#poll was broken the first time

[ponysongbracket]

MLP Song Tournament

Please listen to both songs before voting.

A Kirin Tale

The Flim Flam Brothers Song

[borderlandspolls]

Heya guys!!

So im sorry this poll is late, ive had alotta school work to deal with 😔

So lets get this poll started!

[simcardiac-arrested]

i accept no criticism at this time

[spinoff-antithesis]

(muth being music theory!)

[e-adlirez]

Why did I do this? I have no idea :D

I made a bracket documentation of the @characterswithcolorsnamesfight. Send help :D

Feel free to use it if you'd like haha, Round 4 is technically only theoretical, but the pattern is pretty straightforward to follow so

Place your bets everyone

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x reader x wade wilson

rating: E, minors dni, 18+ (mmf threesome; resolved sexual tension; sex pollen; unprotected p in v sex; oral [f receiving]; double penetration)

words: 6.7k

summary: you, logan and wade are on a stakeout after reports of a new drug which only affects mutants. but what happens when you accidentally get a hit of it yourselves…? (the sex pollen fic from the poll! thank you @eupheme for betaing for me, i owe you my life!)

“I spy with my little eye…”

“Wade, I swear to god…” Logan’s voice is a low rumble, a warning.

“Awww c’mon, peanut! What else do we have to do? Indulge me in my childlike whimsy.”

“Let me guess,” you say, shelling a pistachio before throwing it in the air to catch it on your waiting tongue, “you spy something beginning with R-D, which is the rising damp, which is the fourth goddamn time you spied it because there’s nothing else in this fucking place.”

Wade huffs and throws himself back in his chair. 

“Killjoy,” he mutters, and goes back to carving obscene doodles into the side table with baby knife. 

On the first day you were happy to play along, just to ease the boredom and tension which came hand-in-hand with this arrangement. Now it’s been five of them, stacking on top of each other and getting claustrophobic-heavy, the three of you crowded into each other’s space and on the razor’s edge.

Something is going to break, and you’re worried it’ll be Wade’s nose under Logan’s fist.

What a stupid fucking mission. You should never have said yes.

Ever since the whole Void situation was resolved you, Logan and Wade have been X-Men adjacent. Not part of the group exactly but happy to play along if needed. This most recent assignment had been a request from Piotr - there was something going on downtown to do with trafficking drugs which affected mutants, and someone needed to keep an eye on it. Couldn’t be anyone from the mansion, they’re all hands on deck at the moment keeping an influx of kids in check. But the three of you? With no jobs between you and an urge to do good?

It was a problem with an obvious solution.

It’s a stakeout. Which means sitting and waiting and holy fuck is it boring. 

You can tell something is going on in the alley across the street but you’ve had strict instructions not to take action until you see the guy in charge: thickset man with a penchant for misdeeds and built like a brick shithouse. Once you have proof he’s involved, you’ll get the go-ahead to close in and shut the place down in whatever manner you see fit.

But until he comes in, your little trio has no choice but to stay put, watching petty criminals come and go with no idea they’re being monitored.

Life has revolved around watches from the dingy window. Usually two of you will stay up while one of you tries to get some sleep on one of the uncomfortable twin beds that have been provided, but it isn’t easy to drift off when it feels like the mattresses are made of cinder blocks stuffed with broken glass. It isn’t that you’re unused to being in each others’ spaces - if you’re not at their apartment they’re at yours, after all, you are friends - but this is different. You have the luxury of walking away from each other in normal day-to-day life when things gets too much. Here? Here, you’re stuck until you’re done with the job. You’re all tired, irritated, and desperate for entertainment. You’ve even considered chopping off your own hand to watch it grow back, just for something to do.

And the thing is that’s not the worst of it. Ever since the three of you returned from the Void there’s been something there. Something difficult to pin down, exactly.  A niggling little feeling worming its way through your body. Something which thrums every time Wade flexes the muscles in his hand and you see his long, strong fingers; every time Logan grits his jaw and the tendons in his neck throb. 

Oh, right. You sort of really want to fuck them both.

You don’t go through something that traumatic and not have deep-rooted feelings which surpass normal boundaries. You fought for each others’ lives. You’re bonded in a way people rarely are. And the more time you spend with them the blurrier the lines between platonic and fucking soulmate become. You’ve seen both of them stare at you - and each other - when they think you’re not looking, so you’re sure this isn’t something that only you are harbouring. It’s a secret desire harboured by all three of you.

Like you said, something is gonna break. And in this shitty little surveillance room? It’s gonna break soon.

A movement outside. The three of you sit forward to take a look at the evening’s street view, only to fall back into your chairs as it turns out to be a false alarm. Just a pedestrian walking by. You’re going to go insane.

You drum your fingers on your thighs just to keep them busy, then turn to Logan. 

“You got a smoke?”

He cocks a brow at you.

“You want a cigar?”

“Nothing else to fucking do.”

“Whoa, hey!” says Wade, putting his hand on Logan’s arm as he roots around in his jacket pocket, “No no no, you quit last year! Don’t start up bad habits again unless I’m the one convincing you to, pookie.”

“Wade, c’mon. I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t have something to do,” you groan. Plus, really, you’d kinda like something to suck on, just to relieve some of the ache in your belly.

As if Wade can hear your thoughts he pipes up again.

“Well if you’re that desperate to use your mouth, I know what we could play to pass the time…”

You and Logan groan in unison, and he balls his fist in a way which suggests it’s not long until the claws come out. Wade holds up his hands to signify peace.

“Whoa, chill out, honeybadger. No need to get scratchy. You don’t have to join in if you don’t want to… but it’s more fun the more people there are.”

Accepting there’s nothing else to pass the time, Logan lets out a long, exhausted sigh and lets Wade continue.

The mercenary licks his lips as if, for once, considering his phrasing. Then blurts out what he wanted to say anyway.

“We could play blowjob roulette.”

It was a foolish time to take a drink of your soda, because you spurt it out your nose. After a moment of mopping yourself up with your sleeve you manage a, “what?!”

“Well, oral roulette I guess, if we’re being PC about it.”

“Oh my god,” Logan groans, getting to his feet and stomping into the tiny excuse for a kitchenette, grabbing a beer and opening it with such gusto that the cap bounces off an adjacent wall.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything! We just spin the bottle and whoever it ends up pointing out deals out a round of Australian kisses for the other players. Relieves the boredom, and it’s fun to see how long everyone lasts.”

Your mouth is open, you’re sure of it. You’re looking at Wade in abject horror. This has got to just be part of his stupid bravado, right? Making an ill-timed joke?

Because the other option is he’s serious.

Logan drinks. You stare. Wade rabbits on.

“I’m just saying we used to play it at Sister Margaret’s all the time, when we were waiting for new marks to come in and didn’t have anything better to do! It wasn’t gay or anything except for, you know, the rampant homoeroticism of slurping everyone’s gherkin.”

“Did you… did you ever have to do it?” you ask, morbid fascination taking over. He scoffs.

“Did I ever have to… pookie, I’ve taken more loads than my building’s washing machine. Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty fucking great at it.”

He’s staring at you with an intensity which makes you feel like you’re on fire, but from embarrassment or enthusiasm you’re not sure. 

“So?” he asks, quietly, putting a hand on your knee. Your body burns. You swallow. You look to Logan. 

He sighs. Finishes his beer, but in a way which suggests he’s giving in. You see the way Logan’s teeth touch his bottom lip. The start of a fricative. 

He’s going to say fine.

Movement out of the window. You bolt up, knocking Wade’s hand away. He deflates.

“Aww. But I really wanted to - ”

“No, guys - look!”

They quickly crowd you, following where you point. A huge man walks into the alleyway, flanked by underlings, the bulk of him taking up the small space.

“There’s our guy,” you say, “let’s go.”

