#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.

[houseofthedragonn]

Hello lovelyyyy! Another request sitting on my mind! Cregan x Reader ofc 🤭 Cregan has been busy at the Wall and away from his wife. Although he’s not gone long, reader misses him like crazy, ravens back and forth. Cregan comes back and is busy replying to letters, working late, the usual. Impatient reader visits and freak nasty ensues?? Please let me know if you see the vision 😭

work song

cregan stark x wife!reader

SYNOPSIS - Cregan’s left for the Wall only a few days in the long summer, with weather in his favor for a quick return. Still, the ravens you incessantly sent to each other every hour were not enough for you, longing for his touch…

WARNINGS - smuuuuuuuut, bent over desk sexxxxx

WORKS

“Cregan, come to bed… your lady wife demands you honor your marital duty, my love…” I whined, waiting outside his study with the door ajar, candle in hand.

“Don’t do that.” Stark said gruffly, without looking up from his desk drowning in parchment. Nothing but endless letters he had to tend to now that he had returned from the Wall.

Not that I did not help with duties around the castle, I could and did as Lady of Winterfell. It was just all letters addressed to the Lord were his and only his to answer. Regarding troops, demands of his vassals. Any and all issues pertaining to the Warden of the North. Heavy was the head, and all that. Though he wore no crown, the King in the North who never was. But was in my mind, and all I wanted was his Grace to rest. Next to me in our big featherbed. After days without him, away at the Wall. Luckily, it was the long summer, so he returned home much faster than had it been winter.

“Don’t do what?” I teased innocently, though I knew what he meant.

“Dont use my honor and duty against me like that, my love. I also have to honor the duty of my work, as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North… But I have not forgotten my duty to you, my sweet wife. You’ve been so patient these last few days, now be a good girl and be patient for me some more.” Cregan rambled, noticeably angrier than he ever was with me. Only ever seeing him get so worked up when working as he hated how tedious it was, but knew it was of utmost importance. Not for him, but his people, so he did his job well, not rushing.

Which I respected in principle, but in practice, I could not wait any longer.

“That’s what you said hours ago! When you said you’d come to bed soon, but now the hour has grown quite late… Cregan.” I pouted, holding a now empty cup of wine, not the first I drained while waiting for my husband to retire ro our chambers.

Growing needier and needier for Stark, with every single passing minute. Minutes turned to hours. And now I was starting to feel a bit angry. My blood boiling. As well as heat between my thighs where I still needed him most, no matter how mad I was with him for making me wait. He was worth it.

“Aye, so it has! It’s the hour of the wolf, love, and I may make you wait even beyond that for interrupting my work…” Stark snarled, looking up from his work finally to spare me a glance.

Glad he did as I could not take being brushed off anymore. I had undid the lacing of my favorite nightgown that undid at the front. Letting it fall from my shoulders so I stood in the doorway of his study stark naked. Cregan’s big grey eyes went wide with desire, before he shot out of his seat, his work be damned. Long forgotten as I was all that mattered to him now. And how he did not want anyone else in Winterfell seeing me in such a state of undress. Not like it was anything the servants who helped me bathe had not seen before, but he was just protective. Slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind me. Picking me instead of another piece of parchment he had to read made him much happier. So happy I felt it through his lessened layers of fine clothes. As it was the long summer, he only had on his tunic and trousers. His boots kicked off long ago to work more comfortably, his long hair tied back in a knot at the nape of his neck. Still, some strands slipped out, framing his handsome face.

He looked so vulnerable without all of his furs, without Ice. Not far, just leaning against the stone wall by his desk. Still, he was so close to being in no clothes at all, seeing him sat at his desk like that made me want to sit on his lap as he worked. So I told him as much, whispering in his ear as he scooped me up, “You can keep working, my Lord… I only ask to keep you company as you do.”

I asked with an innocent batting of my lashes, with my not so innocent bare body pressed against his.

“Gods… yes, you can, love.” Cregan’s tune changed, as he held me in his arms and walked us back over to his desk.

