#i need to draw this too but i have no time *walks off a cliff*

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[mustainegf]

James is at bar with Kirk, Lars and Cliff and reader is giving him head under table, 80s

I SCREEEAAAMMMED THIS IS SO MMMMM

𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 ¹⁹⁸⁴

I cannot believe I let my girlfriend talk me into this. Here we are sitting in this dim bar with Kirk, Lars, and Cliff, and she is now under the table with her head burrowed between my legs.

The tablecloth is long enough to keep our little secret concealed from prying eyes, but it's starting to get tough to keep a straight face.

The guys haven't stopped quizzing me about where she's gone since we walked in the door. I've been making up some story or other, trying to palm it off on them.

My heart's in my mouth every time one of them gives me a sideways glance. I can only think what must be going through their minds, that maybe I've had one too many drinks or that I lost her in the crowd.

I glanced down at her, and she locked eyes with me briefly, then went back to doing what she was doing. Her mouth was warm and wet, each touch made cold shivers run up my spine.

She was so into it that I almost thought she had forgotten we were in public. I tried not to move or make a noise, but it was impossible to avoid the thoughts running through my head.

I could picture the face she was making while working her magic below the table. Her eyes locked with mine, the evil sparkle dancing deep within, and I could feel her tongue tracing the lines on my shaft, lips squeezed around me like she would never let go.

My mind strayed back to the number of nights that we had spent inside each other's bodies and how this moment was just another addition to our sexual escapades.

The conversation at the table has reached a peak, as Kirk goes on about how one of his strings broke. Lars laughs, Cliff rolls his eyes, pretending to be bored.

I try to tune them out, my focus solely on her tongue flicking on my throbbing tip. She quickens her pace, and I feel it.

Suddenly, a stray thought gets me off guard…what if someone lifted the tablecloth? That very idea sent a spike of adrenaline through my veins. I flick my eyes to my girlfriend, who I hope felt my unease.

She looked back at me once more, her eyes shining with that glint which said she knew full well the danger we were courting.

"Hey, James, where’d your girl go?" Kirk asks again, this time suspiciously.

I tried to act as nonchalant as possible and forced a grin. "Oh, uh, she just needed to go to the bathroom, I think."

Next, Lars snorts, "You should have seen her before, she was all over you."

Cliff then rose an eyebrow. "Yeah, and now she vanished into thin air?"

The men all exchanged knowing looks. Only hoping that they would drop the matter soon.

With minutes ticking by, the ministrations from my girlfriend tick on the pressure inside. My thoughts suddenly jumble up, and I barely retain a clear thought.

The dam finally breaks, and I'm consumed by the orgasm that's been building for at least 30 minutes now. It feels like forever. Her lips tighten around me as she draws out every last drop of my seed, letting it drip down her throat. It becomes nearly impossible to maintain a grip on reality.

My sudden awareness is of the guys staring at me with amusement. They can clearly see the look on my face as I cum. It's time to confess, there is just no continuing this charade.

"I, um… got something to tell you guys," I stammer, burning with my face in embarrassment. "She’s not in the bathroom..."

[iliketangerines]

Thank you so much for Dark Raiden with innocent reader!Maybe part 2 for that?like when he had enough of this feelings and go straight to reader and propose it to her and hold her I'm his arms (they're too good and I can't get them enough)

docile as a lamb pt. 2

a/n: mmmm, i want him to fuck me so badly. also, i do NOT condone the behavior at the end in real life

pairing: lord raiden x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, squirting, somnophilia, slight breeding kink, dubcon near the end, dacryphilia, mating press, nipple play

Raiden stares at you from across the room, eyes taking on an unnatural glint as he stares you down, almost like a predator sizing up its prey

he’s deathly still as you explain the problem to the soldiers, but they huff and point a finger into your chest as they complain that they need the technology now

Raiden feels his fingers twitch as you shrink away from the soldier, who uses their size and muscle to tower over you

you say that you can’t do anything about that, that they damaged the hardware and that the the technology in general needed to be replaced and that isn’t your department

the soldier hisses you and gets much too close to you, and you tremble in place, unsure of what to do against your superior

Raiden walks over to the soldier and places a hand over the soldier’s shoulder and squeezes tightly, making sure that his eyes crackle with lightning as the soldier looks up at him in fear

the god asks if he has a problem, and he digs his fingers into the flesh of the soldier’s shoulder, making them wince in pain

they stutter out a ‘no’ and scamper away the second Raiden lets go of their shoulder, and you let out a sigh of relief and thank Raiden

you ask him if you can repay him, that he’s been doing a lot for you, keeping the unruly soldiers off you who thought they could boss you around because they’re your superior

and that he’s been keeping you company, and you look up at him through those eyelashes, sending Raiden’s blood flowing downward

he clears his throat to try and distract from the thought, and he tells you that he’d like to meet you later tonight, that he has something to show you

you light up and pat his shoulder, asking him when and where to meet you, and he gives you a time and location in the hangar

he watches you walk away, and he can see the way the skirt you’re wearing ride up your thighs and how your shirt shapes around your body just right

Raiden turns around and wanders around the base aimlessly, waiting for the time to pass until he can finally take you out on that date, and he paces impatiently

he wants to claim you now, have you stowed away from the world, mark you up and keep you as his own personal lover

but he has to draw you in first, and so Raiden waits, irritated that he was to waist to long to lure you in

none of the soldiers dare to ask what’s got Raiden so short-fused, and the day passes by slowly as he waits in the hangar for you to arrive

finally, as the sun starts to dip low on the horizon, you arrive, wearing a pretty little dress that emphasizes your curves, and Raiden wants to flip up the dress and fuck you right now

but he restrains himself and takes your hand and leads you out of the hangar as you chat with him about the rest of your thankfully uneventful day

he takes you outside of the compound and helps you walk on the rocky terrain to the cliffs, stopping a few feet from the edge just in case you fall down

he chats with you as he waits for the sun to set just a little bit longer, and you seem excited, perhaps a little confused, but you don’t seem to mind

but finally, the sun dips down, and the moon comes out

Raiden concentrates and summons the clouds to surround the moon but still shine through the window of clouds, and they grow dark and gray

you hear thunder come, but no rain falls

the god lets out a breath and feels the red lightning run through his fingers, through the current in the air, how it gathers in the clouds

he draws his hands up and flicks his fingers, sending the red lightning into arcs that combine together to form a beautiful display of his power

he puts his full concentration into the display, but he can still hear your gasps of delight and amusement as he controls the lightning to bend to him

he gives one final burst of lightning to flash through the sky before letting his arms fall to his side, and he take a glance at you

you look amazed at the display, and the clouds disappear, letting the moon shine through and shining on your features just perfectly

you tell him that it was amazing, that it was beautiful, and Raiden decides to make his move

he tells you that you’re more beautiful and tilts your chin up to look up at his tall frame properly, and even in the night, he can see your flush at the comment

but you don’t move away, rather your chin rests its weight into his hand, and you’re left speechless as he leans down in close to you

he comes down close enough so that you’re underneath his hat as well, and he can see you strain to get as high as you can on your toes to meet him

you presses his forehead to yours and asks if you will be his, so that he can kiss you, touch you, ravish you as he pleases

you nod, and Raiden smiles as he closes the distance between you two, bringing his arms to circle around your waist and lift you into his arms

you squeak as your feet lift off the ground, but you still melt into the kiss and grip onto Raiden’s shoulders as he presses his tongue into your mouth

he feels all-powerful, like he could take on the elder gods and win right now as he kisses you, and it’s better than he could have imagined: you’re so much sweeter than he thought

he can’t get enough of you, and he could taste you forever

but you pull away from him, his lips still chasing yours, and you take deep breaths as you stare into his eyes and bring your hand up to cup his face

you hesitate for a second, but then you tell him to ravage you like he wanted

Raiden head spins as he hears you, and he immediately transports you both in a flash of lightning to his bedroom

he presses you into his plush bed, lips smashing against yours and moving fervently as he hands claw at your dress, but he grows impatient and rips your dress and bra off

you gasp and whine into his mouth about something, but Raiden doesn’t hear as he sees your chest fully exposed to him, plush and full and so soft

he trails his kisses down your neck and chest until he latches onto your nipples, and he nips and sucks on the sensitive bed, using his hand so squeeze and knead the flesh of your other tit

you moan at the feeling, and your hands fly down to remove his cowl and grip onto his white hair, and he groans at the feeling of you tugging at his strands

he licks at your nipples, circling around the bud with his tongue, before pressing a firm lick into it and then nipping it

Raiden loses himself in the taste of you, and you whine as he leaves your chest in hickeys and bite marks

finally, he pulls away and admires how your nipple is puffy and sore before moving on to lavish the other one is the same attention

your hips buck up into his, and he grinds down into you, moaning at the feeling of his cock rubbing against the fabric of his clothing

the image of your pussy flashes through his mind, and Raiden immediately detaches from your chest, giving it one more appreciative squeeze, before shuffling downward

he presses his tongue into your clit through your underwear, needing a taste of you right now and too impatient to remove your panties right away

it makes you whine, and the rub of the fabric against your sensitive clit with Raiden’s tongue pressing firmly into your clit has you whimpering into the air and arching your back

Raiden moans and grips onto your thighs, bringing you in closer to him as he laps at your pussy through the fabric

but finally, he grows tired of the barrier, and he reaches his hand to rip off your lacey panties and dig his nose into your puffy clit as he tastes you

Raiden is in heaven, you taste better than anything the Earthrealm could offer, you’re so sweet, so delicious, so pliant underneath his hands, and he fucks you on his thick tongue

you tug at his hair, head thrown back, as you grind your hips into his face, and you whisper his name like a prayer as he pleasures you

you’re so tight around his tongue, and he can imagine how tight you’ll be around his cock, how he’s going to stretch you out

Raiden grinds his cock into the mattress as he continues to fuck you on his thick tongue, and his fingers dig into your thighs and send small shocks of electricity through you as he loses his composure

it makes you whine and squirm in his grip as your hips buck into his face and your pussy clench around his tongue as you near the edge

you can barely warn him, voice breathy and high-pitched, and Raiden hums into your pussy, needing to taste your release, to taste how he pleases you

you keen and tug at his hair as you cum, and Raiden laps at the taste desperately, as if he’d never taste it again

your taste was only for him, your whines were only for his ears, your body was only for his touch, he pants into your pussy as he glances up at you

and you’re so beautiful as your chest heaves up and down as you come down from your high, and Raiden can’t help but place his tongue firmly into your clit to watch you twitch in his arms

he wraps his lips around your clit, keeping watch of your reactions carefully, as you whine and moan squirm in his grip as he flicks your clit with his tongue

you cry out in overstimulation as he brings you to another orgasm, and he hums at your taste flooding his mouth again

he needs more, needs to taste you again, and he brings his thick fingers from your thighs and slides them in between your pussy lips before sliding them into your drooling cunt

he fucks you on his fingers ruthlessly, curling them to press into that sweet spot that has your head tilting back and your whines grow needy

Raiden’s doesn’t let up, fucking you on his fingers, covering them in your cum, watching you turn into a blabbering limp mess as you sob that it’s too much

but he doesn’t care because now you belong to him, and he will take what he wants, he is a god, and he will not let anyone stop him, not even you

he has you breathless and squirming, and then sobbing and crying as your push at him, but he’s so much stronger and you finally go limp on the bed and take his fingers and tongue without even a noise of complaint

you twitch on the bed every time you come, and Raiden still can’t have enough of your taste

but his cock aches in his pants, and he decides he wants to feel you around his cock more than he wants to taste you

he slides his fingers out from your pussy and detaches his lips from your pussy, and he licks his fingers clean of your release, moaning at the taste

he stands up, towering over you, but you don’t even react mind mush and eyes lidded over as he undresses himself

he puts your legs over his shoulders and slides his cock in between your folds, biting his lip at the feeling before finally notching his tip

he shuffles upward, sliding his dick into you, and you finally react, letting out a soft cry at the stretch as tears brim in your eyes again

Raiden pushes you into a mating press, and he groans at the feeling of your soft thighs pressing into his chest, fucking into you roughly before you’ve had time to adjust

he kisses you deeply, swallowing your cries of pain and pleasure, and thrusts his hips and out of you at a brutal pace as he loses himself to the feeling of you clenching around him

he can’t control himself, and he can feel himself buzzing with electricity, making you whine into his mouth and twitch underneath his hold

with every thrust, his pelvis slaps into your clit, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine, and you can’t control yourself as you cry and squirt on him

it only amplifies the electricity, and it has your pussy spasming around Raiden’s dick, causing him to get faster, to fuck into you until everyone knows you’re his

he chases his own high, pace growing sloppy as he continues to kiss you, and he groans loudly into your mouth as he buries himself deep and cums inside of you

he finally stops thrusting and just let himself spill his seed deep inside of you, marking you as his forever

yes, you’d be his consort, his lover, his toy for him to use and love and ravish

not that you knew that right now, not when you’ve passed out on the bed

Raiden pants heavily as he stares at your sleeping figure, but his cock still twitches inside of you and aches to breed you

well, you belong to him now anyway

[crazylittlejester]

making a beeline towards you

I AM IN A WIND AND WARS MOOD, MY MIND IS JUMBLED RIGHT NOW BUT MAY I ASK THAT YOU SHARE SOME STUFF ABOUT THEM?? HCS?????? I LOVE TO HEAR YOU YAP I LOVE TO LISTEN YOU I LOVE IT

runs away frantically because my lunch period is ending as we speak

I GOTCHU I LOVE TO YAP!!

