure him.

“Hey.”  Bruce replied, a small smile emerging at your action.  His thumb rubbed the part of your hand it could reach soothingly.  “This… this wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you how I felt.” “Really?”  You teased.  “It seemed perfect to me.”  That startled a laugh out of Bruce, and you warmed at the sound.

“Be that as it may, I’d… I’d really like to take you to dinner sometime.” “I’d like that.”  You smiled back up at him.