He sat down, as did I, on his lap. Moving around the second I got the chance to, making him groan my name. At how good my bare ass felt grinding against his trousers. Making him completely lose his place in a letter he was reading. Having to start over.

“This is what you get for making me wait, Stark.” I smirked, grinding down harder as my hips tortured him through his trousers. With my back against his muscular chest and head on his broad shoulder.

“Fucking hells… keep doing that and I’m going to have to punish you for distracting me, love…” Cregan growled in my ear before his teeth grazed the sensitive skin just below it.

I sighed a soft moan as he sucked hard, leaving love bites, as I kept on squirming around on his lap. Over and over until we were both sweaty, whining messes in his big wooden chair. But I stopped just before he had a chance to finish in his trousers. Not wanting to waste his seed I wanted inside of me instead, as did he.

“Not going to let you finish that easy…” I taunted, reaching back to undo the knot of his long dark hair. Pulling on his now just as he did mine.

“I a arned you, love…” Stark smiled a wolfish grin before lifting me off of his lap.

Swiping his desk clear of everything, in one swift, fell swoop of his large hands, he cleared it. Just to bend me over his cold wooden desk. At once, I heard his hands harshly unlacing his trousers he did not even remove fully. Just enough for him to free his aching cock. With my pleading voice every hour for the last several begging him to come to bed making him hard as a pillar alone without my touch. But when I would come to the door in nothing but my gown, then seeing me without it, had broken his resolve. Desperate to bury himself inside my cunt almost as much as I was desperate to feel him buried in me.

“Fucking hells, Cregan!” I cried out as he plunged into me without warning.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, my greedy, spoiled wife? Your husband’s cock fucking you…” Stark slumped over me on the desk, sticking to me with our sweat in no time in the summer weather. Making the castle unusually hotter than normal. All the windows of his study open, not that we cared.

“Yes, gods, yes! You’re so fucking big, my love…” I moaned, feeling my walls stretch to fit his size so much it made my wet cunt gush even more as he fucked me bent over his desk.

Hitting that same spot I needed him to since the second he left our bed for the Wall. Hitting it over and over again with his long thick cock. He slipped his hand between my belly and the desk as his palm pressed down to feel himself move without mercy inside me. My knees buckled but at least my upper half was still slumped on the cold wooden table. I felt his other hand squeeze my ass after smacking it, the sounds of our skin hitting echoing as he hit that spot, making his chambers spin.

“Be a good girl and come for me, my love…” Cregan panted in my ear as his thrusts grew harder, faster, sloppier.

I felt my release building in the pit of my stomach until it felt like a rope about to snap. So then I did. Letting go, I came all over his cock. Cregan cursing the gods and praising my name as I did, clenching around him with my walls he was buried deep in. His own climax not far behind, Stark finished inside me, not caring about the mess we made of his desk. All the pieces of parchment forgotten to the floor. I could only grip the wood as I felt warmth wash over me from the inside as he came. And I did get exactly what I wanted.

[ghoulsverse]

Chapter Three: Welcome to the Puppet Show

[Summary] Cracks begin to show, and Wanda doesn't know how to handle it. 2.1k words | [Tags] Angst, Sad!Wanda, Mind Control

Chapter Index

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Wanda had always been good at compartmentalizing pain. She could take the ache of grief, the unbearable tightness of loss, and push it down somewhere deep, letting it harden into something she could carry. But being in your house… with its warm colors and soft textures and echoing remnants of a world she built to keep herself from breaking… it undid her carefully constructed barriers. Every day she spent near you threatened to shatter what was left of her restraint.

She didn’t deserve this.

The guilt gnawed at her constantly. It pulsed beneath every moment she spent in your kitchen, each quiet second she stood beside you hammering a board or sweeping away dust. You were kind. Effortlessly kind. And she knew—God, she knew—that kindness was born of a lie. Of her selfish need to keep the world soft and gentle for just a little while longer. To keep her family for just a moment more.