- They’re the yapper listener duo. They’re BOTH yappers, to be so clear, but Warriors will listen to whatever Wind wants to tell him, and he’ll make sure to ask a few questions too which makes Wind so so happy because then he knows Wars was really listening

- Wars has had to quickly put a hand on Wind’s shoulder and steer him in another direction to stop him from walking off a cliff, into a tree, straight into a lake, etc. before. several times

- I hc Wars’s hair is naturally pretty curly and while he DOES straighten it, he also knows how to care for curly hair. Wind’s hair is a hell of a lot curlier than his is, and Wind just has no idea what he’s doing so he’s kept it short because that was just easier to manage despite the fact that he doesn’t like it, and Warriors taught him how to care for it so it wouldn’t turn into a tangled mess

- Wars can cook like. 6 total meals (because he eats the same six things and didnt feel the need to learn how to make anything else) but he and Wild both tried to make Wind’s favorite dish from back home when he was feeling sad one day, and it wasn’t the same but Wind loved it so much Wars had to make it again. And again. And again, until eventually it became a seventh safe dish for him

- I hc Wars’s first language is the hyrulian equivalent of portuguese and Wind’s is spanish, and they’re similar ENOUGH that they can sort of understand each other (the number of years between their eras and how languages change over time has added in a few complications as well)

- Wind can cuddle up next to Wars in the middle of the night (after kicking his foot a few times and as long as Wars is at least 25% awake and not completely unconscious) without ever having to fear spooking him and getting punched, and it IS partially to do with how short he is and Wars’s barely awake brain will just register him as “child”, but also he just has such distinct mannerisms that Wars can usually just figure out its him. Time and Twi both have accidentally gotten punched before and Wind rubs this in their faces

- Wars cannot swim for shit but he refuses to let Wind know this because he knows he’ll never hear the end of it

- Legend and Wars BOTH know how to sew and will mend the chain’s clothes, but Wind always goes to Wars because he knows Wars won’t grumble and complain about him when he LITERALLY hovers over his shoulder the entire time and just watches because he’s curious

- Wind one time challenged Wars to a race and beat him and chooses only the most annoying times to bring this up, and it completely crushes Wars’s ego every time. He got beat by a kid 14 years younger than him, he lays awake thinking about it sometimes

- Wars gave Wind a journal to help organize his thoughts because thats what works for him, and the two of them love learning so much they will point out cool new exciting things to each other as they walk through new eras

- Wind is an older brother and even though Wars is twice his age he will be unable to resist the big brother urge to take care of people and he’ll go cheer him up. He doesn’t understand what Wars went through, and he has no idea whats causing Wars to struggle with EVER because Warriors will not tell him, but Wind just coming to sit by him and draw near him means so much to Wars that it really does end up cheering him up a bit. At the very least, listening to Wind draw is grounding enough to help give him something to tether himself to

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Chapter 22 - The Old Gods and The New

Boundless Insolence | Loki x Reader

You refuse to wait for permission to speak to Bres and find out what he really wants. At the Asgardian Court, Jane reveals hidden talents.

Warnings: Mysogyny, fighting, still angsty sorry!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

You’d wanted to attack, to run to the top of the cliffs where Bres had stationed his legion, and burn them all to cinders for their threats. You’d wanted to rage and fight. But Val had placed a hand on your arm and suggested you wait, guiding you across the deserted village and back home. 

She called a small council at your cottage, Thor pacing by the window, one eye on the cliffs above as if waiting for a surprise attack. He’d been in his armour since Bres first announced himself, calling Stormbreaker to his side. 

“We can draw this out, buy ourselves time.” The King suggested, “he gave us until noon tomorrow, let’s use that time. We still need more backup, we still need to get Loki back and I haven’t heard back from Carol. But we can do this. 

“Jane will want to help also. She is a fearsome creature and we already know she is willing to help us.” 

“Jane should be in charge of evacuating the village.” Brunnhilde drifted towards Thor, leaving you to your thoughts, watching the fire dance in the grate like a hypnotised snake, reaching upwards and then spitting embers. 

He still wasn’t home. How could you face any of this without him by your side. 

“Okay, we wait. But then what?” 

You looked over the frightened village. No one had dared to venture out during the evening. The normally bustling pub had not only been closed, but, like the rest of the village, shuttered.  The closed windows and doors, the quiet streets and empty market. Even the boats were all out, hovering on the horizon instead of coming and going as usual. You knew from the empty car park by the quay that many families had already left, rising in the milky dawn and fleeing over the border or taking their boats out as far as they could to wait out whatever incoming war was waiting on the cliffs. 

Anger burned inside of you on behalf of your home and then, as if in answer, along your finger tips and up your arms. You had worked too hard, for too long, gaining control of your memories, of your powers and building your life in Tonsberg to put up with someone trying to make you leave. No longer would you bow to these gods, these men, and their whims and ideas about you. Fire flared around you, a halo around your brow and your spear in your hands. You’d end this now. 

Marching towards the cliffs you allowed your power to swirl around you, taking over every inch of space between you and the towering rock face before you. Bres’ army was still stationed there, even if some of them had clearly fallen back in order to bed in and build tents and fires. This wasn’t your world, war and battlefields, but the village was yours, and the people who lived there were yours to protect too. 

You wanted your picnic spot back, the cliff tops where you walked with Loki after dinner, the fields where you’d strolled with Val, greeting the tourists and the villagers alike. 

This was your village, your home - your Loki. You refused to have a distraction when you needed to focus on getting him back. That’s all Bres was now, a hurdle between you and the only God you wanted to see parading on that cliff top. 

The steep march up was fueled by your anger and the swell of magic that was building inside. Never had you felt so in control, so drawn to your magic. Even when you’d been caught off guard by Lugh it had been your subconscious that protected you, now your fire moved naturally with you, another limb that reached out and made the braziers that Bres’ army were placing around their camp build until their basket’s melted, spilling ash onto the grass and sending the assembled soldiers stumbling back. 

In the centre of the camp one of the tents sat larger than the others, the deep green of the fabric snapping taught in the wind over the tall pole at its centre, the two open flaps were protected by the soldiers flanking either side and, as you approached, they crossed their swords. 

“Lady Estrid,” the older soldier spoke in a gruff tone and angled his head. You’d expected a fight, to be instantly jumped upon and bound as you had been before. But instead the camp fell silent around you, every pair of eyes turned towards you. 

“I wish to speak to Bres. To settle this matter.” You made your back as straight as it would go, channelling every one of Loki’s princely mannerism, every ounce of Thor’s presence, all you’d seen and learnt at The Golden Palace of the ways of a God. No one needed to know that your toes were clenched with fear inside of your boots or that your palms were damp with sweat. 

“His Majesty is indisposed at present, milady.” 

The soldier looked awkward, his eyes darting from you to ranks behind the tents, and then back over the sea. 

“He has specifically requested my presence, and yet now he’s indisposed?” You raised an eyebrow, one hand on your hip, the other turning your spear slowly, the flame dancing as the wind caught it. 

The soldier’s eyes darted to the white hot flame and then back to your face, the colour draining from him, “he left a note, milady.” He motioned uncomfortably for a messenger to approach, an ivory envelope in his outstretched hand. 

You snatched it from him, frustrated beyond reason that you were prepared for a fight with a man who was now, apparently, too busy to even show his face to you. 

At first the writing looked blurred, swirling together in unfamiliar patterns, but the more you looked the more familiar they became and the memory surfaced slowly, revealing the message. 

Estrid, 

Your insolence knows no bounds and I shall not subject my court to it a moment longer. Your engagement has been confirmed for many centuries and you will fulfil the promises made between our houses. 

You will stay with your guards until he arrives and then you will be married. You will fulful the prophecy and marry Vani of Vannaheimr and in our name bring about the second Ragnarok. 

Do not disappoint me again. 

Bres. 

Your hands shook as you read. He believed in the prophecy, and not only that, but he was counting on it to shake the foundation of the Aesir and Vanir. Clearly this plan was centuries in the making and, somewhere between his time and now, Bres had forgotten that there was nothing left to fight for. 

The people of Norway had been shocked by the knowledge that there truly was a Thor, a Loki, an Asgard. But since arriving their awe had turned to intrigue and, rather than worshipping them, they had taken to visiting as tourists, on cruise ships and in coaches. Perhaps the gifts they left at the site of Odin’s death could be counted as offerings, but it was their money, spent in gift shops and cafes in the village, that truly kept the place alive. 

Would Bres really burn down everything the Asgardians had built for some long lost jealousy? To take over a kingdom that no longer existed and was now a honeypot tourist trap on an otherwise empty coastline.  

You read the note again. 

Another Ragnarok. You’d seen enough in Loki’s memories to understand the destruction wrought on Asgard, you could never allow it to happen here. But then the destruction had been to take the palace, the land, the planet. What could Bres hope to conquer here? A few hundred people and an, admittedly, thriving tourist business. Would people even still come? 

You scrunched the note in your hand and looked up at the guards. 

“I will do no such thing. If Bres wants to discuss an engagement then he can come and talk to me like a civilised person.” You kept your chin high, looking down on the men despite their height. 

The second guard step forward, lifting his sword and pointing it at your chest. “Milady, Bres is no civilised person. He’s a God, a warrior, he will not-” You swung your own sword knocking him back and, for a moment, you sparred, parrying each attempted hit until he managed to back you up against his fellow guard. “He will not let you simply walk away from this arrangement.” He growled, spittle flying from his gritted teeth. 

Despite your position you held your head high, “well I suppose that’s his problem, isn’t it. Because I won’t be discussing anything here. If he wants to talk we can meet on neutral ground outside of the village. I won’t put my people at risk.” You shoved, knocking him off balance enough to free yourself from the pressure of the flat of his sword. 

“Your people?” The sneer came from behind you and you whipped your head around to glare, summoning every ounce of the fierce warrior goddess Loki believed you could be. 

“Yes, my people. I am a member of the Asgardian court and a sworn protector of the people of this village. I don’t care what imaginary claim Bres has on me-” The guard deftly swept your sword down towards the ground, silencing you again. 

“It is no imaginary claim, milady, you are of his house. He is your mother’s husband and therefore -” 

Anger flared, roiling like lava. “My mother is dead.” You choked back your emotion but the fire was already there, steaming from your skin. “She is dead and he is nothing to me, he has no claim on me and he does not control me. Tell him to meet me at the edge of the village if he wants to talk, otherwise his presence here is an agitator of war and the Asgardian crown will not allow it. Either meet me properly, or move.” 

Fire erupted from your hands, carving a path over the grass and back to the worn path down the cliff. The guards stepped back from the heat, the other soldiers following suit, turning their eyes away. 

With that you turned to leave, allowing your cape to swirl behind you and your magic fizzing over in sparks of blue and silver before making your way back into the village. 

Whatever Thor and Val were planning, you just hoped they were right. 