You descend upon the alleyway in a flash of swords and claws. You tug your cowl up over your nose to protect your face, hand on one of your Brügger & Thomet MP9s as the three of you come face-to-face with the door you’ve been monitoring all week.

“So are we going in sneaky style, or—”

Logan rips the door off its hinges, throwing it down the length of the alley; he is desperate to be done with this. You exchange a look with Wade.

“Okiedokie, asked and answered I guess,” he sighs, grabbing his Desert Eagles from his holsters.

You both follow Logan who’s thrown himself into the middle of the lab claws-first. Two-thirds of the people scream and flee, the others stand their guard and grab their guns.

Fingers on triggers, you take a beat to examine the situation.

Equipment everywhere. Beakers and cylinders you can possibly guess the use for, set up on desks and synthesising something nasty. The boss is standing in the middle of the room, eyebrow cocked and mild annoyance plastered on his face. Bingo. You make a beeline for him, taking a couple of bullets in your flank as you go.

“Cover me!” you shout to Wade. He pulls his katana out of a guy’s head and throws you a bloodied thumbs-up.

“Got your back, pookie! Hate to see you leave, love to watch you spill entrails as you go!”

As if he was predicting your next action, you whip your knife out of your belt and stab it in an assailant’s belly, watching his warm guts slide onto the floor. He releases a strangled noise as he drops to his knees - you make a move to continue on your way to the boss only to feel someone pick you up.

“Shit!” you mutter as you’re hoisted into the air. Wade and Logan stop their onslaught to turn at the sound of your panic, their eyes both going wide as they see you restrained. With a twinned shout of your name they come running to help.

Aww, your boys. It’d be cute if you weren’t bracing yourself for the pain.

Your attacker launches you across the room. A couple of seconds go by as you fly through the air - and then into a table full of test tubes and pipettes.

A great cloud rises into the air. A cloud of spores?

Before you can get a chance to properly read the situation, Wade and Logan are at your side. Sturdy hands grasp around your forearms and you’re dragged to your feet. 

Of course, it goes unnoticed…but all three of you take in a deep breath.

“You okay, baby?” rasps Logan. 

“Yeah, I’m f— move!” you scream, shouldering him out of the way so you can sink your knife into the neck of the man about to spray bullets down his spine. As you rip through the soft skin at his throat something occurs to you. 

‘Baby’? Where did that come from?

Not that it isn’t nice, obviously, but… it’s unlike Logan to show that much tenderness ever. Especially with pet names.

Oh well, no time to dwell.

Picking bits of glass from your biceps you tank a punch from a man closing in on your left, parry his next couple of blows, then shoot him in the dick. Wade has called this a ‘low blow’ before which isn’t incorrect but honestly, there’s no time for fighting fair when it’s 3-versus-30. 

The boss has finally gotten involved. A pair of brass knuckles shines against his fist as he swings at Logan, a meaty crack filling the air in a way which you’re worried might actually have dented one of your friend’s ribs. Wade uses the distraction to stab a katana into the guy’s back, then another one a little further up - using him like a goddamn climbing wall. The boss roars like an animal and attempts to swat him off but there’s no use. His massive bulk is working against him, and Wade can be a fast little motherfucker when he wants to be.

Wade lets out a ‘peekaboo!’ as he pops up over the boss’s shoulder, pressing his pistol into the meat of his neck and firing. Blood sprays across the floor but somehow the guy doesn’t stop, not even when Logan picks himself back up and sinks both his claws into his stomach; it only elicits another snarl.

Okay, time to close.

You sheath your guns and go back to your knife, using Logan as a launchpad as you throw yourself off the arch of his back and into the air - stabbing down into the boss’s skull with a dull thunk.

A line of blood dribbles out of his mouth. He starts to fall.

“Uh oh - call me Ke$ha, because I’m yelling timber!” Wade warns. With a snarl Logan rips his claws free from muscle, snatching you off of the boss’s corpse as he stumbles forward under his own weight. Pulling you free you both lose your footing, and you crash down onto your friend.

You look at Logan.

He looks at you. 

Suddenly, his hands clasp around your hips. Probably you move you off of him…

And then you’re on fire. 

Like gasoline has made a line from his touch to your cunt, everything in you is set ablaze. Your pussy clenches and you’ve never felt so empty before - or at least not so aware of it.

There is a cock-shaped hole and it’s begging to be filled.

You expect Logan to freak out, you’re freaking out - you never thought you had a murder kink but you guess you’re never too old to find out something new about yourself - but he doesn’t.

Instead you just see him furrow his brow as if processing something; then acknowledge the press of his hardening cock rub against your thigh as he bucks up into you.

Oh no. Something is wrong.

When you feel Wade grab your shoulder and haul you back to your feet it’s the same, that delicious burning sensation rocketing through you… and from the way he moans as soon as his hands are on you, the feeling is mutual. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathes. Yeah. You want to, that’s the issue.

You stagger away from him with wide eyes and electric skin, a beat passing between the three of you as the people left in the lab decide to give up the fight now their boss is toast. Hearts racing, hands wanting to reach out and touch.

Logan is the one to break the silence.

“We should call in and let the others know we’re done,” he manages. You nod.

“Yeah. Can we… can we go back across the street? I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh, don’t you go Spider-Man Infinity War Part 1 on me,” Wade chuckles. You don’t have the energy to work out what he’s referencing, especially when a jolt goes through your body to your cunt when you feel his eyes meet yours. 

Damn. This is bad. 

“Yeah. Of course, honey,” Logan manages. He goes to put his hand on the small of your back and then thinks better of it, though you can feel its nearness like a magnetic pull. You almost moan when he retracts his touch instead. Wade whips his phone out and fires off a message to let someone know a cleanup crew is needed as you stagger out of the alleyway and back across the street. 

You didn’t bother closing the door when you ran out, too desperate to monopolise on the chance of getting your mark. The three of you tumble back into the room you’d been dying to get out of just a scant few minutes ago, relieved to be in the privacy of its confines again.

A moment passes as all three of you adjust to the feeling coursing through your bodies.

“What’s happening?” you breathe, bracing your hands on the back of your go-to wooden chair and breaking it with the force of your grip. You wince at the sound of splintering, blood dripping down your palms before you feel it heal over.

“I’ve not felt like this since I first discovered how easy it was to masturbate to Good Housekeeping,” Wade groans, whipping off his mask as he flops down onto the battered-up-couch. Logan has made his way to the fridge again, practically ripping its door off to get to a beer which he downs in one swig. Fuck. It’s so sexy. You want to lick the muscles in his neck.

“It’s a pollen,” he states, voice rocky in a way which goes straight to the burning pit of your stomach. You and Wade exchange a look and then turn to him, waiting for further explanation. “Only has a reaction in mutants. Charles said it was something about putting the id into overdrive, like a fuckin’ adrenaline shot to the libido.”

“It… it makes you aroused?” you manage, attempting not to rock your cunt into the palm of your hand. Logan grunts.

“Was trying to be more tactful, but yeah, honey. That’s the idea.”

Honey. The pet name once again goes down your spine.

“Fucking sorry,” says Wade, “someone was manufacturing this stuff as a drug for what? To make mutants too horny to fight?”

Logan shrugs, still not tearing his gaze from his empty bottle, as if to agree it’s his best guess. Wade’s head falls back against the sofa’s arm.

“I mean, damn, they could have just shown me any frame from Magic Mike XXL and it would have had the same result. Seems like a lot of effort.”

Something about the way Logan talks sticks out to you, you circle back around to it. 

“Logan, you seem to know a lot about this stuff… have you encountered it before?”

Another beer grabbed and chugged down, the forward hunch in his shoulders physical evidence of his walls raising. 

“Once. Back in the day with the other X-Men.”

“How did you get through it? Does it go away?”

Logan doesn’t reply. Drinks.

The unspoken answer sinks in.