But you didn’t know that. Not really. Your memories of what happened in Westview were fractured, confused, buried under layers of sitcom scripts and fabricated lives. You thought Wanda was someone worth saving. Someone worth being near.

It was unbearable.

Sometimes, you caught her staring. Not in that glassy, absent way you sometimes did when the Hex’s hold flickered… but with concern. Real, genuine concern. A mix of longing and guilt. 

You tried not to push her, but it was obvious you wanted her to talk. To open up.

One morning, as golden light spilled over the porch and dew clung to the grass, you handed her a cup of coffee. She took it without a word, wrapping her fingers around the warmth like it was the only thing grounding her.

“You always act like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop,” you said softly. “But you’re here. You’re helping. You care. That should count for something.”

Wanda stared down into the mug. The silence between you stretched.

“Because it will. It always does,” she said finally. “The world always comes crashing down.”

“You keep saying that,” you murmured. “But I wish you’d tell me why.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her throat tightened with the pressure of everything unsaid.

“I’ve seen the way you work yourself to exhaustion,” you continued. “How you go out of your way to make sure everything’s perfect. Like you think fixing the house will somehow fix... whatever you think you broke.”

“I’m trying to make it better,” Wanda whispered.

“I know you are.” Your voice was gentle. “But it doesn’t look like you’re healing. It looks like you’re trying to disappear.”

She met your eyes then, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world stilled. You didn’t know the truth. But still, you looked at her like she was something delicate. Something worthy. And Wanda hated how badly she wanted to believe it.

She looked away first.

Later that afternoon, Wanda lingered at the windowsill, wiping it clean for the second time in an hour. You were outside, pinning fresh sheets to the clothesline, your sleeves rolled and hair tucked behind your ears. You looked… untouched. Not in the way that meant naive, but in a way that meant unscarred.

And yet… there were cracks.

Wanda could see them. Moments when your smile faltered, when your hand paused mid-motion like you forgot what you were doing. You’d blink hard, once or twice, and then keep going. Always keep going.

She told herself it was just stress. The kind of exhaustion that came with rebuilding, recovering. But deep down, Wanda felt something sharp curling in her gut. A whisper of wrongness she couldn’t ignore.

She could still feel the spell. Its fingerprints. Its residue.

A spark of static when she passed through certain hallways. A flash of something unreal in the corner of her eye..

You didn’t notice. Not really.

And Wanda said nothing.

Because if she named it, it would be real. And if it was real, she’d have to face the possibility that you would hate her… You should. The real you wouldn’t be so kind to her.

By the time she finished the house’s exterior… clean lines, soft colors, and Wanda’s subtle magic, which she had no choice but to use, reinforcing the beams—Wanda found herself staring up at it and remembering another home. Not one she’d built with her mind, but the Tower.

The Avengers compound had been chaotic and loud and filled with people who treated her like family. That had been the closest she’d ever come to peace. She remembered the smell of popcorn from movie nights, the way Natasha used to ruffle her hair in passing, the warmth of Vision’s presence beside her as they watched the sun set through reinforced glass.

One night, she’d curled up on the couch in oversized sweatpants while Steve picked a terrible action movie and Clint argued about popcorn seasoning. Natasha had dropped down beside her, tugging her close with one arm and resting her chin on Wanda’s shoulder. "You don’t always have to be strong, you know," Natasha had murmured. "It’s okay to just be a person." Wanda had smiled… truly smiled, and leaned into her without thinking. “

Later, as the credits rolled and the team drifted off to bed, Vision had remained. Silent but present. He sat beside her and said nothing, just offered her the last of the popcorn and looked out at the sky. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he’d said. And Wanda, for once, had believed him.

She hadn’t known it then, but she’d been happy. Stable. She missed it more than she could bear.

That night, the kitchen smelled like roasted vegetables and fresh bread. You moved around with ease, humming softly under your breath as you plated food. Wanda sat at the small table, watching your movements with an intensity she hoped didn’t show.

“You didn’t have to cook all this,” she said quietly.

“I wanted to,” you replied. “It feels nice. Normal.”