Darkness crept up from the coastline, like a high spring tide it lapped at the pools of light dotted along the quay, taking them over and creeping ever higher up the coast. The sleeping village, cottages with drawn curtains and shops locked up tight, under the waves of depthless black that crept closer and closer, devouring every spec of light, snuffing out the dream of morning. 

Ghosts stalked the streets, warriors clad in clanking armour with glinting swords and spears, shields held high as they swept through the village.

You pulled away from the windows and back into the darkness of your bedroom. When Loki was with you it had felt so welcoming, like being embraced by the god himself in all of his velvet and brocade finery. Now it felt like a cage, gilded and beautiful, but useless against the advancing army that was taking over your village. You weren't protected, you were ensnared, that's how they saw it from their clifftop vantage. A snared animal thrashing against its trap, and there was no one to save you. 

Bres had never showed himself but, high on the clifftop where his army camped, there were now two tall silhouettes, picked out by the bright moon behind them.

Bres and your betrothed. The Vanir Prince was taller than Bres, and broader. Although Bres was a God, he had been for aeons and the years showed in the way he held his sword and placed his weight. The prince was younger, stronger, more cocksure even if he was less skilled. And that was a dangerous combination. 

Your stomach roiled, fighting the urge to throw up at the dread that sat heavy in your stomach. For all your posturing with the guards, you were still frightened. 

Thor had advised you to get an early night, to dig deep into your magic and spend the evening exploring its depths. Brunnhilde suggested lying in your bedroom in the dark, allowing the feel of the fireside to crackle through your veins. 

You remembered the fire with Loki, at his cabin, and how safe you’d felt, how secure in your knowledge that he would protect you by any means, that he had fought for you. The glow of the fire in the village pub, dancing merrily along with the chattering of friends. The fire in your own home hearth, welcoming you back after a long, cold, day out in the village. The vein of molten lava that curved its way through your life, lighting every wonderful moment. It filled you until you glowed, until the moon outside glowed brighter as well, lengthening shadows spreading across the carpet and up onto your bed. 

You could feel him then, Loki’s touch on the back of your hand and his silken voice whispering to you across the ocean. 

I believe in you, Asynja. You and only you. 

Focussing your energy on the thought you closed your eyes again and thought of him. 

I believe in you too, Loki, my one God. My love.

You hardly slept, tossing and turning in the empty sheets of your bed. Despite your prayers and calls, you hadn’t felt Loki last night. Even in your dreams he was gone, replaced by fire, endless fire that raged across the village consuming everything in its path. You shuddered, too frightened to open the curtains, too lonely to face a morning without Loki’s smiling face. 

Loki woke with a gasp, upright and panting, clutching at his chest and surveying the still bright, still mostly empty room. He’d dreamt of you, your long dress sweeping through the grass, and at first he had thrown himself at you as if he was still a boy, chasing you through the palace gardens. But as he followed, his eyes trained on the glitter of your dress, panic began to rise unbidden until he was sprawled in the morning dew and watching you walk towards a faceless man. The vanir banners that flanked him told him enough about his worst fears, but he didn’t expect you to follow. 

Fire licked up the banners, but didn’t burn them. Instead it danced through the fabric and into the Vanir man’s waiting hands. His clenched fists controlled the flame, squeezing it tighter until it squirmed through his fingers in blue ribbons. The Vanir merely laughed, releasing the flame and then trapping it again, his dark chuckle echoing into a void of darkness. Loki felt sick, choked, and had awoken expecting to find himself lying in his own vomit. 

Though he’d managed to contain his last dry and disgusting meal, he was still drenched in sweat, his heart racing. He didn’t dare drop his body temperature to that of his Jotun form, though his body cried out for the relief his magic could give to his heated skin. Instead Loki removed the regulation pyjama top that had been slid through the feeding hatch. It did nothing to cool his skin, but he rubbed his chest and arms with the fabric anyway and the act felt enough like cleansing that he managed to calm his heart rate. 

He couldn’t help but think of your own beautiful flame, how the heat called to his own, frostier, magic and played with it. You never sought to control his sedir and his own magic never thought to snuff out your own. Instead they twined together, teasing and playful. Controlling your spark, hurting it for fun, had never - would never - cross Loki’s mind. Even in his worst moments he had a reverence for magic, it was the only civilised way to respond to another’s talents. To quash another, unthinkable, yet the thought of the Vanir doing just that had crossed his mind. 

He tried to shake the dream away from his mind, but he couldn’t help feeling the painful nagging sense that this was less a dream and more a prophecy. 

It was hard to discern when morning arrived in Tonsberg, the fog that weighed on the land was so heavy it blocked out the light, leaving the village street lamps still flickering even when the school bell had rung, the shops open once more despite the threat that loomed above them. The Asgardians were sensible, staying away from the cliffs and the god that paced them, but they weren’t cowards. They’d spent too long worrying about Ragnarok, too long worrying about Thanos, they would not be bullied from another home. So the village woke, despite the fog and the fear, and they went about their business in the gloom. 

Brunnhilde called an early meeting, opening the doors of the long hall herself, before the sparse staff that made up her, albeit relaxed, royal court had arrived. There was tea and biscuits, as usual, Thor leaving a trail of crumbs from the kitchen to the fold out table that now took up the space in front of the King’s throne. Jane brushed at them without looking away from Korg who was animatedly telling her about a new video game he’d been playing at the after school club. It all looked so normal, so wholesome and relaxed that the anger you had so carefully banked threatened to well again. 

Did no one else care about Loki? Did no one miss him? Was this some godly game played between mortals to them, when your whole life was in the balance. 

You sank into your seat, pulling a steaming mug towards you, allowing the increasingly loud conversation to drown you. 

It was Jane who noticed you first, reaching out and placing her hand on your arm. 

“How’re you doing this morning?” The tender way her eyes softened made you feel sick, you didn’t want pity, you wanted revenge, you wanted to march into the Avengers stupid, cold, awful compound, rescue Loki and burn the rest to ashes. Fire flared from your finger tips and Jane snatched her hand back. 

Instead of the harsh words you’d been thinking, panic rose - “I’m so sorry - I -” 

“It’s alright, it’s shit, isn’t it? Being stuck left behind, feeling powerless?” 

You nodded, looking back down into your tea, now scalding hot from the power surging in your own hands. 

“Well, Trouble, fear not, you are not powerless and neither are we. We will get your Loki back and we will see these unwelcome guests thrown from our town.” Thor placed an unusually gentle hand on your back and rubbed it up and down. Despite yourself you turned into his embrace and allowed him to wrap an arm around your shoulder. “Come, sister, Warriors of the Asgardian Court do not cry over their tea.”

You looked up at his twinkling smile and couldn’t help but let out a wet laugh. He’d never called you sister before and although your stomach still roiled at the thought of Loki being alone, at least you felt at home. 

“Let’s do something then, Thor. We have to make a move at some point, or who knows who’ll turn up to kidnap or invade or whatever those arseholes on the hill want.” 

“They want you.” Brunnhilde’s voice was low and smooth as always, her eyes trained on you carefully. 

Thor nodded, “but we shan’t give you over to them.” 

“Perhaps it would be better if you did.” They had watched, yesterday, as you’d approached the cliffs, ready to attack or shield depending on the outcome. The quiet of the camp had surprised you all and left you somewhat on the backfoot, primed and ready to fight with no outlet for the sedir and adrenaline building across the village. But they’d been proud to see their warrior defend herself, and had not felt the need to intervene. 

Brunnhilde paced in front of the throne, hands in her pockets, pushing her suit jacket back as always. But she looked tired, disappointed. 

“I had a call with Carol last night and it’s not good news.” She sighed, leaning on the table with one hand, nails tapping. “She had intended to visit sooner anyway, but has been called away and will not be able to help.” 

“Why not!” Thor complained, eyebrows furrowed, “I thought you were -” 

“Yes, we are and she’s not coming, is that okay with you, Thor?” 

You’d never seen her snap like that, her anger as quick as a viper and the whole table went silent in its wake. 

Jane tensed beside you and shifted into your side, “they’re, well, they were dating, I don’t know what’s going on.” She whispered. 

“Who is she anyway? Carol?” 

“Captain Marvel?” Jane offered and she tried not to show your shock. You’d had no idea such help was even on the table, but knowing that you were losing it - she could have changed everything. 

Brunnhilde turned again, her slower pacing somehow more worrying. 

“I was counting on her being able to negotiate with the Avengers, but we will have to strategise. Rethink.” 

“We will still be able to beat this Bres- I have no doubt.” Thor relaxed into his chair and frustration built again. 

“Thor, this may be a huge joke to you, but it’s not to me, if you have a plan, share it.” You rounded on the god, allowing your fire some outlet around your fingertips. Beneath the table Jane squeezed your elbow reassuringly. 

“He’s bluffing, Trouble, he wishes to frighten you and make us nervous. If he wanted to attack, he would have done it by now.” He scoffed. “He wants you, I would place a hefty bet he needs you for some scheme of his. We shall keep you safe and keep him waiting.” 

“And Loki, how are we getting Loki back?” 

Thor went quiet, the Avengers were equally so, no longer communicating with Thor and refusing to answer any calls. 

“Someone needs to go there,” you implored, “we need to go and just take him back.” 

“They’re the Avengers, we can’t just march in, we need to be smart.” Jane said, trying to calm the tensions at the table. “And we do need more back up, we can’t leave the village without their King.” 

“So Brunnhilde stays here and Thor comes with me?” 

“You can’t go there alone,” Brunnhilde rounded on you now. “I won’t let any of my subjects take on the Avengers alone. If Loki cannot escape himself then they have him kept somewhere either impenetrable by force or by magic. They will have anticipated you and Thor as well as your combined abilities.” 

Jane tapped on the table. “What about me?” 

Thor shot her a look and shook his head subtly. 

“What do you mean?” Brunnhilde looked between Thor and Jane. 

“Well, Thor’s told you about -” 

“How clever she is!” Thor cut in, “is she not so very clever?” 

Korg nodded emphatically. 

“Thank you, but I actually meant -” 

“She can work the computers very well, she knows all about the electronic mail and even has a device to read it with.” Thor continued to shake his head at Jane. 

“Thor!” Jane and Brunnhilde shouted at once and, in the millisecond of quiet that followed, Jane lifted her hand and beckoned. 

At first you thought nothing was happening and then Mojlnir appeared from the coat rack, racing towards Jane. Thor panicked, attempting to hold his hand up, but Korg pushed it back down, allowing the hammer to sail past him and into Jane’s hand. 

Lighting crackled around her in a flash so bright you had to squeeze your eyes shut. When you opened them the lightning had gone, but so had the Jane you were used to seeing. Her hair was longer, blonder, and her normally plaid covered arms were bare and bulging with muscles. Her jeans and shirt were replaced with Asgardian armour, a red cape flowing from her shoulders. 

Thor had buried his head in his hands while Brunnhilde looked at the newly revealed Jane, silent and agog. 

Korg smiled, opening his arms, “oh wow, a new Thor!” 

<<Chapter 21

Chapter 23>>

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, part 20

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies, you die too. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes. Though it looks like we have a couple secrets of our own.

Previous part

Part 20: dark desires

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What do you want Husker?" I knew he was crossing when he first stepped out of the house. I sat just beyond the tree line with my back against a large oak. I had heard the door close, the sway of grass as he walked, his steps, his breathing, and felt his red magic about half way across the field.

I had barely slept last night. I woke up before dawn and made my way to my new sitting spot. I could hear the crash of the waves at the bottom of the cliff and the whirl of the wind across the field. The peaceful serenity was nice. The calm, external environment was helping me figure out how to feel internally. Until Husker showed up at dawn.

"I wanted to check on you." He stepped out from behind the tree.

"I'm fine. Never better. Why do you ask?" I had my legs pulled up and my arms dangling over them. I kept my one hand covering the bruised one.

"I thought maybe you would be happy that the curse is finally gone. But...you obviously don't feel that way."

"I shouldn't..." I pressed my lips into my shoulder to keep myself from spilling. I wasn't sure why I didn't want to talk about it with Husker. I had told him plenty before but this time I was hesitant.

"I'm usually good at guessing what's wrong," he tried, "but this time I'm a little lost. Did something else happen? Was there a memory?"