“Oh my god, you had to fuck it out, didn’t you?” gasps Wade. Logan doesn’t even growl. Jesus Christ he’s right. “Who was it? Storm? Beast? By the love of all things 100k+ enemies-to-lovers-slowburn, tell me it was Cyclops.”

Logan doesn’t dignify him with an answer, instead putting the empty bottle down with enough force you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter.

“It’ll pass. I just need to sit it out,” he reasons, the grit in his jaw suggesting this isn’t the optimal solution. You feel your eyebrows tug together, a crease of concern settling between them.

“But…”

“I’ll be fine.” The way he says it, he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. With the room in the air practically throbbing he heads to the bedroom, leaving you and Wade alone.

Holy shit. You and Wade are alone.

Your eyes wander over to him, to find his gaze is already resting heavy on you. Your skin lights up.

“So, uh,” he starts, shifting himself awkwardly where his hard-on is trapped in his suit, “you read any good books lately?”

That does help to alleviate the tension and you find yourself chuckling, only for the relief to be ablated when your empty pussy pulses. You whine.

“Wade…”

As soon as you say his name he’s rushing over to you, helping you sit down on the ruined chair. You both moan as hot skin slides against hot skin. 

“Look, it isn’t…” you groan as you slide your hand up his bicep. Fuck, he’s strong. “...it isn’t a crazy idea to help each other out, right? We’re friends. It’s just two friends giving each other a hand…”

Wade dips down to run the bridge of nose along the line of your jaw, letting his lips drop to the pulse in your neck.

“Just friends…” he mutters. You buck up into nothing. Oh, god. You’re going to die here. “Baby?”

Oh shit, oh fuck. You want him to call you that over and over again, stamp it into your fucking mind.

“Yeah?” you reply, the word ripped rawly from your throat.

“I wanted to do this before we even left this goddamn apartment, you think I might have changed my mind after the mutant viagra?”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the seriousness on his face. No, he’s not joking, not saying something dirty just because he thinks it’s funny. 

He’s saying it because it’s true, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying. 

“Can I?”

Oh, it’s so tempting to say yes yes yes… but the more tempting thing is to tease him. Just a little.

You hook your leg over his shoulder and he groans as you dig your heel into the muscle of his back. He groans loud and long.

“Wade?”

“Mmm?”

“Ask me properly.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and you’re pretty sure he’s making a mess in his suit.

“Fuck, can I eat you out, baby? Please?”

You nod so fast you fear you’ll break your neck.

Wade lifts you like you weigh fucking nothing at all, strong arms scooping you up and bringing you to the couch - desperate for more space. His hands move quick and roughly as he goes to the pants on your suit, so wracked with need his fingers shake just from the promise of getting to touch you properly. You help him as much as you can, toeing off your boots and helping him tug your underwear off along with your waistband. His eyes widen as he realises your panties are in his hands. He takes a moment to run his thumb over the cotton of them and he fucking moans. Oh, god damn it, you’re going to be fucking ruined.

“Fuck. Never seen a pussy look this good,” he breathes as he finds himself face-to-face with your dripping cunt. You’re already so wet that it’s embarrassing and, while it would be easy enough to blame on the pollen, you know that you’ve wanted this for months. When he drags his tongue up your puffy, desperate folds, you pretty much combust.

“Oh shit,” you groan, wrapping your other leg round his face to hold him flush against you - not that Wade needs any convincing though, because you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck you with his mouth before. He buries himself in you, scarred hands reaching up to dig into the soft skin of your thighs and keep you steady. He wants you at his own pace, it seems, and is strong enough to make it happen. Fuck, you are not complaining.

Wade’s eyes flit upwards to see how you’re reacting as he moves his whole face side to side to bury himself into your cunt deeper. It’s like he’s trying to find where your scent is the strongest and, honestly? With what you’ve heard about this pollen stuff? Seems right on track. He has no hair for you to bury your fingers in so instead you press your hand to the top of his head and pull him closer, because god knows you don’t have the ability to vocalise it. You sink your fingernails in so he knows, though.

Holy hell you’ve never felt so good. The pollen is heightening everything, each movement he makes into you shooting shockwaves through your nerves. Wade’s tongue is insistent in exploring every inch of you, pressing bluntly into your clit; lapping at the wetness seeping from you like he’ll die if he can’t taste what he’s doing to you; dragging down to your ass and toying with you there, too. Yes, fuck, anything he goddamn wants. When his teeth skim the needy folds of your cunt you jackknife into his mouth, almost breaking them clean out of his gums.

“Holy shit, babe. What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles, pupils so blown wide with lust that his eyes are eclipsed with black. You chase after him with your hips.

“Not you, and that’s the problem,” you harrumph. He grins and you see how covered with your slick he is and fuck you are going to die here. 

“I’ll take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?” he asks, putting emphasis on the word you’re both masquerading behind. When you reach out with a searching hand he threads his finger through yours wordlessly, using the other to grab a pillow so he has something to fuck up against. You feel a tiny bit bad for not offering to help but you know he’ll get his in time - in fact just thinking about sucking his cock your mouth begins to water.

He presses his palm into yours as he goes back to your cunt with his mouth. It takes only moments for him to start up his desperate pace again, tongue sinfully sweet, and you’re chasing and chasing…

Stars explode in your vision and in your blood. The noise you let out is feral, a euphony of pleasure and you don’t care who hears. Wade’s eyes drift close as he tastes your orgasm directly at his lips, drinking you down. You’re certain his hips stutter as he comes just from getting you off. Oh god it’s so hot.

Oh god, you’re not done.

Wade surges up your body and kisses you ferociously, you moan at the taste of yourself he gives back. 

“Fuck, yes, do you taste that, baby? What did I do to you? Holy fuck you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen…”

“Wade, I need you.”

“Yeah, fuck, okay. Let me get this stupid sexy suit off…”

Hands begin to fumble messily, needily at each other’s zippers in order to strip. You sit up to get a better handle on him—

And freeze when you see you have an audience.

Wade follows your gaze to where Logan is standing in the bedroom doorway. He’s managed to get his suit off and change back into his jeans, though you can’t imagine he’ll want to stay in them for long the way his trapped cock is staining dark blue denim even darker. He’s gripping the doorframe with such force that his claws have popped out, eyes a matching pitch black to Wade’s, chest heaving as he watches the show.

“You okay, honey badger?” Wade drawls, a cocky smile dragging across him. Logan grunts. Swallows hard. You go for a softer tactic.

“Logan, sweetheart, you wanna join in?” your voice is husky as you ask, oh so inviting. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and his fist tight, taking a chunk out of the wall.

“Get into the goddamn bedroom, both of you,” he growls. The two of you absolutely do not need to be told twice. Partially undressed you vault over the back of the dishevelled sofa, letting Logan lead the way. As soon as you’re within arms’ reach he snags you around the waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

Logan kisses like he wants to devour you. Rough, commanding, dragging his tongue into your mouth as if trying to claim you. Oh, you’ll let him a hundred times over. You mewl when his hand reaches down you cup your still dripping pussy, immediately swiping a thumb against your clit. It pulses as if Wade didn’t just pull an orgasm out of you.

“Fuckin’ needy little thing,” he snarls, delighted. You reach down to grab the bulge he’s rocking, squeezing hard enough to get him to groan.

“Look who’s talking,” you chuckle. He taps at the top of your suit, an instruction. 

“Off,” he says, but that’s as much as he gets to say, because Wade grabs him by the beard and steers him in for a kiss. You pause for just a second to see what will happen but clearly you needn’t have worried - Logan moans into your friend’s mouth, grabbing a handful of Wade’s pretty decent ass and digging in his fingers. While they’re busy you finish stripping, going for the zipper on the back of the red suit and pulling it down. It’s such a goddamn stupid design having it at the back like a goddamn prom dress - but at the moment you’re kinda thankful for it because it means you get to kiss along the revealed plain of skin. Wade has such beautiful fucking back muscles, you’ve stared at them for long enough to memorise every damned one.