Normal. The word made her stomach twist.

You sat down across from her, offering a soft smile. “Go on, try it. It’s not poisoned.”

Wanda managed a faint chuckle and took a bite. It was good. Warm. Comforting. You both ate in silence for a while until you broke it with, “I keep thinking... if we just keep doing little things like this, it’ll start to feel like home again.”

Wanda nodded slowly, but her expression was tight. “Do you ever wonder if this is real?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... does it ever feel like you’re playing a part?”

You frowned thoughtfully. “Sometimes. But doesn’t everyone, when they’re trying to heal?”

Her breath caught. You didn’t know what you were saying. Or maybe you did—maybe the remnants of the Hex made you believe these things. Made you say the perfect words at the perfect time.

After dinner, you brought out a bottle of wine, pouring each of you a glass. You leaned on the counter and watched her as she swirled the liquid slowly.

“You always look so sad,” you said gently. “I just wish I could make it better.”

There was a beat—a pause so long it felt like a held breath. Then, you stepped closer and reached out, brushing your fingers lightly over her wrist. Wanda didn’t move away in time.

Your eyes searched hers. “You don’t have to carry it alone. It’s okay to just be a person.”

She froze for a moment, glass of wine half tipped to her mouth. She wanted to believe that. To let go. To forget what she’d done and just pretend, just for a second, that she deserved this. That she deserved kindness. Absolution.

When you leaned in, lips brushing hers with hesitant warmth, Wanda froze.

She pulled back instantly, eyes wide, chair scraping against the floor as she stood.

You looked startled, blinking up at her. “I-I’m… sorry, I thought—”

Then, something cold crept into your voice, something distant and unsettling. Almost robotic. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? A happy ending?”

It hit her like a slap.

You didn’t even know why you said it. The words felt placed in your mouth, like lines in a script you hadn’t written.

Wanda stared at you, her breath catching in her throat.

You looked at her in stunned silence, and in that moment, she couldn’t breathe. It was almost like you were looking straight through her, the lingering effects of her mind control over the town still doing her bidding.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I don’t know why I said that.”

But Wanda didn’t answer. Without a word, she turned and bolted from the kitchen.

Your voice called after her, concerned. “Wanda? Wait—”

She didn’t. She ran to the guest room and slammed the door, locking it with trembling fingers. Her back hit the door and she slid down to the floor, heart pounding in her ears.

How had she let it go on this long? How had she ignored the signs?

You were still trapped. And she hadn’t done anything to stop it. She’d been so desperate for something good, something kind, that she hadn’t questioned the way you always knew what to say to calm her, or how you never once asked her to leave. That moment at the table… it hadn’t come from you. Not really.

Every look you ever gave her, every kind gesture, every dinner you cooked for her. All of it came from her subconscious need for affection. 

She pressed her hands to her face, ashamed.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

She didn’t deserve to cry.

You were the one suffering the most, and you didn’t even know it.

She sat there for what felt like hours, the house quiet around her. Occasionally, she could hear your footsteps outside the door, a soft knock, your voice gentle: “Wanda? I’m sorry. Can we talk?”

She couldn’t.

Because if she opened that door, she’d fall into the illusion all over again.

And next time, she might not come back out.

The sun had long since set. The house was still, but Wanda’s mind wouldn’t quiet. She sat with her back pressed to the guest room door, legs drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as if holding herself together.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw your face… blank, confused, that flicker of something not quite yours slipping through in the kitchen. Like a mask cracking.

The dead stare in your eyes.

The voice that was yours but the words that didn’t belong.

She didn’t know anymore.

Wanda hated the feeling she had, the feeling of every organ dropping to her stomach when she saw your head tilt slightly, almost like you had heard a voice in your ear telling you what to do and say. Or a voice in your head more like.

Like you had strings pulling at your thoughts and actions.

Like her own puppet.

The worst part wasn’t that you might not be free… it was that you believed you were. And if she had touched your mind at all, if even a sliver of your affection wasn’t your own, then she’d stolen something from you. Again.