"No, he...I didn't..." I wrapped my arms around my legs and leaned my cheek into them. I was still holding my human form but I could sense everything as if I was in my Demon form.

My hands shifted so the bruise shone a little. Husker pointed and asked, "May I?" So I let him brush his claws across my injured hand, the muscle and skin popping and fixing itself. I turned my head the other way and gritted my teeth from the pain.

When he was done, I withdrew my hand to my chest and stared off into the forest. Husker was quiet. He sat in silence with me for a long time. I could hear his breathing and his presence sat on the outside of my shields.

I let out a huge sigh, Husker's ear twitching in my direction. I turned my head so he was partially in my view. "I don't...I should've known that he wanted something more with me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...I thought he just wanted to teach me how to defend myself against a Demon. That way he didn't have to ever think about keeping me safe again, but...I...he..." I struggled to find the words. I didn't want to tell Husker about the Sanctuary in case it somehow got back to Alastor. "When we touch I can feel both of our magic combining. He wants to keep me because it gives him more power. Which means...I can't do anything without him. I can't have a life anymore."

Husker was quiet. I could feel his presence fully around my shields as if to comfort me in some way. He physically sat adjacent to me against the same tree. I could hear his tail thumping and even feel it vibrating through the ground.

"Well, you know," he leaned over so his shoulder touched mine, "he's gonna teach you everything he knows. And you've obviously got your own kind of power and experience. Sooo...." he tilted his head, drawing out his words. He was waiting for me to finish but I obviously wasn't getting it. "So you may one day be better than him."

I actually laughed. It was short and high pitched. I stood up and spun on my heels, planting my hands on my hips. "This is the Radio Demon we're talking about. He's been around for thousands of years. He's had all that time to practice and master who knows how much magic. I've barely lived a second in comparison to him."

"True," he agreed, "but even he has his weaknesses. He's teaching you all the tricks which means you'll know how he thinks. It's just a matter of time."

"That's what I'm upset about." I paced around in a circle. I let my Demon side show and dug my foot claws into the soft earth. "In order to be even close to his level, I would have to train with him for hundreds of years. I don't even know how long I live for."

"Demons don't really have a timeline but most of us live longer than the average Human."

"I don't want to be stuck with him!" I yelled. My tail whipped behind me as my pacing increased. I went up to a tree and raked my claws down its bark. "I deserve to pick the life I want to live. He gets to decide what life he wants because he's got the power, but I deserve to decide."

"He's not really..." Husker clicked his claws together. "He's more...you won't get through to him unless you've got some kind of power. And...you may have to suck it up and train with him until you've reached that point. You've seen how he reacts when your shadow shows up."

I glanced down as my shadow morphed into the woman. I had yet to come up with a name, though I was heavily leaning towards Alcine. It seemed like a nice, elegant name for a woman who's shadow looked like that. She nodded her head at me on the grass.

I let out a strangled sigh. "I just...I have my own plans."

"I know." He pushed himself to his feet and stood in front of me. "I know exactly how you're feeling. So I want to do what I can to help you get there."

"What about you?"

He shrugged. "One step at a time. Maybe you'll even be able to convince him to let me go. But let's take this one day at a time."

I rubbed my clawed fingers together. "Okay."

****

"Are you finally ready, darling?" Alastor stood on the scorched symbol at the cliff, his eyes and teeth glowing brightly in the dim moonlight. His hands rested on top of each other on his red cane. I hid my Demon side as I walked up. My feet felt like they had glue on the bottom of them, making each step harder than the last. 

"Where are we going?" It was the third time I had asked. 

"Out. I think you've been stuck in this dusty house for too long." He uncurled a claw from his cane and held it out, his smile widening. 

"You and I both know kindness isn't your thing." I looked up through furrowed eyebrows and an angry scowl. Anger was easier to manage than fear.

He hummed a short laugh. "You pain me. I'm not all bad." He inched his hand towards me more. 

I sighed. "Yes you are," and took his hand. Our combined power rushed through my veins and took my breath away. I had to take a moment to recover while Alastor soaked in the feeling. He pulled me closer and teleported away. I nearly grabbed his arm when the ground disappeared. I was slowly getting used to the feeling of teleporting.

When we touched solid ground, I looked around at the dark landscape. We were on a roof but there were several huge buildings surrounding us. Not all the floors were lit up and most of them didn't even have windows or walls. I inched to the edge and saw a lively scene beneath me. The major streets were covered in yellow, electrical lights and people had to push themselves through the heavy crowd. 

This was one of those Old World cities. Since the Great Collapse, many major cities had fallen to nothing but ruins, leaving mother nature to handle them how she wanted. I had been in a ring of sorts in one of these cities. When an old ring had been discovered, everyone had to go find a new one. On the way, Striker and I had spent a night in one of these big cities. He heard of a fighting league, a legal 'ring' fight with willing participants. He had participated in a fight himself then offered me up to their champion. The fight lasted under two minutes.

I knew he would probably still be in one of the legal towns, but that didn't stop me from scanning the crowd in search of Striker's sharp face. "What are we doing here?" 

"There's someone I want to see if you recognize," Alastor answered nonchalantly. He stood just a hair behind me, his presence snaking around my shields. He didn't push through, which surprised me, but the fact that he was actively surrounding me didn't make me feel any better. I tried asking who I was supposed to be looking for but he didn't respond. He fell silent and just stared at me. I hated when he did that.

For awhile I simply watched. We were hidden on a roof that towered just above where the electricity stopped running. There was no one on the floors of the buildings around us and the shadows kept us well hidden from any curious eyes. 

After awhile, I sat down with my legs crossed and continued to watch. I was actually enjoying it. I stretched out my magic sense and felt everyone who came within distance. I could sense their emotions and feel who had Full magic and who had Slight. There were a few Demons hiding themselves in a human appearance, their magic's color shaping their outline. I imagined myself walking in the crowd with them all, brushing shoulders and going about a normal life. When I 'touched' them, it felt like I was sucking some of their energy straight from their body. 

A cold shiver ran through my body. I casted a glare at Alastor as his presence finally penetrated my shields. I tried wrapping my mind in a black cloak as if to keep him from reading my thoughts. I didn't know if he could actually read thoughts but I wasn't eager to find out. I turned back to the crowd to look for someone I would recognize. If he was trying to get in my head, that must mean he saw the person and wanted to see my reaction. 

It took me a few moments before my eyes locked on a man. I didn't immediately recognize him but I couldn't look away. He had a sturdy build, an ugly frown, and scraggly hair. My heart quickened and my hands started to sweat. What was wrong with me? Why was I freaking out? What was it about this man? No memories surfaced as I tried to remember.

He walked down one of the small streets and I followed, scrambling to my feet and jumping to the neighboring rooftop. I watched him from my high perch as he strolled halfway down the less-lit street. He leaned against the old building and pulled out a smoke. He was wearing a long sleeve which seemed odd for such a warm night. He put his hands in his pockets and just looked left and right. I knelt down and continued to watch him. What was he doing? Who was he waiting for?

Eventually, a second man walked down the street and shook hands with him. I leaned lower and casted a light wind to carry their conversation up to me. 

"That's thirty credits for the boy and forty for the girl," the newcomer said. He pulled out metal squares, called credits, to count them and drop them in the man's hand. 

"What do you want next?" the big man counted the credits himself before stuffing them into his pocket. 

"They're looking for two boys, around nine years old give or take."

"No girls?" 

"No. They supposedly have too many now and not enough fighters. They need the boys for the fights."

"Nine is awfully old." The big man blew out a puff of smoke. "They can't disappear as easy as younger kids."

"Which is why you're getting fifty credits for each." 

The big man coughed and took the smoke from his mouth. He cleared his throat and straightened his shirt. "Fifty? That sounds like they want a delivery."

"They do. They want them delivered to Swansbury. You can handle that, can't you?"

"Yeah, of course."

The newcomer held out his hand and the big man rolled up one of his sleeves. I leaned further over the edge to see what was all over his arms. The newcomer took the man's smoke and pressed it the hot end into his bicep. The man let out a grunt but didn't react in any other way. The newcomer returned the smoke after the big man had rolled his sleeve back down. The marks on his skin were all burn marks. Why did they do that?

"Your next contact will wear a gray top," the newcomer informed. He swiftly left the small street and disappeared into the crowd. The big man waited in the street, still smoking his cigarette. I watched him closely, trying to put together his face. I knew him. But from where?

Something pulled me backwards and I found myself in my mindscape. I pushed myself to my elbows and found myself in a memory. Not just any memory, the memory. The man trapped my hands against the cold cage floor and everything came running back. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed the fear in my stomach. I was suddenly standing and tripped backwards into my shields. I shook my head and pulled myself back to reality. I opened my eyes to an empty alley.

I jumped to my feet and rang along the edge of the roof for him. I found him down another small street, walking into another small building. This one had electricity shining through some of the shaded windows. The man appeared on the third level and collapsed on an old rickety bed. This was the man that had assaulted me.

My Demon side slipped out and I dug my claws into the concrete of the rooftop I sat on. So many emotions came flooding through me as I stared at him. He was a ring hunter. He was the people who stole children and sold them to the ring fights. I had so much energy buzzing through my body I didn't know what to do with. I wanted to bring the building down and watch him suffocate from the crushing rubble. 

"You can do it." 

My ear twitched as Alastor's lips brushed against it. My hands were shaking the harder I pushed them into the concrete. My heart couldn't slow down.

"You have the power, now."

My vision started to blacken around the corners. I was zeroing in on his helpless, clueless body on the bed. He was going to sleep peacefully and would wake up the next day to ruin another child's life. 

"You can put a stop to him."

My breathing grew shallow. My hands were sweaty and my tail whipped back and forth on the roof. My wings pressed into the floor on either side of me to give them something to do. I wanted to jump off this roof and crash into his room. I wanted to wrap my claws around his throat.

"It would take a flick of your wrist."

Alastor's hand was gripping my shoulder as he leaned further over the other one. He was kneeling beside me? Behind me? There was so much energy bouncing between us that I couldn't tell where he was in contact with me aside from his claws in my shoulder. 

"End his life to save so many." He gently grabbed my wrist and pried it off the edge of the roof. He lifted it up so my sharp, black claws curled around the man's figure. "Restrict his airflow." His throat closed and his eyes shot open. He clutched at his neck and rolled of the bed. He banged his chest as if to dislodge an object from his throat. "Watch him writhe as you did."

The man's flailing slowed until he finally laid still on the floor. The outline of his body grew red until everything about his was glowing red. It was his soul. I quickly cut off my magic. A second later the man gasped for air and the outline disappeared.

Alastor was everywhere. I abruptly withdrew and broke away from him. "I'm better than that," I clutched my hands to my chest, "I stopped the killing when I left the ring. I'm not going back to that. I'm not a Demon."

"Oh darling," he stalked over to me, "you are a Demon." He leaned down so his face was level with mine, arms folded behind his back. "It's how you managed to survive for so long in those fights. It's in your nature."

A door slammed shut, drawing both our attention back to the street. The man had run out of the building and was making his way to the crowded street. A huge, dark figure appeared at the end of the street and snarled at the man. He casted fire at the illusion and went the other way. Alastor chuckled and looked at me sideways. He grabbed my forehead, covering my eyes, and I felt my body drop. 

A second later I was gliding over the lower buildings on the outskirts of the city. The man was still running, casting glances over his shoulder for his pursuer. Various black figures scared the man from certain streets, herding him further away from the crowded street. I jumped from building to level and back again. I could taste the fear of the man. It was sweet and electrifying. I wanted more. 

The man tripped and scrambled behind a pile of crates. I jumped down on the other end of the alley where the man wasn't looking. The streetlight behind me blinked. The man's head swiveled in my direction. The light turned on and my shadow--no, Alastor's shadow--stretched down the concrete. 

"Good day sir!" Alastor's chipper voice came from my lips. I wasn't actually here. I was seeing through Alastor's eyes. He stalked slowly and precisely towards his prey. The man tried casting fire but his veins bulged and he cried out in pain. He curled into a bawl, sobbing and begging for his life. Alastor leaned down so his face was inches from the man's and said, "You've gotten in my way."