He steps out of the suit when you get to his feet - yeah, he did come just from eating you out earlier and holy fuck are you proud - and lets out a strangled noise when you bite the meat of his asscheek hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck, are you gonna rim me? Because if so I’m a thousand percent down,” he chokes, pulling away from Logan’s mouth and leaving a string of spit between them, evidence of a messy kiss. You shrug.

“You want me to, baby?”

Wade seems to have a crisis of faith as he considers this, letting Logan nibble down the length of his neck; eventually he shakes his head though.

“No, I wanna be inside you, like, yesterday,” he confesses. 

“I’ve got enough room for two,” you state, so absolutely sure the pollen will accommodate that you don’t even need to think about it. Both Wade and Logan suck in a breath at that idea.

“Fuck, baby, aren’t you just perfect,” Logan drawls, grabbing you by the hips as you stand up and pulling you to the pathetic twin bed this apartment was provided with. Not how you wanted this first time to go down but hey, at least it’s going down at all. No longer just a dirty fantasy you bury your fingers into your cunt imagining but a real bonafide liaison (boner-fide liaison, Wade’s voice in your head pipes up).

You paw at his jeans, desperate to have all three of you naked and ready. There’s nothing to hide between you any more. Any boundaries have been not only crossed but decimated, absolutely destroyed beyond repair, and you couldn’t be happier. When his cock falls heavy into your palm you can’t help but suck air in through your teeth at its sheer size. Logan chuckles, gravelly and tempting.

“Oh it’ll fit, baby,” he coos, as if reading your mind. Fuck. Yep, it will. There’s no two ways about it. You’re having both Wade and Logan inside you if it kills you.

He wraps you in his arms before you can have any more thoughts on the matter and pulls you down onto the mattress with him, the pollen in your veins making you feel every touch like the end of a live wire - yet you keep coming back to get shocked. Logan positions himself under you, chest-to-chest, grinning at the way your nipples rub against the coarse and gorgeous hair of his chest. There’s a slapping noise and you realise it’s Wade’s hand on Logan’s thigh, encouraging him to move up the bed.

“Big boy, you know you have to scoot up if this is happening. I’m all for fucking the same pussy together but you have to be realistic…”

Obscured by your body, only you get to see the way Logan rolls his eyes fondly at Wade’s blabbering. He manouveurs you both to allow Wade room to kneel on the mattress behind you and you gasp at the feeling of their cocks bullying at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, body on fire and desperate to be extinguished by them. Logan hums in your ear.

“I know, baby, I know. We’ll take care of you.”

“And each other. I got sex-pollened too, old man,” Wade harrumphs, rubbing his head against the slick lips of your cunt. 

“Nobody’s forgetting you, princess,” he murmurs, “now be good and put me inside.”

Logan probably misses the soft hiss Wade lets out at that, but you feel the way the mercenary’s hand wraps around his cock and presses Logan to your empty cunt. You moan in pleasure as he follows the path Wade has laid out and pushes himself inside of you, no resistance given. It takes you only a couple of seconds to adjust to the pure size of him. Holy shit, if this were any other time you’d be falling apart by now, but the way your body pumps with desperation suggests one dick alone isn’t going to be enough.

“You okay?” Logan rumbles by your ear. You cling onto him for dear life, nodding.

“Yeah. Fuck, Wade, I know you’ll fit, you’ve gotta fuck me too.”

Wade doesn’t even have an answer for that. Instead you feel his thumb tug at your lips, stretching you for him - or just watching the way Logan fills you, getting off on the filthy way you’re plugged. Another cock begins to press at your already stuffed hole and you whine.

“S’okay, I gotcha,” Logan says through gritted teeth as he feels Wade’s length slide along his own, the feeling almost overwhelming for him. You drop your head to his shoulder and choke on your own spit as Wade forces himself inside of you. Your cunt feels like it is about to burst into flames in the most satisfying way possible, flowering open between them both.

��Fuck, never felt anything so goddamn tight in my life…” Wade manages. Eventually he bottoms out alongside Logan, both of them sitting snugly inside of you, sharing you, clutched in your warmth. 

“There we go,” Logan growls. “You okay, baby?”

Not knowing if the question is aimed at you or Wade you both whine a yes. Logan laughs and you feel his chest move beneath you, all muscle and heat.

“I’m gonna move now.”

He drags himself out of you, inch by glorious inch, like a match striking against a box and sparking an ember. A deep ragged breath shudders through you at the feeling of it but it is nothing compared to how he slams back inside. Lights flood your periphery. You are going to fucking die between these two men and that is fine. Heaven, even.

Once Wade feels Logan’s rhythm it is too much of a competition for him not to match it. The mercenary’s arms fall either side of your bodies to support himself as he works himself in and out of you, sliding deep as Logan retreats to the tip. Your cunt makes a lewd noise as they piston inside of you and you have never cared about anything less in your life. You are bathed in light, high off this, euphoric over being fucked. A tiny rivulet of drool falls from the edge of your mouth into Logan’s chest hair and he curses at the glorious rawness of it all.

Above you, Wade has finally found his voice again.

“Look at you taking us so well. Oh, fuck, goddamn. I’ve wanted you like this for so long. Remember when we were neighbours, honey? Those guys who you used to bring home… fuck, baby… I used to give myself the old low-five to the sound of you getting fucked…”

You make a pathetic little noise which spurs him onwards. Wade’s mouth drops to your ear.

“...and I used to get angry because I knew I could do it better myself.”

“Oh my god Wade…” you whisper. Tears are beginning to pool in your eyes at the way you’re starting to get overstimulated, two cocks hitting that sweet spot inside you verges on being too much. Were the pollen not still in full force you’re sure you’d need to tap out.

“And you?” Wade’s hand grips Logan’s bicep, squeezing appreciatively. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning and see you shirtless on my couch, and not be able to fuck you? You do it on purpose, peanut, I swear…”

Logan chuckles again, that deep honey-rich sound eked out in magnitudes. 

“And what if I do, Red?”

Wade pauses in his thrusting, you don’t have to see him to know that his eyes are wide.

“Wait, what? For real?”

“Wade!” you whine, reaching over to slap at his arm, annoyed that he’s stopped moving. “Can we all just agree we’ve gotten off to the thought of each other and we’d have fucked eventually anyway?”

The men either side of you seem to think it’s a good compromise to come to and redouble their efforts. All you can do is to cling onto whatever muscles you’re able to find and ride the wave of pleasure. Fireworks go off in your synapses, brain a messy goo of euphoria, cunt fucked out and thoroughly taken care of. 

They speed up, thrusts getting messy and arrhythmic and yet still somehow matching, and you know that they’re going to come together. What a fucking treat, how divine, oh god. Logan’s hands sink into your ass to keep you anchored as his cock goes faster, skin slapping on skin as his sac moves against Wade’s - causing the merc to let out a string of curses - and you’re suddenly flooded with his warm, sticky cum pumping inside you in jets. Wade whines at the feeling of himself being doused and follows Logan’s lead. The filthy cocktail of them drips around both their lengths and out of your hole, falling onto the pathetic mattress below. One last little nudge of the hips is all it takes to push you over the edge again. Your next orgasm is dragged out of you… but you know your body will demand more.

For now, though, respite. The urge to reach that peak again immediately has at least settled for the moment.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh. Logan hums an affirmative note, fingers playing with the small of your back as Wade peppers kisses across your shoulderblades.

“We should go on stakeouts more often, if this is the nice little bow everything gets tied up in,” Wade sighs, dreamily. You nod against Logan’s chest. His hair rubs your cheek deliciously. Your pussy throbs again, reminding you this dirty escapade needs to continue soon. “So what does this mean? Are we a little mutant charcuterie now?”

Your brow furrows as you try to parse what Wade has just said.

“Oh. Wade, baby, do you mean ‘coterie’?”