That thought made her sick.

Eventually, she forced herself to stand. Having sat for so long that she had heard the faint sounds of you going through your nightly routine, hopefully sleeping peacefully. She moved quietly through the house, avoiding the places that creaked at any weight. She stepped onto the back porch, breathing in the night air like it might clear her thoughts.

The stars blinked down, distant and indifferent.

She thought of Vision, of how he used to describe the stars as ancient storytellers. He’d once pointed out constellations and recited myths with that soft curiosity of his… so patient, so kind. He would have known what to say now. He would have told her that people could change. That remorse mattered. That healing wasn’t linear.

But he wasn’t here.

Only you were.

And that made everything so much harder.

She tried not to cry. She didn’t deserve to cry.

And she couldn’t tell you the truth.

Not yet.

Because if she told you… if she confessed that some part of her magic still lived in your mind… what if you looked at her differently? What if that kindness vanished? What if the softness she clung to was never really hers?

Wanda closed her eyes, the night pressing against her lungs like water.

She had made you the star of her illusion once.

And now, even after everything, you were still on the stage—dancing lines she hadn’t meant to write.

And Wanda?

She was the girl pulling the strings. And she didn't want to anymore.

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[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.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Red Bridge-Valentines Special* Stand alone

*Implied sex and teasing.

Just a one shot hot special for Valentines day. Not in line with the story yet.

___________________________________________________________

“Mei, come on, they are going to give our table away. You already look perfect, let's go!’ Michael chuckled to himself and parked his ass in a tufted leather chair in their bedroom. He lit a cigarette and chuckled listening to the various bottles being rearranged in the medicine cabinet.

She was always so thoughtful about everything, especially her appearance. When they had honeymooned in Hong Kong she’d told him she took care of her appearance so she didn’t embarrass him. When he reassured her she couldn’t possibly do that she’d scoffed and told him that they were a compliment to one another.

He smiled thinking about that. She wasn’t a compliment to him, she was better but he’d never admit that out loud.

He knew she looked stunning, she always did. He’d also learned after marriging her that if they wanted to get anywhere on time he’d have to lie about the time giving her several hours to prepare.

“I’m not going out with you looking dapper until I look just as good Michael.” She called over her shoulder as she slipped past him and adjusted her hair.

She was dressed in a red Qipao. He loved when she wore her tailored chinese style dresses. They hugged her hips and breast so perfectly.

Honestly he loved it when she wore nothing too. He intended to peel that red and gold dress off of her when they got home.

He adjusted in his seat. She had a habit of making his pants tight and she wasn’t even trying. His gaze was fixed on her form. If she didn’t hurry up he was going to take her in this room at this moment.

She was pining her pearl barretts up into her raven waves. He could smell her perfume from here. The notes of Mandarin oranges, jasmine and vanilla flooded his nostrils.

Michael stood abruptly, almost knocking over the coffee table in front of him. Mei looked at him with startled almond eyes, lust filling them as her brown orbs swept up and down his body. She knew what she was doing to him.

“You always look stunning Mei. Don't fuss too much. I’m just going to take all that off you later and devore you in our bed and if you don't start moving to that door. Right now.” The command sat heavy between them. Michael slowly stalked towards her. He was going to pin her small hips up against that vanity and fuck her into that mirror. The thought of being able to see her face in the mirror as her visage contorted into ecstasy was too much for Michael. He may be a man willing to play a longer game but not when it comes to sex….when it came to tasting her, well she undid his resolve with one flick of her wrist.

His calloused hands gripped her hip tightly as he drove them both forward into the polished wood. Her little trays of make up and scents tumbled and clattered around them.

“You're a beast Michael, we both know you won't wait until we get near the bed to ravish me. You'll start before we make it into the car. “ She shot him a slight smirk. Her red lips curled into a seductive smile.

“Who’s fault is Mei Gray.” His voice was low and husky ghosting over her face as he nuzzled her hair. “I’m hungry, if you keep me waiting i'll have my dessert first.” He purred into her ear. He gently nibbled on her earlobe causing her to gasp and arch her back. They botched moaned, feeling his firm erection against her bum.