His claws latched around the man's throat. Half a second later, the man's life faded from his eyes. He slumped into the ground and Alastor straightened up. He snapped his fingers to call the dark figures to surround the body. He effortlessly lifted himself to the rooftop and made his way back. I could see my own body laying on the ground as he knelt beside it. He covered his eyes and my own flew open, my body lurching forward. 

"What are you do--"

He caught my chin in his claws and held our faces close. "You are a Demon by nature. Your power will grow until you can no longer handle it, unless you learn how to properly exercise it. That is what I'm doing." He shoved my face away and stood. 

"What did you do to him?" I pushed myself to my feet. 

"You'll know by tomorrow when I make my broadcast." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Thank you all for your patience, kind words, and understanding! I hope this chapter makes up for yesterday. How power hungry do you think we'll get? Can we fight the urge? How persuasive will Alastor be?

[a-whispering-echo]

hello. below is me rambling about my new au - the ancient city one - and what i have down for it all right now. its just me rambling, and i tend to talk like im actually TELLING people about my ideas? like im sitting across from someone explaining it, and i try to imagine im speaking to someone who knows nothing about the sanses to try and like, GRIP the characters right, yknow? so yeah - lol

uh gore warning ig? its only descriptions for now, but i WILL be drawing them at some point!

oh yeah its bsp too lol

Story starts with Cross, who was disowned by his father after the death of his brother, which happened slightly after a very large argument between Cross and said brother. this is set in an old-ish setting. not quite modern day, not quite old timey. more fantasy set time - anyway yeah, Cross gets kicked out and shamed . oh hes human too here, you'll see later-

Cross is supposed to read as slightly unlikable, not fully, but with enough character flaws to balance out his good traits. Hes cold, very ambitious, but quite selfish too. he finds it hard to put himself in others shoes, and is focused, at first, in his own self interest. at the same time, he can be incredibly sweet, and self sacrificing when he wants to be. a hero truly. hes adaptable, and strong willed, even if he can sometimes break down in an anxious mess.

Cus Cross has been disowned, he decides to set out on his own path, alone, with not much on his other than his own survival skills - as all men from his town are trained for war and go through mandatory service, as he decides to treck and explore the world, figuring maybe, if he was luckily, he'd find a NEW home and family..

Eventually, one night, Cross is attacked by wolved while out setting up camp for the night. they destroy everything he'd worked for, and would him near fatally,

One of the wolves got a bit to his head, biting right into his right eye, leaving an awful bite mark over it that forces his eye shut forever. he isnt TECNICALLY blind, but he cant really open it without massive pain, ( it will eventually get infected and need to be removed. but thats WAYY in the future.)

Cross in his mad bid for safety, managed to scale a slight cliff edge, and find a very tight cave on a said cliff edge, managing to climb up over this ledge covered in lichen and algae, and sneaking into the gap that the wolves cannot reach. unfortunately, Cross wasnt expecting the drop.

When Cross wakes up, hes in what can only be described as the ruins of an old settlement, a… city? he thinks? the stone buildings are all destroyed, looking like a bomb has gone off through it, the stone in rubble, but miraculously, there are these glowing blue lanterns handing off posts that make up bridges connecting the little 'islands' of rubble to another in a pattern, those lanterns dim, but glowing faintly enough he can see his way… hes lying in a small pond, or a well or somthing, glowing blue algae covering the water, and HIM by extension, the water cold and soaking him to the bone.

What the hell happened here?

its as Cross is trying to right himself and fugure out where the HELL he is that he sees three figure in the distance...

They move, they walk, but theyre… theyre skeletons...

.... mostly. a couple of them look like they have a LITTLE flesh covering them, but its all mouldy and rotten. theres three of them, and all of them are dressed in dark robes, and covered in that ALGAE-lichen stuff, all that glowing cyan and black colour, spreading over their limbs like a plague. they seem all slightly confused on Cross entering their domain, the shortest one looks at his suspiciously under their cowl, and the tallest, with his awful head wound, pokes and prods at Cross and his broken body with fascination. the other one, with pitch black oozing eye sockets, seems FACINATED with him, excited even, theyre rubbing up against Cross like a cat and getting that black/cyan stuff all over him, Cross to scared and in pain to push it away from him

are they… inhabitants of the past settlement, maybe?

Turns out they can, mostly, speak english. they speak with an accent like no other, one Cross cant place, and use what Cross can only describe as odd and outdated words sometimes, but they seem to be able to understand him, at least. and they understand hes hurt, and needs help..

theyre kinda… well, theyre creepy as shit, no doubt bout it, but theyre not… TRYING to be? theyre curious and weird and a bit gross, but theyre almost CAT like? they purr, they nuzzle, they even fucking SNIFF him at first, and dunk his head under the water when they find his scent distressing. - thats Killer to note - they have fucking TAILS - he sees them when Goopy turns to chirp at his friends-

theyre in different states of decay… though the flesh they DO have is little, and covered by that lichen stuff holding it to their bones like stitches, theyre not ACTIVLY rotting anymore? nor do they really smell?

The smallest one seems to speak for them, not really out of any leadership, but because Goopy doesnt seem to really understand, and Head Wound seems to only make rumbling chirping noises - they ALL make those noises, but… Scarf seems to understand him best, even it they CLEARLY dont trust Cross…

they work for their Master, and lover, a Creature named Nightmare. a being made from that black/cyan stuff, and the one who destroyed this previous kingdom entirely, killing all residents

well all, bar three? are.. well, are they dead or..?

Killer mostly moves on all fours, close to the ground, almost like a spider. he CAN stand upright, but its painful for him, and hes quicker lower to the floor. Dust is the shortest and has these glowing red spots that act like pupils in his eyes, one of them corrupted by the cyan stuff. Horror has an actual EYEBALL still in his left socket - the side with the big wound - while the other is empty. Dust is the least 'decomposed' and still has slight bits of pale tinged-purple-blue skin held to his bones with the algae stuff, but he seems to try and hide it under his layers of clothes. both Killer and Horror have claws, while Dust has his filled down and softer, though still SHARP! Killer is much more intelligent than he appears.

all three of the skeletons used to be human! theyre of a different race to any Cross would know, and mostly lived in caves and hollowed out mountains - theyre usually small people - Horror being what the kingdom would call 'a giant', with a range of skin tones but most being a soft brown, and hair that stems from black to dark red and oranges - they mostly all have dark eyes better suited to dark environment, and good senses

Dust is the most 'intelligent' of the three, seemingly knowing an array of languages and seems to know how to heal. Killer has spikes and bone shards and teeth sticking from his clothes and has a dagger attached to his belt - maybe some kind of warrior? Horror carries a spear with him that he leans on as he walks. he seems to be able to walk fine without it, but uses it almost as a cane - maybe a pain condition over physically not being able to move? with the head wound.. well, does that even MATTER anymore?

Anyways, yeah, noot noot-

Nightmare used to be a spirit of protecting for the city, until a disagreement with his Other Half, quite literally, his twin brother Dream - two beings born of the same soul, which caused Nightmare to corrupt.

Nightmare doesnt show up until at LEAST halfway through the story!

this story will eventually conclude with Cross joining them, and them all falling in love, Cross getting the answers he wants about them, and getting his FAMILY that he desperately craves.

im still working on this obs, but im gonna be doing some drawings of them not lol - obviously theres gonna be a bit of a gore warning -

[majesty-madness]

A Past Encounter - Bucky Barnes x reader (nsfw) Sneak Peak

Summary: Being in a relationship with Bucky, Y/N prided herself on knowing him quite well but when she’s accidentally teleported back to 1940, Y/N discovers that there is a whole other Bucky that she has yet to meet. The sweet flirt that had everything going for him before his unfortunate capture by HYDRA.

Tagged - @honeyrydernot @spn-obession @tinyminxie @fluffybunnyu @saintmagx @hopelessromantic423 @marygoddessofmischief @theeleggymeggy @lethallyprotected

Commissions are available so don't forget to check that out!

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Chapter 14 Preview

September 20, 1941.

Y/N could scarcely believe that two months had already passed since she first arrived. In all honesty, it felt so much longer given all that she’s had to adjust to including her new job as an assistant to that lovely old woman, Irene, who’d provided her with brand new clothes when they’d met back in June. 

Never in her life had she ever been an assistant to a seamstress, but it had been a surprisingly fun experience. And it was also thanks to Bucky, once again, that she was able to work now seeing as he had convinced Irene to hire her. Though that didn’t take too much effort, the older woman stated she’d be grateful for the extra pair of hands. 

Speaking of Bucky, there had been an incredibly thick tension growing between them ever since they danced together. 

There was already something going on between them but when Bucky had basically asked Y/N to stay with him, the signs were painfully obvious. 

Every morning, Y/N reminded herself of the sickly sweet lyrics that played as they held each other.

It’s love, this time it’s love

My foolish heart…

Foolish indeed and she knew it, more than anything.

She was torn in two, desperately yearning to reach out and touch him, hold him close as if he were her’s to hold, and at the same time, held back by the years of intimacy with the Bucky she knew from her own time. 

Was it wrong to want Bucky from a time way beyond the moment they’d met? Was it wrong to love the parts of him she never knew? Was it wrong to have the slightest desire to stay?

Y/N shook her head, Stop it!

This was a common occurrence by now, Y/N falling into deep thought while involved in another task at hand, and right now Steve was showing her how to draw. 

“Do you need help with this part, Y/N?” Steve asked, kindly, the hand housing a pencil stopping in mid stroke on the paper. 

She stuttered out a forced laugh, while shaking her head again. “No, no I’m fine, just got lost in thought. Please continue.”

Steve apprehensively nodded though proceeded explaining his sketching technique.

Bucky, sitting at the dinner table watched the pair carefully, the newspaper in his hands stuck on the same page for the last twenty five minutes as he too become lost in thought; a pretty little thought by the name of -

A loud ringing made the trio jump, heads snapping over to look in the direction of the telephone that sat next to the radio. 

“I got it.” Bucky said, already standing up from his chair and walking over to the phone. Without missing a beat, he picked it up and answered with a polite, “Hello?”

After a couple of seconds, Bucky grinned. “Hey, Ma, how are you and Rebecca doing?”

Y/N glanced up at the mention of the name; Rebecca, his sister.

________

a/n: If you've made it down here, then you read the preview so first off; thank you! And second, I need to deeply apologize to those of you who were waiting for this chapter. I know I said that it would be released the 29th and I truly had intended to post it then but as luck would have it, my mental health took a freaking swan dive off a cliff and I found myself struggling just to write this (I'm okay, I promise). My track record with posting on a consistent schedule has always been iffy, and every single time I make a simple goal of what to post and when, something comes along and completely clotheslines me. I'm trying to get better about that, and I've taken steps to reevaluate my goals, and to look into better ways to set a schedule I can stick to. So again, thank you for reading and I'm sorry for the delay. Wishing you a good day!