Logan bursts out laughing, a noise you’ve never properly heard before, and it has you grinning - and Wade, too, even though he grumbles a little at being corrected. Their cocks jostle inside you and you feel them getting hard again and, as you prepare yourself for round two, it’s nice to know that whatever the three of you face at the end of this will be happy.

Three days later, you’re laid across the couch, head in Wade’s lap and legs in Logan’s, all tangled together as you get the single worst telling-off of your life.

“Non-lethal mission, Wade! How many times did I have to tell you, it was meant to be non-lethal!” Piotr shouts down the line. Wade grimaces.

“Look, there were other things we had to sort out first, okay? We kinda forgot about the no-killing part. Besides the guy can’t traffic drugs if he’s dead,” he confesses. You can picture Piotr’s disappointed face.

“Other things!? WHAT other things, Wade?!”

“Okay so there was this horny pollen, and we all had to—”

Logan grabs Wade’s phone and hurls it across the room. It shatters into pieces against the wall. Wade gawps.

“Hey! That was new! Well, okay, not new, but it wasn’t cracked. Well, it was cracked, but it had all my best dick pics on there!”

“You can take new ones,” Logan states. 

You smile. Yeah. The charcuterie is nice.

[aucoba]

WHAT

Please rb if you vote ;3

[mariacallous]

The first thing to say about the hate and scorn currently directed at the mainstream US media is that they worked hard to earn it. They’ve done so by failing, repeatedly, determinedly, spectacularly to do their job, which is to maintain their independence, inform the electorate, and speak truth to power. While the left has long had reasons to dismiss centrist media, and the right has loathed it most when it did do its job well, the moderates who are furious at it now seem to be something new – and a host of former editors, media experts and independent journalists have been going after them hard this summer.

Longtime journalist James Fallows declares that three institutions – the Republican party, the supreme court, and the mainstream political press – “have catastrophically failed to ‘meet the moment’ under pressure of [the] Trump era”. Centrist political reformer and columnist Norm Ornstein states that these news institutions “have had no reflection, no willingness to think through how irresponsible and reckless so much of our mainstream press and so many of our journalists have been and continue to be”.

Most voters, he says, “have no clue what a second Trump term would actually be like. Instead, we get the same insipid focus on the horse race and the polls, while normalizing abnormal behavior and treating this like a typical presidential election, not one that is an existential threat to democracy.”

Lamenting the state of the media recently on X, Jeff Jarvis, another former editor and newspaper columnist, said: “What ‘press’? The broken and vindictive Times? The newly Murdochian Post? Hedge-fund newspaper husks? Rudderless CNN or NPR? Murdoch’s fascist media?”

These critics are responding to how the behemoths of the industry seem intent on bending the facts to fit their frameworks and agendas. In pursuit of clickbait content centered on conflicts and personalities, they follow each other into informational stampedes and confirmation bubbles.

They pursue the appearance of fairness and balance by treating the true and the false, the normal and the outrageous, as equally valid and by normalizing Republicans, especially Donald Trump, whose gibberish gets translated into English and whose past crimes and present-day lies and threats get glossed over. They neglect, again and again, important stories with real consequences. This is not entirely new – in a scathing analysis of 2016 election coverage, the Columbia Journalism Review noted that “in just six days, The New York Times ran as many cover stories about Hillary Clinton’s emails as they did about all policy issues combined in the 69 days leading up to the election” – but it’s gotten worse, and a lot of insiders have gotten sick of it.

In July, ordinary people on social media decided to share information about the rightwing Project 2025 and did a superb job of raising public awareness about it, while the press obsessed about Joe Biden’s age and health. NBC did report on this grassroots education effort, but did so using the “both sides are equally valid” framework often deployed by mainstream media, saying the agenda is “championed by some creators as a guide to less government oversight and slammed by others as a road map to an authoritarian takeover of America”. There is no valid case it brings less government oversight.

In an even more outrageous case, the New York Times ran a story comparing the Democratic and Republican plans to increase the housing supply – which treated Trump’s plans for mass deportation of undocumented immigrants as just another housing-supply strategy that might work or might not. (That it would create massive human rights violations and likely lead to huge civil disturbances was one overlooked factor, though the fact that some of these immigrants are key to the building trades was mentioned.)

Other stories of pressing concern are either picked up and dropped or just neglected overall, as with Trump’s threats to dismantle a huge portion of the climate legislation that is both the Biden administration’s signal achievement and crucial for the fate of the planet. The Washington Post editorial board did offer this risibly feeble critique on 17 August: “It would no doubt be better for the climate if the US president acknowledged the reality of global warming – rather than calling it a scam, as Mr Trump has.”

While the press blamed Biden for failing to communicate his achievements, which is part of his job, it’s their whole job to do so. The Climate Jobs National Resource Center reports that the Inflation Reduction Act has created “a combined potential of over $2tn in investment, 1,091,966 megawatts of clean power, and approximately 3,947,670 jobs”, but few Americans have any sense of what the bill has achieved or even that the economy is by many measures strong.

Last winter, the New York Times columnist Paul Krugman, who has a Nobel prize in economics, told Greg Sargent on the latter’s Daily Blast podcast that when he writes positive pieces about the Biden economy, his editor asks “don’t you want to qualify” it; “aren’t people upset by X, Y and Z and shouldn’t you be acknowledging that?”

Meanwhile in an accusatory piece about Kamala Harris headlined When your opponent calls you ‘communist,’ maybe don’t propose price controls?, a Washington Post columnist declares in another case of bothsiderism: “Voters want to blame someone for high grocery bills, and the presidential candidates have apparently decided the choices are either the Biden administration or corporate greed. Harris has chosen the latter.” The evidence that corporations have jacked up prices and are reaping huge profits is easy to find, but facts don’t matter much in this kind of opining.

It’s hard to gloat over the decline of these dinosaurs of American media, when a free press and a well-informed electorate are both crucial to democracy. The alternatives to the major news outlets simply don’t reach enough readers and listeners, though the non-profit investigative outfit ProPublica and progressive magazines such as the New Republic and Mother Jones, are doing a lot of the best reporting and commentary.

Earlier this year, when Alabama senator Katie Britt gave her loopy rebuttal to Biden’s State of the Union address, it was an independent journalist, Jonathan Katz, who broke the story on TikTok that her claims about a victim of sex trafficking contained significant falsehoods. The big news outlets picked up the scoop from him, making me wonder what their staffs of hundreds were doing that night.

A host of brilliant journalists young and old, have started independent newsletters, covering tech, the state of the media, politics, climate, reproductive rights and virtually everything else, but their reach is too modest to make them a replacement for the big newspapers and networks. The great exception might be historian Heather Cox Richardson, whose newsletter and Facebook followers give her a readership not much smaller than that of the Washington Post. The tremendous success of her sober, historically grounded (and footnoted!) news summaries and reflections bespeaks a hunger for real news.

[kentopedia]

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 — 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 ♡

when your family finds out about the romance between you and the stable boy, they arrange a marriage with the wealthy earl, nanami kento.

status: ongoing

overall contents. fem!reader, sfw & nsfw, arranged marriage, eventual romance, regency era (1800s) au, slow burn, resentment to love, mutual pining, complicated relationships, historical inaccuracies, nobility, some angst, more tba —

notes. this is the fic that won the wip poll, and i am so so very excited to share it !! <3 since i'm already working on a long fic, i decided to break this up into a series. be sure to read contents for each part for more specific warnings!

♕ of broken hearts. after you find about the marriage arranged between you and nanami kento, you have to find a way to break the news to your lover.

♕ the earl. you remember nanami from the balls you attended in your youth; he's just as unapproachable as he was then.

♕ guilded promises. despite his seriousness, nanami is far more agreeable than you'd anticipated.

♕ novelties. in his attempt to make you feel more at home, kento shows you his favorite room in the estate.