“Then I'm not moving.” She giggled challenging him. A firm smack landed on her ass and Michael squeezed as he stepped back. “I’ll be down soon. I promise to make it worth your wait, husband.” She winked at him and leaned forward again giving him a full view of the red embroidered fabric clinging tightly to her backside.

“ Being obstinate only works when you don't weigh as much as a small child Mie. I can pick you up and toss you over my shoulder. Let's go.” He walked out of the room taking the air with him. She smiled to herself, finishing her lips in red. The cool night air would help him briefly; she had plans to keep him hard for most of the night. He was like a dog in heat. ____________________________________

“She had meant what she’d said. She was going to make this dinner worth it for them both.

She’d slipped her foot out of her crimson heel and gently ran her black stocking clad foot gently up her husband’s pant legs.

Michaels brown eyes locked unto, the butter drenched crab dangling precariously off the end of her husband's fork as it stopped midway to his full lush open mouth.

“Mei, behave yourself. We're almost done with dinner. I need my energy to keep up with you.” His deep voice dipped, she had him on edge. Right where she wanted him.

“ We already had oysters Michael, did you know they are a natural aphrodisiac?” She tilted her head to the side giving him a view on her long alabaster neck. She raised her red painted nails to her lips and slowly trailed down her chin to the collar of her dress where she popped one of the gold frog toggles out exposing a bit more of her neck to him. As if he wasn’t already drooling at the table.

Mei’s foot found his crotch and she gently pressed up and down stroking his lap with her foot.

Michael started coughing, trying not to choke. He raised the napkin to mouth and tossed it on the table. She started a bit when his chair aggressively dug into the tiles on the floor, he pushed back and rose up.

She watched, her eyes glittering with satisfaction as he walked around the table and grabbed the back of her chair roughly pulling it out from underneath her.

“Get to the car…now.” He growled his breath hot and humid in her ear.

She knew they were not making it to the house before he ate her alive.

_______________________

When they finally made it to their home she wasn't surprised to see that he’d arranged an artful and romantic display while they'd been out. Blood red Rose petals scattered everywhere, the only light was hundreds of candles flickering with heat and passion calling them forward and her favorite opera was playing on the gramophone.

God she loved this man!

They both fell onto the bed, he'd been walking her backwards until they both collapsed panting and heated.

“I want a baby.” He groaned into her ear as she arched up into him. She’d wanted to but hadn’t known when to brooch the subject. They’d been so busy with the Shelby and Chang business since they had gotten back.

“ A little girl, the apple of her father's eye.” Mei breathed in time with Michael as he scrunched her dressed up past her hips and roughly entered her. She had no doubt the conception was happening tonight. They were both determined to seal their love again.

________________________________________________________

For @reiwanwan (Thank you for the mood board!) @zablife (I included the Hong Kong reference from your Christmas fic) and @heeahheeya (Thank you for your support)

[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."

[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.

[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.   

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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)

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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.

[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.

[alumort]

AO3

as usual i saw a fanart and it inspired me to write this. the art is here

His favorite part of being a ninja was to train, to become stronger every day– and seeing how much he had progressed, Lee felt proud of himself, albeit he tended to focus too much on his training from time to time… well, everyday, but still! It was worth it in his eyes.

His teammates accompanied him everyday, though only Gai was able to keep up with his exhaustive routine, even if Tenten and Neji were strong it was too much; they probably believed he was out of his mind with how much he worked out, but it was alright. They could use jutsus and weapons skillfully, something Lee wasn’t very competent in. They didn’t need to train as hard as him, so they just cheered on him in their own ways, accompanying him through everything.

Even if the only person to willingly wake up at dawn to train was him, he was happy to have people who would support him through it all– Lee didn’t mind being the only one awake during odd hours, and he had gotten quite used to it, and that morning was no different. A couple of laps around the training grounds, a thousand push-ups and his warm up would be done. It was easy and part of the things he did on a daily basis, though he wasn’t expecting anyone to be there so early as he focused on his exercises without further thought, realizing that someone was there only upon seeing a pair of lavender eyes close to him.