[musings-of-a-20-something]

last weekend

the first time I saw you I could only think to myself it's actually happening, I'm meeting her. and wow, she's short. after an hour I was still shocked. it's actually happening, i'm meeting her. but new thoughts appeared. her eyes. she's a whole new beauty in person. god she's funny. 

i watched you change in front of me. you  joked, saying i had seen you naked a hundred times before, whats one more. maybe you knew that no scar or blemish could make me leave you. you got into bed after that and placed yourself right next to me. you fit perfectly. 

we watched one of my favorite shows that night. I shouldn't say we. you did. I watched you, because in that moment, in the little time I knew I probably had with you, i knew it would be a waste to look at anything but you.

i didn't sleep that night. not because the bed was uncomfortable or because you snored or anything i had ever experienced before those moments with you. instead, i was plagued by the thought of waking you from your sleep. it frightened me. you looked so at peace the thought of destroying that was worse than anything my mind could imagine. i wonder how no one before me had thought that.

you left for work the next morning, and all I could think about was your return. what would I think about next. i could hardly wait to see you. i made your bed, in the meantime. and i wrote about you. you always said you loved my writing.

i heard that front door open and my heart leapt from my chest. i realized that you were back, truly. that I'd get to lay my eyes on you again.

the second you walked through that door everything changed.

maybe it was in my mind, but the excitement that was brimming through my eyes was shining through yours like spotlights made from sapphires. I had loved your eyes for years, but in that moment, nothing could ever replace them. I had thought that I wanted nothing more than pretty cars and a daughter in life but that split second changed everything, there was one more thing i knew i needed. i would have traded every possession i had, if just to feel your eyes on my soul for another moment. i've spent time trying to think of how I would describe it. normally, your eyes remind me of waves of a cold ocean, crashing against cliffs of dark stone. the white crests of the waves along the sea and the clash of everything was serene and frightening in a way a lover could understand.  and i think that's what they are like.

but there is nothing that could ever describe them in that moment. i think seeing your eyes in that moment will feel the same as seeing my newborn child for the first time. i wish i could tell you, could explain it to you. so that you knew why i was different after that. i hugged you and you went to shower, my mind not in the same room as it had been ten minutes before.

you took me to some of your favorite places after that. we went to goodwill and you pulled a pair of corduroy pants off the rack, "i think these would look nice on you." you said it so nonchalantly, as if you didn't think those words could mean anything to me. i bought those pants without ever looking at the size.

we went to a bookstore next. i was reminded of the authors you had recommended to me when i asked months prior. osamu dazai and fyodor dostoevsky. i told myself i get a library card when i returned home, if just to find a trace of you there. you told me you hated me at least four times in that bookstore. we laughed every time.

you asked me what i wanted to eat, i told you i wasn't sure. you looked at me with those eyes and we decided on your favorite food truck, hibachi. i made a fool of myself eating soup that was too hot. you looked at me and told me it didn't taste good anyway.

we got back to your place and you colored while i laid next to you. there was something about it, the innocence. someone who had seen me nude, someone who had seen my worst moments, my saddest days. you gave up on that drawing and fell asleep next to me again. i fell asleep faster that night.

in the morning you had to go to work early. you were about to leave and i wasn't sure what to do. you moved for the door and i told you that when you came home, i might not be there. we both knew i had a long drive. we hugged and i placed a kiss on your forehead. you left without a second word and i knew.

i left a few hours later, after making your bed of course. leaving was hard. i smiled the whole way home, state borders i had crossed just a day prior welcomed me back. you texted me when you got off work, thanking me for hanging out with you. i didn't know how to tell you i would have hung out with you for the rest of my life.

its been a week since then and we talk less. i don't know if its one of your episodes or if i am paying the cost of what happened. i've finished a book by dazai. it was odd, finding you on every page. not at all how i thought it would be though. i've been practicing my cursive, so that i may write letters to you. i think you might like that, maybe. maybe it would be enough for you to come back.

[redspacegirl]

UPP OC BACKSTORY AND STUFF TIME!!! (plus occasional doodles)

plenty of this is spitballing, so i haven't fully cemented anything. it's all a bunch of yapping, so I'll put a tldr at the bottom to explain it in simpler terms lol. anyways,,,

Oakley moved to Deadwood when she was about 12. Right before the beginning of her 7th grade year. I feel like she definitely went down the fnaf to ghost hunting pipeline. I don't even know if that's a real pipeline, but it was for me. So she basically knew all the terms and stuff.

from what i can tell, upp was just a bunch of kids that liked ghost hunting, though ive seen the idea of all the kids in upp having ghost themed powers, kinda like wiwis but not as,,, wiwi. ill talk more about it later.

Despite knowing a bit about ghost hunting, Oakley would never have done it before. She lived in a highly populated area, not too far from the coast and one of Prime's big cities (I'm thinking near new haven, but NH might not be on the coast). There weren't any super old buildings in bike-riding distance for Oakley to explore. Plus one big thing with ghost hunting is that you dont! go! alone! (i'm really really tempted to make a post on how will maybe did this and it lead to him falling off a cliff. idk). Anyways, she's very skeptical of the actual existence of ghosts. This is one of the times I'm pulling out of my own life for that. If you've ever watched Buzzfeed Unsolved, she's Shane. She does think ghost hunting is very cool, however. (it makes sense to me, as a person who is a skeptic irl)

As I said earlier, she moved right before the beginning of 7th grade. She moved with her mom to live with her nana. There's a couple reasons for this. 1) Ol' nana silvia was up there in age, her mom wanted to keep an eye on her an all that. 2) If you can imagine, rent prices right outside of New Haven are expensive as fuck. And nothing beats the 2 acre backyard that Oakley's mother, Mae, grew up with. Like,,, sure the place was a little freaky, but that's most old places anyways.

So they move. Oakley is lowkey highkey pissed about the move. She understands, mostly, but she *really* doesn't want to move, obviously. Aside from the fact that she'd be leaving her friends behind, she's been on plenty of trips to Deadwood. That place is freaky. Mae convinces her that it's not really that bad, the house is old, it just needs some renovating.

obviously thats not the case. oakley continues being pretty much oblivious to the ghosts, blaming it on some weird noises or something until she finally comes face to face with one.

for my ideas on the whole ghost sight stuff. I like the idea that being able to see ghosts, even a little bit, is somewhat common in Deadwood. an idea i thought was funny is that Oakley could just,,, hear the ghosts *really* well. hence why she can be such a skeptic while everyone else is like "WHAT THE FUCK IS THTATTTTTT". otherwise, her being a ghost beacon would be really funny. like she walks in a room and the ghosts in said room are able to interact with people/objects or talk more. finally, she could just have normal sight idk.

Around the current point in PD, she's just graduated high school. I think she ended up staying in town for one reason or another. I have a few ideas. I think by the time she graduated, she still didn't fully know what she wanted to do, hence why she stayed home. She's currently 19 ish, taking college courses online while she keeps and eye on her mother and the nearby ghosts. She probably still hangs around the upp who stayed around. Probably will come up with more stuff in the future.

OTHER STUFF: -She skateboards, though Deadwood is a lot of gravel roads, so it's kind of difficult -draws a bunch. if you didn't see my other post about her, she draws on her pants and whatnot. -she paints her nails on occasion before forgetting about them and letting them chip before she repaints them months later -she was that kid that always said "im leaving this town right after i graduate." (me core) -indecisive as hell -can be pretty sarcastic, to the point it gets annoying sometimes. she tones it down as she gets older.

TLDR: Girl with ghost sight moves to live with her grandma in 7th grade, realizes she has some sort of ghost sight, shenanigans ensue.

[leohtttbriar]

the snow-melted and it's sunny and it's spring and that makes me feel some type of way so here's a kiradax springtime fic featuring the fascinations of a nature-walk and jadzia dax as a sort of ms. frizzle:

On a bright day like this, Kira was happy to be handing out juice boxes.

Sure, she would’ve preferred to have been part of Keiko’s field-trip party, with the older students on a rock-climbing mission to observe cliff-side fungus. But Keiko had been a little too bright-faced and excited as she tucked her climbing shoes into her backpack and gathered all the older kids together for a lesson in knot-tying and rappelling, and, almost immediately, Miles had begged Kira to swap chaperone positions so he could trail after his wife pretending to be worried about the cliffs on which she was leading an educational expedition but really interested in just documenting ‘the moment,’ as he called it.

“When Molly starts to be embarrassed of us,” he said, turning on his camera and smirking as Keiko demonstrated a very long finger-hold on a nearby boulder, the strained muscles in her forearms and shoulders not even appearing to shake. “I want evidence that we’re actually cool.”

“Well, one of you is,” said Kira. “You mostly play games with Julian in your free-time.”

Miles shot her a dirty look but then Keiko was calling her group to start on the hike and he was scampering after her.

So Kira was left with the younger kids on a much less dangerous nature walk that didn’t involve rock-climbing. But she was happy about it. The day was bright, crisp air with warm sun, and she didn’t have to do much more than make sure the little ones stayed on the path and hand out juice boxes. And, really, they were all too mesmerized by Jadzia to misbehave or wonder off.

Kira couldn’t exactly blame them, though. Jadzia had turned up in a shirt covered in colorful scientific illustrations of various Bajoran insects, a giant hair clip that looked like one of the stone-caterpillars that Kira used to make into a stew in her hungriest moments during the war, and a box of tiny, kid-sized binoculars which she handed to each student with all the sincerity and solemnity of a general handing out medals of honor to soldiers. She oo’d an ah’d over every little thing and all the kids were following after her like she was personally responsible for putting a flower in their path to look at.

“Oh, look at that!” gasped Jadzia, pointing up at what looked to be a normal tree limb with such drama that every single kid was gasping with her despite, Kira assumed, not knowing what it is they were gasping at. They gathered around Jadzia, following to where her finger pointed, their little mouths open in awe.

“What?” asked one of the more impatient kids. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s an aerial succulent,” said Jadzia, bending down. “See, between the stalks, there's a film which will expand and catch on a breeze if the plant needs to move.”

“Like wings?” asked another kid, taking rigorous notes in her notebook (Kira was able to read she had just added plant flying color green pretty in uneven block letters).

“Yes! Exactly like wings!” said Jadzia, as if this comparison had just occurred to her.

“Wow.”

Jadzia had them all draw a picture of the succulent, a star shaped thing with a sparkly veil between each point, tipping this way and that on the tree branch but yet holding steady. Kira attempted a drawing herself, as Jadzia had made sure to provide her with a “field notebook” and binoculars, along with the kids. It was not a good drawing, but Kira liked it. After, they continued shuffling along the path and Kira helped a couple kids not to trip on their feet as they traversed forward, binoculars glued to their eyes.

When Keiko had suggested a field trip, Kira had not expected to be asked to help. But it seemed Sisko was of the opinion that she needed “a break,” or something like that. And so he had volunteered much of his chief staff to help out with the trip to Bajor and even extending the offer of the supervised field trip to some of the schools that would be nearby their educational expedition. As the morning progressed, Kira couldn’t help but be thankful for it. There were worse ways to spend a day. And Jadzia had been very happy when Kira had turned up, which always made Kira feel warm in more ways than one. She might've switched assignments, anyway, if Miles hadn't asked.

Eventually they ended up by a stream and Jadzia instructed everyone to be on the lookout for fossils.

“I know there are fossils,” she whispered triumphantly to Kira, once the kids were darting back and forth on the bank like the intrepid explorers they were. “I scouted the trail—this watershed area is almost nothing but limestone.”

Kira bent down to examine the earth herself, picking up an angular yet smooth-cornered rock and rolling it around in her palm.

“Limestone has more fossils in it?” she asked.

Jadzia plopped down next to her. “Yep,” she said. She reached over and gently guided Kira’s fingers to hold the rock so the angle was pointed up. Then she poured a splash of water on it, smoothed away some dirt, and pointed to an imprint in the stone. “See?” she said. “A shell.”

“Oh,” said Kira, looking closer at the strangely patterned whirl. It looked like the aerial succulent.

“Limestone is a graveyard, for organic life,” said Jadzia, halfway to soft but still cheerful. “It’s got a bit of a sacred history on Trill, but I never bought into all those sad poems. Trills only seem to know how to write sad poems”—she rolled her eyes, and Kira bit the inside of her cheek to contain her grin—“and I just don’t think fossils are things to be sad about anyway. True, this”—she indicated the rock in Kira’s hand by cupping Kira’s knuckles and pushing gently against them, causing Kira to, embarrassingly, blush—“is made of the compressed bodies of ancient marine life, but it’s not as if they’re gone. There they are.”

Kira turned her gaze away from Jadzia’s open face and back to the dirty rock in her palm. She didn’t like to think of it as a graveyard. Death was a strange, conceptual thing for Bajorans—as all things are and have been and will be all at once, so eternal ending is just one edge of infinite reality, which has many edges stretching on and on.

“It’s just evidence that they were,” she found herself saying. “But they also are. Just—are.”

Jadzia tipped her head, her eyebrows pinched together. “This might be one of those temporal perspectives I don’t get,” she said.

Kira smiled. “I mean,” she said. “In some way, this…shell?”

“Crinoid.”

“This crinoid,” said Kira, still biting back a grin. “Is swimming around now. In the sea.”

Jadzia looked at her, eyes sparkling. “Okay,” she said. “Then limestone isn’t a graveyard at all.” She picked the rock up out of Kira’s hand and placed back on the ground but replaced its weight with her own palm. “Everything just adds and adds, in every direction.”