♕ a night at the opera. though you often feel like a nuisance to the busy man, he proves himself to be a good listener.

♕ liaisons. weeks have passed without a word, but satoru finally meets your husband.

♕ rose petals. over a cup of afternoon tea in the garden, you realize something that you hadn't before.

♕ scarlet opulence. your first ball with kento as his wife feels like the first time you've seen him clearly.

♕ portrait of a gentleman. kento admits he doesn't like the way other men look at you.

♕ confessions. a fight with kento leads to words that you'd been too shy to share.

♕ luxury of affections. somehow, you failed to see how lucky you were, to have met nanami kento at all.

— reblogs appreciated & thank you for reading. more parts may be added, but this is all i have planned for now!

— subscribe to the taglist if you'd like to be notified

[ponysongbracket]

This Day Aria Line Tournament

[hgfictionwriter]

Self Control: Part Thirteen - Arrival

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: After months of waiting, the moment is finally here. You and Jessie welcome your newborn daughter into the world.

Warnings: Difficult labour. Graphic birth. Language.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for sticking with me so long on this journey. And thank you to everyone who answered the poll about the baby's name weeks ago!

The final whistles blew and Jessie braced her hands on her knees as she took a moment to breathe. She looked up in disappointment at the scoreboard, but soon rallied and began high fiving her teammates.

She did her rounds around the pitch with the team to thank and greet the fans and the stadium lights shone brightly by the time she and the team started filtering into the tunnel.

She walked over to her cubby and retrieved her phone first thing. You were days away from your due date and knew to call the staff if you went into labour - they’d get Jessie off the pitch right away - still, she worried.

Two texts from you. No missed phone calls though. That was a good sign.

Jess. Contractions have started.

The midwife’s on her way. Don’t panic. My water hasn’t broken and we know this could be hours and hours. I’ll call if things escalate.

Jessie stood frozen. Her eyes were wide and her phone sat idle in her hand. She didn’t even think she was breathing.

Then, all of a sudden, she snapped back to the moment and spun on her heels in a rush to start gathering her things, inadvertently tripping over the bench and careening into Janine who was standing nearby.

“Hey!” Janine complained as she rubbed her shoulder. Jessie was already scrambling back to her cubby by the time the blonde even turned around.

“I-I’ve gotta go,” Jessie stammered as she shakily threw belongings into her backpack. She rushed towards the exit, belatedly realizing she didn’t have shoes on and cursed, running back.

“Whoa,” Janine frowned as Jessie tried to stomp into her shoes and soon haphazardly tried to guide them on with trembling hands. “Everything good?”

Jessie was short of breath as her eyes darted across the floor absently as she now palmed at her pockets.

“Where are my keys…,” she mumbled as she spun on the spot looking around wildly.

“Jess,” Janine spoke firmly as she waved in the girl’s face, belatedly drawing Jessie’s attention up to her. Janine spoke measuredly. “What’s going on?”

Jessie’s mouth was dry as she opened it to speak, nothing coming out initially. “Y/N-Y/N’s in labour.”

“Oh shit,” Janine said, her own eyes growing wide before more shock settled in. “Wait. When?!”

“I-I don’t know!” Jessie replied, voice and emotions rising. “During the game sometime?” Her words tapered as she absently fetched her phone in an attempt to check the timestamp of your message, but fumbled it onto the floor instead. “Fuck.”

“Okay, hold on,” Janine said holding up both hands. Jessie dodged around her and started tearing her bag apart looking for her keys.

“I have to go,” she said curtly.

“I will drive you,” Janine told her. “You’re…frazzled. Let me drive you home. You can reset on the drive.”

Jessie opened her mouth to speak as she tried to process the offer and the consequences of it. She found herself shaking her head before she could find the words.

“No. I - we need the car. If something goes wrong…,” she trailed off, now digging in her pockets again in vain.

Janine reached out and calmly grabbed keys off the shelf of her cubby.

“Looking for these?” She gave her a pointed look. “I’m driving you. I will drive your car and I can get a ride from one of the girls back to my place. Now let’s go.”

The blonde had Jessie by the arm as soon as she finished speaking and began calmly ushering her out of the locker room, quickly speaking to Sam and communicating the plan as she walked out. The locker room immediately erupted into a buzz of activity at the news, and Janine held up her arm to keep them at bay.

“You’ll get updates soon, I’m sure,” she called over her shoulder. “Baby Fleming will be here soon, everyone. But not too soon!”

Jessie’s heart raced and she peered over her shoulder to see the team wishing her and you luck and to call if you needed anything.

She felt jittery and like her limbs were numb as they walked briskly to her car. As she was getting in she saw Sam running out to her own car saying she’d follow so she could drive Janine back.

“Baby convoy!” Janine announced brightly as she started the car. Meanwhile, Jessie was still short of breath as she fumbled with the seatbelt.

She closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath, finally getting her seatbelt on and feeling her pulse start to even out.

“I can’t believe she didn’t call,” Jessie breathed as she pushed her head back into the headrest, palms braced on her thighs and eyes closed as she worked to steady her nerves.

Janine snickered slightly as she manoeuvred them towards the house.

“Sounds like you’re more panicked than her,” she teased, drawing a dark glare from Jessie.

“Or,” she drew out her word in emphasis, “she’s not taking this seriously enough. How can she be so nonchalant? What the fuck.”

“Get it out of your system, because you’re going to have to be calm and supportive from here on it,” Janine told her. She gave her friend a purposeful look as she drove. "And I know you - when shit gets crazy and there's chaos, you are the calm in all of that."

Jessie gave a shaky exhale before accepting with a few nods, trying to let Janine's words sink in and reassure her. She took one more steadying breath before bringing the phone up to her ear to call you.

The phone rang several times before you picked up. You'd hardly greeted her before Jessie spoke over you.

"Babe, why didn't you call me? Are you okay? Is the midwife there yet? How far apart the contractions? Are you alright?"

So much for calm.

"Jess." You spoke firmly, but patiently waiting her out and forcing a lull before continuing. "I am fine. No, Theresa's not here. Contractions are still 20 minutes apart and only lasting about 40 seconds. I talked to her though. It's just early labour. She'll come when I'm between 5 and 10 minutes, and that could be hours away."

A mixture of relief and apprehension flooded Jessie's system. You were fine. But at the same time, your contractions had started. It was time. And she wasn't there.

"Okay," she managed to say as she forced a smile and hoped it filtered into her voice as well. "I'm on my way right now. I'm probably 10 minutes away."

"Alright," you said. "Drive safe. You don't need to rush - just get here safely."

"Oh, well, Janine-"

"Oh fuck."

"What?" Jessie cut in, alarm cresting inside of her as she sat forward in her seat and her breath caught.

"Um," you said, "my water just broke."

"Oh fuck," Jessie echoed. She held out her hand to calm herself more than anything. "Okay. Okay - I'll be there right away, Y/N."

"Mmnh," she heard you grimace into the phone as a contraction hit you.

"Babe," Jessie said helplessly, leaning her elbow on her thigh and cupping her face. The line was silent and it was killing her. "How bad is it? Are you okay?"

"...Yep," you said through grit teeth. Jessie sighed in frustration.

"Baby, why didn't you call me?" She implored weakly. "I should be there right now. It's just a stupid football game. I love you and I should've been there this whole time with you."

"Mm, if it’s alright with you we can fight about this later. I’m trying to have your baby right about now," you said.

"Fuck. I'm sorry," Jessie said, her nerves immediately settling as she recentered herself. "We're only a few streets away. I'll be there soon, babe."

"I know, love," you said with an audible, drawn out breath. "Okay. It's over."

Jessie found herself exhaling along with you. She kept you company on the phone and soon pulled up to the front of your house.

"Call if you need anything," Janine told her as she got out of the car to give her a hug and give her the keys. "I'm serious."