“Ah– hello, Neji! Would you like to join me? We still have some time before Gai and Tenten arrive!” he exclaimed with a smile, standing up on one hand as he spoke. His rival just hummed and observed him for a moment before sitting down on a wood log that was around, pointing at the one beside him without saying much. “Is something wrong?”

“Come here. I want to see something,” Neji exclaimed, though his voice didn’t sound as cold as Lee was used to. It was more like… worry? It seemed serious, so the black haired boy decided to approach his companion and get comfortable by his side, noticing how he was observing his bandages in silence. It seemed like he was focusing on something in particular, though the taijutsu master didn’t know exactly what.

Something in his rival’s eyes prompted him to offer him his hands; his head tilted to a side as the brunet held it without rush, squinting his eyes as he undid both wrappings, clicking his tongue and denying with his head while doing so– before Lee could even talk, the other boy grabbed his bag and started to look for something in his things, content upon finding a small jar with a light green cream.

“Um… Rival, what are you doing?” he managed to ask as Neji began to apply some of the ointment on his calloused skin, making it feel fresh somehow. Seeing how gentle his friend was made his chest feel a bit warm, aware of how he was purposefully avoiding the wounds that hadn’t fully healed yet. “Ah… that is the cream Hinata made, right?”

A nod, and his muscles relaxed just like that, and it was nice– but nobody had ever done something like that before, so it was a bit weird. Lee could tell there was a blush on his face as Neji kept checking his hands, his wrists… making sure everything was alright, and using the cream where he could. Not minding how sweaty his palms were, or his unusual quietness.

“So careless… you need to take care of your hands, or you’ll end up injured,” the brunet mumbled, looking at his companion for a moment– his lavender gaze was full of worry even if their eyes didn’t quite meet, and Lee couldn’t bear looking at him for much longer. 

Neji was quiet and kept massaging his skin until the ointment had been absorbed, only to toss away the old bandages before getting new ones from his own supplies to replace them– the taijutsu master was unsure about what to say, what to do, so he just went along and let his rival do whatever he wanted.

It was worth it once the brunet smiled, right after being done with his self-imposed task; a faint gesture that anyone else would’ve missed, yet Neji was slowly allowing himself to show different sides of himself to his teammates, like being so caring and gentle that Lee felt like his heart would melt on the spot.

“Sorry, I just don’t want you to get hurt again. Your bandages were too loose, and… oh. You seem nervous,” Neji said, his soft smile fading away in mere seconds, replaced by a confused frown– the taijutsu master felt a pang on his chest upon noticing the subtle change, holding his friend’s hands by mere instinct as he spoke.

“No, no! I am not nervous– but I am ashamed of myself, as I did not properly wrap my bandages on my own. I always do it, except today… gosh, I feel really dumb now.”

It seemed like his rival had relaxed with that, even if his expression became neutral as usual; that was better than seeing him about to get upset at him once more. The truth was that Lee enjoyed seeing him becoming nicer to him, to everyone, after Naruto had pretty much punched some sense on him.

“... just be more careful. I can’t fix your bandages all the time, you know?” was all that Neji whispered, his gaze softening a bit afterwards.

Lee felt his cheeks warming up again as that lavender gaze observed him, as his friend continued to check his arms every now and then just to make sure he’d be alright– their hands were close, so close that he could feel Neji’s fingers almost touching his own, not daring to do anything else. 

So he did it, ignoring every doubt on the back of his mind– he held his rival’s hands once more, receiving a surprised look in response but no rejection or complaint.

“I will, but… would you help me again if I needed it? Or… just because? I am very careless, after all,” Lee exclaimed with a grin, his cheeks still burning with the heat of the sun, and Neji seemed to understand just with that small gesture.

Even if the brunet looked away, the younger boy could see the reddish tint of his cheeks no matter how hard he tried to hide it from him, hope growing on his soul.