Kira’s smile couldn’t be stopped. She curled her fingers around Jadzia’s wrist. “Yes,” she said, leaning in close, tracing the line of sun lighting up the dark hollows on Jadzia’s face and the soft hairs on her jaw.

Jadzia tilted her chin down, their noses now millimeters apart. The sound of the stream and the sound of her breath on Kira’s mouth washed over her. “Nerys—” she said, voice sweet.

Then, “Da-ax!”

They leaned away from each other quickly.

“Yeah?” called back Jadzia, wiping her twitchy hands on her shorts.

“I fell in!” said one of the kids while all the others laughed.

Kira snorted. Jadzia pressed her palm against Kira’s once more before launching to her feet.

“Duty calls,” she said, dramatically. “Remember me fondly.”

She walked off, already lecturing all the kids about the joys of an impromptu swim and the subsequent chance to dry off in the sun, and soon Kira was being bombarded by tired students in search of snacks.

She slipped the rock in her backpack, when no one was looking. An eternal touch of a swimming creature and the warmth of Jadzia's hand--everything just added on. It was a bright day.

[adventuresoftumbleclan]

MOON 2

Moon 2 starts off well. Wrenstar had been observing the apprentices, and one stood out to her. The eldest, Umberpaw. And so, Wrenstar requested a test to be made, one unique to their new clan. She and Oleandersprout worked, determining that the test would consist of mountainside hunting, as being able to scale the cliffs was an important part of their new life.

She passed with flying colors.

Umberpaw walked up to the steps they called their meeting place.

"We meet here today to award the progress of one of our apprentices, one that has done nothing but work hard to help our new clan." Wrenstar mewed warmly, looking down at the apprentice.

"Umberpaw, do you vow to protect Tumbleclan with all your heart and soul?"

"I Do." Umberpaw mewed with excitement.

"Then it is settled, Umberpaw, you will now be known as Umberdust."

Wrenstar was unsure of how such a kind heart such as Umberdust would place in war, though she never let her uncertainty shine through.

Going to check on her paw, Robinpaw finds her small cut from the thorn has healed nicely!

However, such good fortune can only last so long.

Oleandersprout had been following an unfamiliar scent. It was that of some predator, and he needed to make sure that it wasn't too close to camp. That's when he hard it. A growling, snarling, then barking... A large dog. That's what he had been tracking.

Oleandersprout attempted to get away, but did not escape without injury. The other cats saw Oleandersprout stumble into camp, a large bite wound heavily bleeding.

Robinpaw needed to help, somehow. That's it! She would go get herbs! Teaselspeckle had been teaching the apprentices about herbs! She would go find some! trotting along, Robinpaw eventually realized she didn't recognize these trees... She was in Fawnclan territory. And Fawnclan did not take very kindly to the mixed scent of their old cats.

(side note this is one of my favorite drawings so far)

Robinpaw sheepishly told Wrenstar about her outing, and Wrenstar sighed.

Patrols were interesting with the deputy unable to send them... The cats organized themselves to patrol.

Wrenstar and Crowdapple take Umberdust on her first patrol as a warrior! And they catch a good bit of prey to take home! Most of the time is spent giggling, joking, and having fun.

Robinpaw doesn't like herbs anymore. Herbs got her in trouble, and got the clan in trouble. So imagine her annoyance when Teaselspeckle takes her and Cricketpaw on a patrol to gather them. Robinpaw stuffs her mouth full of tansy, not caring. Teaselspeckle hisses at her, explaining that it can kill elders and pregnant queens and kits! And if Robinpaw swallows that, it will make her pretty sick! So have some respect!

After Robinpaw's little adventure, the cats decide that it would be a good idea to outline their borders a bit better. Rowanghost, Iciclehusk, and Stonehowl all go around their borders, before encountering another patrol! Blissclan! The two patrols walk close to each other, nodding and acknowledging each other before going on their way.

[speedyartist30]

Story time

The oc on the left is not mine he’s my buddies @theautumnsoldier

A scene from silent night❄️ AOT RP

Putting a hand against the cliffs rugged stone seemed to help things come back into focus a little, it was starting to become hard to think straight, he glanced behind him down one direction of the cliff, and ahead down the other, finally choosing a direction he began walking, keeping a hand against the wall for fear of losing it in the blinding wind, he was shaking and he kept his teeth clenched so they wouldn’t flatter together, glaring against the wind Coriin pushed forward.Slowly the two followed the rock wall for what seemed like an eternity, every sound other then the shrill wind drawing more attention then necessary, every step hoping would bring them that much closer to safety, and finally, they found it, or, rather it found them as Coriin literally stumbled upon it, or rather, into it…With a Yelp Coriin fell sideways into an echoing chamber and crashed heavily against a stone floor, “Ack…” he groaned as he pushed his self up enough to look around.Pure darkness greeted him, which was an odd change from the blurry white streaks of the blizzard that he grown accustomed to seeing, “Thank goodness….Jay, you ok?” Coriin asked after realizing he had accidently pulled his friend along with him when he stumbled.

Jay groaned in pain after falling on the ground for felt like the hundredth time today before sitting up. Looking around Jay couldn’t see much of anything but he was thankful that they were finally shielded from the wind. “I’m o-ok…are you?”

Coriin nodded stiffly, “…yeah.” Coriin began carefully feeling around before moving deeper, the last thing they needed was to get lost or stuck in a cave, but he wanted to be at least a little farther from the entrance, when he was satisfied wih the distance, which wasn’t too far but enough that they could still make out the mouth of the cave, Coriin sat down against a wall and crossing his arms in more of a hug he pulled his legs close against his chest to try and stop his constant shivering which was only tiring him out more, “g-guess we wait for the blizzard to pass….” Giving his head a good shake to rid his head of the growing grogginess from the cold he added, “Make sure you don’t fall asleep ok?”

Turning his head Jay let out a round of sneezes before sitting near Corrin. He was freezing and the blood seemed to frost over instead of drying like he thought.Trying to stop a new onslaught of shivers he made himself smaller. Bringing his legs close he rested his head on his knees.”Ok…no s-sleeping.” He probably would of sounded more convincing if he didn’t yawn right after

Coriin frowned in concern as he watched his friend, he wasn’t convinced at all, his yawn wasn’t a good sign, and he looked almost frozen, he eyed Jays blood stained coat before he began unbuckling his odm harnesses. He knew it was dumb to take off the coat in a blizzard, even if they did have shelter now, but it was as if Jay didn’t have a coat at all since it’s frozen blood coating neglected any warming effect it would have had, and if there was only one coat, then Coriin wanted Jay to have it, he shifted and got closer to Jay, and without a word he offered the coat he had just wrestled off his arms, “Take that one off and use this one ok? You need it more right now, and I still have some warmth, see?” Coriin said motioning to the wool turtleneck he wore as an undershirt.

Jay felt something bump his shoulder so he turned his head to see Coriin shrugging off his coat.*He’s an idiot.*Just when he was about to tell him to put it back on Coriin offered it to him.Jay looked down at his stained coat and grimaced at the dampness still clinging on to it, he really shouldn’t have kept it on, but he didn’t want to take the coat from Coriin either. But seeing the look on Coriins face he knew Coriin wouldn’t let him refuse. With a sigh shaky hands fumbled around with the straps to his useless odm gear as he shrugged off his coat, the blood even seeped through to his light gray sweater.Shivering from the lack of extra layers Jay felt Coriin drop his coat in his lap and while Jay pulled it on he mumbled,”I’m not wearing t-this long you still need it t-too.”

“Wear it long enough please.” Coriin replied as he leaned back against the wall, satisfied that Jay was rid of his old coat, getting back into his previous position he started realizing just how bad his lungs burned, he hoped they wouldn’t get sick out here. Coriin glanced at Jay knowing that if they sat in silence long enough they would both be asleep and frozen by morning, racking his tired brain he searched for something to talk about, “m-my uncle was in a similar position as us once, well, not stuck i-in a blizzard, but forced to take cover in a cave from titans, he told me the story when I was young, I had never seen a c-cave then, but he described it well enough I think.” He said and glanced around the darkness

Moving closer to Coriin so they could share the warmth of the coat. Jay gave up on trying to force himself not to shiver it was getting tiring,so instead he listened to his friends story about his uncle.”S-So what did he do? How d-did h-he get away?”

[theothatgaymf]

Hi @juiceboxxjamie ! I'm your secret Santa for the @mcytblrholidayexchange ! Hope you enjoy and Happy New Year! This is a Desert Duo 3rd Life ending fic, had so much fun writing this!

“Traitor! Traitor Scar!” Grian was beating his hands on Scar’s chest. Grian had felt so betrayed. Grian had devoted his first life to him, he had remained by him even after his first life was gone. Grian was willing to stand by him til the very end. Grian’s hands bled as he pummeled his hands against Scar's chest plate, taking out every single emotion he had felt this entire time out on Scar.

“You can kill me.” Scar said resigned. Scar’s eyes were welling with tears. Scar knew he hadn’t been a good person throughout all of this. He knew that Grian had tried so hard to keep him alive this long, and by some miracle it had worked. But now it was just Grian and Scar. And they both knew that only one of them could win, so Scar was okay with dying if it meant dying by Grian’s hands.

“No I can’t. I can’t do it.” Grian’s punching comes to an end. “Scar, we've been through too much together. I can’t just throw away everything we’ve done.” Grian wanted to just go to Monopoly Mountain and climb into his comfy bed, he shared with Scar. He wanted to try to wake up from this horrible nightmare. Maybe it would end if he just went to sleep.

“But you know, just as well as I do, that we’re going to have to.” Scar slowly removed his bloody chest plate and placed it in the water. The fish around them in the pond scattered to not get crushed by the heavy piece of metal.

Scar grabbed Grian, holding his head to his chest. They stood in silence for a bit both crying as the slow chanting in Grian’s head became louder and louder. Scar’s slow breathing was drowned out until all he could hear was “Fight, Fight, FIGHT.” and “Blood, blood, BLOOD.”

“The watchers want us to fight, Scar. They call for blood.” Grian slowly backs up from Scar’s chest, and he looked up. They were both crying. None of this should have happened. “We need to fight.” Grian shuddered. Scar sighed and let go of Grian's frail but muscular frame.

On their walk back to the mountain they reminisce. They talk about all the times that they had fun and weren’t fighting everyone they knew. Maybe one day, they could live happily together, instead of living in fear and paranoia.

As they start to remove their armor, place their belongings on the ground and wrap their knuckles and wrists, Grian can’t help but start to cry. “Scar I don't feel good about this.” Grian looks up at Scar who is now drawing a line in the sand. Scar stayed silent. They were both coming to the realization that one of them would survive to the end of the day and the other would not.

When the fight finally starts, Grian lands the first few punches. Having trained so he would be ready when the end came. He kept training after joining Scar wanting to become a stronger teammate for both their sakes.

“Oh. That hurt. Bad” Scar places a finger under his nose and then looks at the blood that comes from it. Grian is frozen for a couple of seconds. He could feel the fight growing in him. He hated it.

There were questions rushing through his head. Somehow he knew none of them would be answered but yet, they flew in and out in quick succession.

How could he hurt his best friend so easily? Is he insane? Where did it all go wrong? Why did punching Scar feel so good and so bad at the same time?

“Scar, I’m so sorry,” That’s all Grian could say. He just repeated it over, and over again. All he could do was apologize. This overwhelming feeling of regret and guilt filled him. Grian took a deep breath, and he looked at Scar.

“I’m sorry too” Scar said as he fell backwards, off the cliff. Grian looked up towards the sky. He felt as though he was looking right into the watcher's eyes.

He could feel the remnants of his friends floating around him. He felt as though they were both proud and disappointed. They were looking down on him. He knew deep down that none of them were happy with this outcome, although it's what they asked for.

“I don’t feel good about this.” He then took one step forward. As he fell, all of the memories came flashing in his eyes, almost as if they were playing out in front of him. He got glimpses of new lives. He knew many more were to come. But the images had ended just as quickly as they started and as he landed in the hot sand everything went quiet and he laid down with Scar. They were finally free. Right?