"Yes, of course," Jessie said distractedly, her eyes focused on the front door and hurriedly drawing herself out of her friend's embrace to get to you. She was halfway down the walk when she turned, walking backwards still towards the door. "You're good to get home?"

"My ride's right here," Janine assured her as she pointed to Sam pulling around the corner. "You've got this! Give us updates when you can!"

"Alright," Jessie said with a series of rapid nods as she turned back around. She gave a vague wave and fumbled with the keys before opening the door. She swung it open and threw her bag down in the entryway.

"Y/N!" She called as she began to search the house.

“In here!”

Jessie spun around and jogged towards your voice. She rounded a corner to see you sitting on the couch, apparently in a fresh set of shorts, a hand on your stomach.

A rush of relief and adoration went through her just upon seeing you. She felt a calm rush over her despite everything. Now she was where she was supposed to be. No matter what happened, you were together and would navigate it all with one another.

She walked over and dropped to her knees in front of you. She hugged your middle as far as her arms would let her and peppered your face with kisses. She jostled as you chuckled and ran your fingers through her hair.

“Hi baby,” you greeted.

“Hi,” she said gently, eyes bright and almost teary as she pulled back to look up at you and take you in. She gave a slow shake of her head. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I-”

“Jessie. It’s okay. If I was worried or needed you to rush I would’ve called. We are perfectly okay,” you assured her, holding her gaze. “You know we could be going through this for a long time before something really happens.”

Jessie nodded reluctantly. It was true, but still.

“I just wanted to be here for you through all of it,” she went on before holding up her hands, palms out. “But, let’s move on.” You gave her a grateful look. “I’m here. And I’m not leaving your side. I’m here to do anything and everything you need while you do this incredible work to bring our baby into the world,” she said as she sat back enough to tenderly caress your taut stomach.

Just like their midwife and classes said, early labour was long and tedious. Movies and shows made it seem so sudden and fast, but in reality, at least for you, it was hours and hours of ever increasing pain.

You’d barely slept all night and she knew you were exhausted already, but things were poised to only escalate further; a cycle that would continue to close in and worsen.

As your contractions increased, she felt desperate to help, but was entirely powerless. It broke her heart to see you in so much pain, knowing it was her fault in a way and she couldn’t share the burden at all.

“Ooo,” you breathed steadily and audibly, your hands on your back and eyes closed as you walked in a slow circle in the living room, trying to walk through the pain and discomfort. Jessie trailed behind you, eyes trained on you, watching vigilantly for an opportunity to help or support.

Your steps stilled and your face screwed up in pain. You doubled over slightly, bracing your hands on your thighs and Jessie had her arm around you in a second, supporting your weight to hold you up.

“Mm,” you ground out, eyes still tightly shut and body tense as you rode out a wave of pain.

Jessie rubbed your lower back in an effort to provide some reprieve, however small. “Try not to forget to breathe,” she coached gently, not wanting to dictate things for you or discredit your efforts, but also still try to keep the coping strategies as forefront as possible to hopefully help you.

“Yes, dear,” you said tightly, your irritation not entirely veiled, as you let your head fall back. You breathed despite your complaint and she saw its effects as your body relaxed subtly.

When you’d finally rode out the contraction you went over and sat down on the yoga ball in the room with a heavy sigh and a small groan. Jessie came up behind you immediately and began massaging your back once more, earning a soft moan of appreciation as you rolled your hips back and forth.

“Oh my gosh,” you said. “She’s so low in my pelvis. It’s so much pressure.”

“That contraction was only five minutes apart. I’m going to call Theresa,” she told you as you distractedly nodded. She retrieved her phone and stood to walk a few feet away.

"Please don't go far," you beseeched as you peered over your shoulder at her retreating form. "I need you here."

Jessie turned around right away and returned to your side, placed her hand between your shoulders and began massaging your sore muscles there. "I'm right here, baby," she assured you and you immediately brought a hand up to her wrist, clinging to her and not letting go.

Jessie hung up a couple of minutes later and tucked the phone away in her pocket.

"She's on her way," she told you and you merely nodded again, eyes now trained on the ceiling in focus. "I'll go get you some more water," she went on and cracked a smile for you. "I'll be a minute tops. And I'll make sure it has lots of ice."

When she returned, you took the cup from her gratefully and Jessie knelt in front of you. Your arms came up around her shoulders right away and you leaned heavily on her, moaning and resting your head against hers. Her chest filled with warmth and she kissed your cheek.

You began to wince, another contraction coming on, your arms tightening around her. Jessie leaned up into you to better support your weight.

"Distract me," you told her, voice faintly strained. "Tell me something."

"Um, okay," she said as reached up around you to rub your back as best she could. She wracked her brain, annoyed that it was suddenly blank. Eventually she lit up as a thought popped up.

"Okay. Did you know that mangrove forests are incredibly effective at storing carbon? Up to four times more per hectare than tropical rainforests?" She asked.

You chuckled softly despite your discomfort. "You are such a nerd. I love you." Whatever moment of relief you had quickly dissipated and she felt your face fill with tension once more against her own. "Okay, that kind of worked. Tell me something else."

"Hmm. Alright. Um, in university Teagan and I were in her dorm and - I don't know how it started - but we were competing to see who could balance longer on a basketball. She couldn't even fully stand up, so I, of course, was like, 'Yeah, I can absolutely do that' - I stood up, but went flying a moment later, like feet flying right out under me, the ball shot across the room and and busted this floor lamp and, I just ricocheted off the nearby bed, arms flailing and hitting the floor. So I won - but at what cost," she finished with a short laugh.

"Oh my god," you laughed, before clutching the underside of your stomach with a heightened wince. "Oh shit - that hurts. Okay, nothing funny," you said, though a smile still lingered despite the pain.

"Oh shit," Jessie said with an apologetic smile as she caressed your stomach and kissed your head once more. Her smile shifted into a smirk. "Well, if you didn't want anything funny, you shouldn't have gotten engaged to such a jokester."

You laughed again, wincing once more and nudging her. "Oh yeah, you're a regular comic."

"Um, okay. How about this? Remember how your team invited me to that sustainability event - long before our first date. And I came and we had some drinks and we started talking about [y/favourite show]?"

"Mhmm." You nodded against her.

"And remember how I said I loved that show?"

You nodded once more, still clinging to her.

"I kind of lied," Jessie admitted. She felt your grip on her change and she went on quickly. "I loved it! But I'd just overheard you gushing about it with your coworker on that call we all had a week before, so I binged it and read up on it before the event so I'd be able to talk to you about it. I was only like a season and half in by the event though - so I just read all the spoilers so we could talk at length about it. I was just so nervous and I wanted to make sure I could keep our conversation going and I'd have something interesting that you wanted to talk about!"

By the time Jessie finished your contraction had waned and you leaned back to give her a scrutinizing look that dissolved into a laugh.

"You're ridiculous. I enjoyed talking with you about so many things. Still do. Like when you talk about freakin mangroves." You smirked. "Well, since we're confessing. I did an awful lot of Googling about soccer after I met you the first time. Didn't want you to think I was completely clueless."

Jessie beamed, but it transformed into a mischievous grin a moment later. She shrugged her shoulder teasingly. "I could kinda tell."

"Hey!" You complained as you swatted playfully at her. "I'm in labour," you declared dramatically. "I'm having your baby! You're supposed to be nice to me right now."

Jessie laughed and kissed you. "You know I'd do absolutely anything for you."

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

The midwife arrived and your labour continued. More hours wore on and there were moments where exhaustion threatened Jessie as well, especially coming right off of a game last night, but she pushed it aside to focus on and tend to you. Theresa did force her to take a few breaks here and there, but as far as Jessie was concerned, you didn't really have the choice to take breaks, so neither would she.

"Oh fuck," you breathed as another contraction hit you. The last one had only ended a few short minutes ago and you'd barely had a chance to recover before another washed over you.