“Of course, Lee. I’ll do my best,” Neji replied, still avoiding his gaze but quietly leaning towards him, resting his cheek on Lee’s shoulder without mentioning anything about it. “I’ll– I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

His lips trembled, yet he decided to keep silent; there was no need for words by then, so the two of them simply sat down together for a while, observing the sunrise and enjoying each other’s company. Training could wait until their teammates arrived, anyways, and for once Lee decided something else was a priority… or rather, someone.

[fresa-schnee]

Percynico Valentine's Week: Heart Shaped Candies

It was the middle of the day, and I was sitting alone by the lake… For the past hour or so. Nico had told me to wait here, but I wasn’t really sure why. Though I can say I was bored out of my mind, so I hoped whatever he was putting together would be worth it.

Though I perked up as I heard the sound of grass being crushed underfoot. Yet when I tried to turn my head, I heard my boyfriend suddenly speak.

“Don’t look! Close your eyes, and don’t look. I got a surprise for you.”

I rolled my eyes and looked back to the lake and closed my eyes. Nico had gotten a lot more affectionate since the dinner with his dad, and the conversation after it. Though he was still unsure about showing it publicly, he did little gestures when we were alone in private.

So I had to admit I was curious what he’d done this time, and especially so as I felt something was placed in my lap. A giggle from Nico filled my ears as I could hear him sit in front of me.

I smiled and opened my eyes, and I first saw Nico’s adorable smiling face. His eyes were lit up with a joy I could lose myself in. Though he pointed down at my lap with his eyes, so I was forced to look away from him.. 

On my lap, I saw a homemade blue box in the shape of a heart. A ribbon placed on top of it that was a darker shade. I looked back at Nico with a look of faux-confusion, smiling as he giggled again.

“Go on! Open it!” He exclaimed, and with a roll of my eyes I did as I was told, and undid the little ribbon and lifted up the lid. I sort of knew what was coming, but I still couldn’t help but laugh slightly at what was inside.

Inside was a gathering of several, rather crudely made, chocolate hearts. Each dyed a different shade of blue to make them unique from another. I glanced back up at Nico, and he still had that adorable look in his eyes.

“So this is what you were spending all your time on, huh?” I asked, setting them aside as I leaned forward to Nico.

“I’ve been working on it for the past few days. Had to make sure they were alright before I gave them to you, sorry for the wait.” His smile simmered down a bit, and I could see a fleck of anxiety start to rise up inside of him. “So… Do you like them? I can cook, but chocolate isn't’ something I tried before so-”

I reached out, gently holding the back of Nico's head and pulled him close. Our lips pressed against each other, and made him let out a startled, and adorable yelp from the sudden kiss. As I pulled away, I kept my head pressed against his.

“They’re wonderful Nico, you dork~”

“Could have just said that..” He huffed and pulled away with a pout. I let out a soft chuckle, and reached into the box and pulled out two of the chocolate. They were amateurish, but.. I couldn’t help but love the fact he made these himself. He was a big sweetheart, even if he tried to deny that fact constantly.

“They’re wonderful Nico, I mean it.” I held one out to him, and gave a soft smile to try and make up for my little stunt. He looked at me, and stuck out his tongue playfully before taking the chocolate. 

“You’re lucky you’re pretty Percy.” he said as he tossed the chocolate into his mouth, and I did the same… Despite the fact it looked crude, it was very hard to ruin perfectly good chocolate.

“I’d have to be pretty enough to land someone as wonderful as you Nico.” I shot back, and couldn’t help but grin at the flustered look he gave me. “And adorable~”

“Okay, quiet you.” He suddenly turned and leaned back. Resting his back on my lap, and his head on my stomach.

I laughed and put my arms around him as I looked down at his flustered face. The way his blush always made his freckles visible always made me happy.

“Alright alright… Happy Valentine’s Neeks.”

He blushed even more, which I didn’t think was possible, and looked away. Yet he did eventually look back up, smiling timidly. “...Happy Valentine’s Percy.”

[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"