Scar felt- not felt, he couldn't feel anything anymore. He rose from the bottom of Monopoly Mountain, and watched Grian look up. He could've sworn they made eye contact, even though Grian wouldn't know that. Scar looked around at the people who he had fought, threatened, and even allied with. They were all looking at Grian. Some were smiling, some were crying, some were even screaming at him. Yet somehow none of them saw him the way Scar did. Scar could see the pain, the triumph, and the absolute devastation.

This was it. It was finally over. No more fighting, no more pain. They were all finally free to be friends again. Scar watched as Grian fell off of Monopoly Mountain and when he landed something shifted. The air was different around them. Suddenly a voice rang throughout the world.

“It is time. Time to start again.” It was deep and both familiar and completely unrecognizable. Everyone looked around and they all saw Grian. He was standing there, alone, with this look of shock on his face. There were tears running down his face, but it's almost like Grian didn't know that.

A figure appears from nowhere. A cloaked person, they had a mask with this rectangle but instead of connecting there were dots in the corner. The figure spoke again, “Well done, now let's try something different this time.”

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I hope this goes through, I've been having issues lately.

After lots of discussion, Bucky agrees to use hynosis on Steve to train his subconscious to react to Bucky so that with just a word Bucky can make his body do things he wouldn't normally have control over. Get hard, go soft, orgasm, etc. -🐍

I fucking LOVE the idea of Bucky conditioning Steve to cum on command. I have always loved that idea. H O W E V E R -- the idea of Bucky also being able to command him to get soft is genius.

Can you imagine-?

Steve, with his hair trigger and hypersensitivity, gets hard and wants to get off. Except, just because he can, Bucky uses his trigger and makes his cock go soft.

There isn't anything better than watching Steve's eyes stay dreamy and dark while the whole rest of him crumples. His lips drop to pout. His shoulders draw in on themselves. His chest kicks out a whine. His legs squeeze together or tremble a little. And, of course, his impressive erection melts back to softness like nothing happened at all.

It's the most organic form of chastity. Bucky doesn't need a lock and key. All he needs is his voice. Then, bam, he's got a mushy pile of denied sub to play with since Steve is so pathetically easy to rile up. So easy to frustrate, too.

If Bucky weren't shameless, he might at least report doing it only when Steve is being bad or acting too damn stubborn for his own good or getting reckless on mission. But, he is shameless. He's a little bit of an asshole, too--he's willing to admit it.

So, he doesn't wait until Steve's in need of punishment.

He just does it because he can. Because his precious Steve is so suggestible and easy when he gets worked up. Because he gets so dumb when worked up. Because... Steve likes it. As much as he might brat and bitch and whine, begging Bucky to do the reverse and to make him get hard in a light-headed rush from all that boiling blood finding it's way into his big cock, he loves it. He loves the dirty thrill of not being able to control himself.

He loves it when he isn't hard--a rarity, thank you, super soldier serum--and Bucky orders him around like a dog, making him get hard. He might as well be a master demanding, "up, boy!" with the way Steve pants, drools, and whimpers. Well-trained.

He loves it when he's hard--all the time it feels like--and Bucky makes him go soft. It's like his blood is still lust-thick and hot and raring to go, but it's just not in his dick. Instead, it circulates around his whole body. Pushed by his pounding heart. Even though he's not hard, his body still feels on edge, it just can't be seen (other than his blush). Everywhere but his cock. It's mesmerizing and confusing, how being commanded to go soft turns Steve on so much, yet... he won't get hard. His body won't even try. It knows better. More disciplined than Steve himself.

He loves it when Bucky makes him orgasm on command. Usually, it's in the middle of a scene, he'll be on edge already, and Bucky with make him fall over that cliff into choppy waters below. With just a word. But, sometimes Bucky makes him orgasm randomly... he'll walk past Steve in the kitchen, washing dishes, slap his ass and bark at him to cum. And Steve does. His knees will give out, his hands will drop the washcloth with a wet splat and whatever dish with a crash, and he will cum. It doesn't matter if Steve is hard or not, he's just orgasming. Lost it in. Sometimes Bucky will do it when they're on the couch, he'll yawn, stretch, all smooth moves, but instead of resting his arm across Steve's shoulders, he'll drop his hand into Steve's lap, squeeze his cock, and order him to cum. He likes the feeling of Steve ruining yet another pair of sweatpants. Staining them. It's hardly any better when they're out at a bar, in the quinjet post-mission, or somewhere with their friends, and Bucky whispers in his ear or texts him and... and he has no choice. He just has to spill. Right then and there. Stifling moans, flushed like he has a sudden affliction of the sweats, needing to squirm but unable to.

Steve's favorite, he won't ever admit it, but it's his favorite when he's desperately hard--achingly hard, hard to the point that his cock and balls throb and hurt and might be closer to purple than red--and Bucky forces him to go soft, then makes him cum when he's soft. It's...

Indescribable.

Prostate orgasms are often described as "full-body orgasms," but if those are full-body orgasms then an orgasm while soft, untouched is a full mind, body, and soul orgasm. It feels like the pleasure comes from everywhere but his dick.

It's pressure. It's heat. It's pleasure.

It's overwhelming.

Shivering and trembling--crumbling.

If he's standing, he's doubling over or falling over. If he's lying down, he's squirming, convulsing, thrashing. If he's sitting, he's also trembling, but curling into a ball at the same time. He can't handle it. He can't contain how good it feels.

Everything is turned up to fifteen on a ten out of ten scale.

A forced orgasm while soft is in his blood and nerves and skin and shooting up his spine into his brain, wrapping around his mind like tendrils. Squeezing his brain. His toes and fingers curl tightly. His breathing just... stops. His stomach cramps with how good it aches. It feels like the most perfectly draining orgasm, like he could be good for months afterward; yet at the same time it feels like the pure intensity, the pure hotness of such a thing happening to his body that he could immediately have another orgasm, still untouched.

It's wild.

Steve is gutted by it. By an orgasm when he's soft, by being forced to get hard, to get soft... all of it.

He surrenders. Completely. Willingly. And there's nothing better.

Bonus:

Sometimes Bucky acts like he's going to let Steve fuck him, only to wait until Steve's three fingers deep inside his hole, Steve's humping the back of his thigh, Bucky's moaning, loving it, and then...

He'll just--

Say it.

He will tell Steve to get soft like Bucky isn't also ragingly hard and on edge, very, very ready to be fucked. Like this is just for Steve. He says it as if Bucky is not eager for pleasure just as much.

As if Bucky's cock isn't hard and his hole isn't gaping and he doesn't really care if this ends in an orgasm for him or not.

It's maddening.

Steve is soft even though he's so, so ready to go. He wants to fuck Bucky. He wants it so bad. Without even meaning to, he's crying, and all he can do is hump Bucky uselessly.

So, instead, Bucky fucks himself with a dildo. A big dildo. Moaning loudly. Bouncing on it. Putting on a show. Fisting his own impossibly hard cock. Almost bragging about how he can be hard. He can get hard. He can be hard. He's in control of his own body. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It's not even really a show at this point. Truly Bucky loves this. He really fucking does. He thrives on the power and control and the way Steve squirms and whines and acts so pathetic.

Christ, it's so pretty.

Meanwhile, it's painful and weird for Steve--he's aroused, he would be throbbing if Bucky would let him, but he won't. It's like being in a chastity cage without the cage, lock, and key. Bucky's voice is the key, lock, and cage. All of it. Steve shivers. He wants. He can't. He needs. He...

He cries.

But he obeys.

Later, once Bucky has cum, they've showered, and they have gotten ready for bed... Steve will fall into a fitful sleep, humping the mattress as he falls into filthy, hot dreams. Bucky barely wakes up before murmuring the trigger that forces Steve to cum. Steve wakes up moaning, orgasming, emptying is achy, heavy, full, full balls.

Thank you for this deliciousness 😏

[ascianalcyone]

18 || she/her

Currently preparing for the entrance exams for med school.

My lack of interest for the world and it's citizens happen to make up for my personality.

When I am not studying, I write, or type nonsense that makes sense somehow for I happen to be a tortured and delusional, sad child. I draw but just for fun. I used to read classic literature and be a full-time lover and yearner before I decided that it was great to be a devotee to medicine and slowly slip out of warm hands as sand to turn to pots and vessels except these ones don't make any noise or do they, professionally? (uhm, i need help)

Yearning mostly about what could have been or dragging my sleep deprived, coffee driven soul to solve chemistry and physics problems that are interesting, even more than my constant urge to jump off a cliff or fly to Amsterdam and have a new chance at life( it's been like that since I was 14 °~°but I am sober, soft-spoken and sensitive according to my therapist).

Blueming(I love that word T-T ✓)

And hey, I am a med student. (Yes I love people contrary to my very own dreaded existential crisis, and I love medicine and surgery and specifically the blue, white and crimson red aesthetics of it)

That's my intro. It's scary how I can write a book on myself and another one on everything that interests me and another one on how I am a failure and many other things, the list of which will happen to be a book in itself)

I love research more than I love anything.

I yearn for things that can never be mine or are too pretty and delicate for me to hold for the aesthetics and to suffer silently and strangely I desire and turn the world upside down if I want things, ofcourse for the thrill and suffering of everyone around.

Watch me turn this account into an emotional trashcan and masochist regime with lots of studying but hey I don't die for in this story. I happen to find the love of my life while touring the southern Spain. I dance under pouring rain and leave it the next day to come back to the corporate world and become a heartbreaker to that poor soul. (Yes I don't fall not while walking down the stairs as he looks at me breathless and I ofcourse never fall in love, for I never fall...yeah! I am delusional like that +-+)

But let's say, I want to live, maybe as a heartbreaker, a lover or a tourist. I want to live, not pass by as the water boils, dough rises and I rest. I dreamt too much for someone supposed to nod and close her eyes, for I know the dreams will turn into nightmares and midlife, a 13 year old self will run into my arms too much wounded, sabotaged and silent and her scabrous hands that bled over guitars will ask for mine and if she finds them rough or uncared for, I don't know if I will be able to shoo her away to tend to anyone else that maybe tied to me by my own blood or choices. I will kiss her eyes that beheld constellations of stars and starry nights and spring rains behind windowpanes, elbows over windowsills and sweet wishes for the birds to be fine. I will run my hands down the beautiful hair she cared for so much, golden brown under sunlight and to think if my own was unkempt, would my hands rip my own apart, how would it matter if someone else had it beautiful, someone so much my very own, someone yet nothing like this girl before me who dreamt so much that it kept her awake and so much at times that it helped her sleep peacefully over screams and broken promises.

I would want her to run into my arms and smile, so bright that each one of my dark nights finds its crescent in her eyes and stars in the moles under her eyes. Only then could I care for anyone else. For I love her too much. For she deserves every pretty thing the world has to offer, for someone so delicate she doesn't need to break or be molded, she deserves to be treasured, under love filled eyelids and over breezes and cherry blossoms and saccharine treats, not as relics of a sunken trove even if I don't, for I will give her everything she ever yearned for as her gaze fell over it. I don't care if it means unattended or hosted parties, quiet libraries or debates and conference over stages, I will give it to her.

And that is folks how I turned a supposed introduction to my constant need to vent.

I love rainy October days and I love sunlit May roses and I love, well a little girl who writes pretty love letters and lovely cherry notes and poems about a love so eternal, a melody so alluring, a night sky so starry, a beloved so dear and much more than makes her so loveable. But I spew nonsense for I am a hater myself. English teachers loved my perfect flow, clear pronunciation and flowery words, I know that, so you know but I need my vents and destructive rage to sound sane and look normal in real life to those who seem to be so much concerned)

Sunkissed notes, stars and Saturn.

Collapsing nebula and a light so faraway, that it ends up being eternal to the one that receives, so faraway that maybe it isn't even there maybe it's dying as I look at it now, if time is the only constant I believe in. But hey, the light is there as I receive it and nothing is actually there or here or anywhere, I love it, alive or not, real or not, I love it as long as the now never fades into the worry of a future noone knows, no one should care about. It's now as I look at it, it's now as it is there shining, keeping now as a constant, without looking into a pool of uncertainties, realities and reasons. You are here as I love you. Even if the next now you are not here, even if I don't love you anymore. I love you now as you are here. And I expect nothing of a future and nothing of you and nothing of me.

It was supposed to be an introduction of me being a science student, literature enthusiast and how I am here to study blog and speak shit about life. But here we are. T-T