You had your hands clasped around the back of Jessie's neck, both of you standing as she supported you while you hung down off of her. You grimaced in pain and your body trembled despite her holding you up. Sweat beaded across your forehead and you were pale.

She held you steady as you rocked, suspended from her shoulders, trying to find any ounce of relief as you rode out the wave.

"I need to lay down," you said in a shuddering voice as the contraction ended. You were weak, struggling to stand up in her arms now and leaned heavily on her as she ushered you towards the bed. She set you gently down on the edge and grabbed a towel to dab at the sweat on your brow.

She and the midwife got you settled onto the bed, a wall of pillows behind you to help you sit up. Your chest heaved up and down as you struggled.

"There's so much pressure," you winced. "Mmh. I feel like I need to push."

"Let's check your progress," Theresa said. Your legs were spread already, the only remotely comfortable position for you right now. "9 centimeters still," she said as she drew back a gloved hand and looked to you both. "Your contractions are getting closer and closer though. You'll be able to push soon."

You groaned heavily, nearly sobbing as your head rest listless against the pillows behind you. "Jessie," you cried her name feebly and she climbed up next to you on the bed in a flash, grasping your hand and holding it tightly.

"I'm too hot," you panted, hand clutching hers and the other clutching the sheets repeatedly in visible discomfort.

"Okay, baby," Jessie said with a series of dutiful nods and went to go grab you a cold, wet cloth, but you tightened your grip on her urgently.

"No, please don't go. Don't leave me," you whined and not even able to open your eyes as you fought through the relentless pain.

"I'm right here, baby. I'm not going anywhere. I'm with you," Jessie assured you without hesitation. A strange feeling came over her at seeing you, this woman who was so stubborn and independent, brought to this point where you were unabashedly clingy and desperate. It made sense and she was happy to cater to you, but it spoke to the level of distress you were in.

She looked to Theresa and the woman waved her off immediately, silently assuring her to stay and leave the task to her.

A clipped cry fell from your lips as a new contraction hit you. You tensed up and all Jessie could do was knead your tired muscles and do her best to serve as an anchor for you in this flurry of physical agony.

Your breathing was rapid and shallow and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. You writhed in place and Jessie could see how you ground your teeth together. She reached up with her free hand to slowly, but firmly rub the center of your chest, hoping to subtly steady your breathing.

It was torture for her to see you like this. Grimacing in increasing pain for hours on end and knowing it was going to get worse before it would get better.

Your whole relationship, her only goal was to make your life easier, softer, more comfortable. And here you were in the greatest pain of your life and it was all her fault. She felt horrible.

"Oh fuck," you eventually whimpered as the contraction seemingly faded. Theresa returned with the cold compress and Jessie took it as she moved in closer to you and pressed it to your forehead. You turned into her and whimpered further.

"You're doing so good, baby," she said as she kissed the top of your head and held a cup of ice chips up to your mouth. You chewed a couple before pushing her hand away.

"Remember how I said I can’t wait until she’s here? I changed my mind.”

Jessie spied the faintest hint of a smirk on your lips. She kissed your head again, amazed that you could find the capacity for some kind of humour during such a time.

You pushed yourself up on the bed further and grimaced again. "Oh fuck." You doubled over in pain once more, clutching your rounded stomach. "I really feel like I need to push."

"You can't just yet, sweetie," Theresa said gently.

You groaned and you tugged on Jessie's arm to pull yourself forward. She watched the movements you were telegraphing and helped you onto your hands and knees. You immediately leaned your head down onto your folded arms, your legs spread wide, belly pressing into the bed as you moaned into the contraction.

Jessie rubbed your lower back and leaned forward to kiss your shoulder. You whimpered in response as you continued to labour on all fours.

You rocked subtly back and forth for several more waves of contractions until you let out a low, muffled yell.

"Jess. Jess - I can feel her. She's moving down," you panted.

She looked to Theresa in concern and the midwife checked your progress once more.

"Okay, sweetie. It's time - you're at 10 cm. When you feel the urge, you can go ahead and push."

You let out a small whimper and straightened your arms as you breathed heavily, preparing yourself. Jessie kissed the side of your head, lips lingering.

"You've got this, my love. You're amazing. You're so strong. I'm right here with you," Jessie said, ignoring the way her own pulse quickened at the prospect of what was to come.

You panted, eyes closed and still in such pain as you awaited the opportunity to push. She leaned forward slightly to keep watch of your face as she continued to knead your back and hips. Only a few seconds passed before your features screwed up and you tensed up, starting to push.

Jessie's nerves were beginning to fray as she realized what was happening.

You moaned as you bore down. Jessie shifted her attention to your entrance, though knowing it would be too early for any signs of your daughter appearing.

"Oh fuck," you cursed. You panted and your arms began to tremble. "S-she's coming Jess. Oh my God."

Jessie found herself smiling for some reason. She looked back up to you, "You're making it happen. You're incredible."

You continued to push until the contraction waned and your body grew limp, Jessie reaching out to help support you.

"That was great, Y/N. Just like that again next time, okay? You've got this. And if you need to change positions you tell us - we're here," Theresa said and you nodded faintly.

The next contraction came and you bore down once more. When it ended, you shook your head. "I need to sit back," you said, palming around looking for Jessie's hand. She reached out quickly to grasp your hand and began guiding you back. "I want you behind me." Jessie nodded and sat back against the pillows and nestled you in between her legs and you leaned back against her chest.

"This okay?" She asked as she pulled you tighter against her. You nodded rapidly, turning your head against her shoulder and burrowing against her as you pulled her arm across your chest and gripped her forearm with one hand, the other hand gripping her thigh.

Another groan fell from your lips as you began to push once more, your fingers digging into Jessie's arm and leg. Jessie sat up with you to help you push.

"You're doing so good," she whispered over your grunts as she gently thumbed your shoulder.

When the contraction ended you melted into Jessie's embrace and she continued to gently caress you. She steadied her breathing as she encouraged you to try to do the same and was pleased when your chest went from rapidly rising and falling to something calmer.

"Oh, Jess. She feels so big. Oh my God," you whimpered as you burrowed your face into her further. Jessie kissed the side of your head and Theresa spoke up.

"You're having a big baby, Y/N. It's going to be a lot of work, but you are prepared, you're doing amazing, and Jessie is here with you to help you every step of the way. You're making progress."

Jessie watched as your face fell and your rolled your head against her shoulder.

"Mmh, how did someone so small put such a big baby in me?" You complained. Jessie could do nothing other than apologize, but to her surprise you managed a feeble chuckle. "She's healthy. She has to be healthy." Your face fell again and Jessie saw emotions taking over.

"She's healthy, babe. You've done an amazing job of growing and caring for her. That's all you," Jessie told you. She was going to assure you further when your hand came up behind her head and you curled inward to start pushing again, pulling her with you as you grimaced and tried to move your baby down.

This time, your groan evolved into a strained yell.

"Incredible, Y/N. She's right there, I can start to see her. You are doing so great, momma," Theresa said.

Your eyes opened and you looked back at Jessie in wonder as soon as the contraction ended.

"Do you want me to still...," Jessie trailed off, uncertainty taking her as she tried to anticipate what you wanted. You'd talked during birthing classes about her being the one to deliver your baby - with the help of Theresa, of course - but if you needed her to hold you, that's exactly what she'd do.

"Yes, yes," you answered quickly as you shifted slightly, wordlessly indicating for her to move. Jessie carefully moved out from behind you, kissing your shoulder as she went and hurriedly propping up the pillows behind you to better support you. Theresa moved aside slightly, giving Jessie an affirming nod as she positioned herself between your spread legs.

She looked at your entrance, lips still closed and the head not yet visible between pushes.

"Here, make sure she's lubricated," Theresa said as she handed the oil over to Jessie. She took it silently and began to massage your lips and perineum with the oil to help your baby move down and reduce the risk of you tearing.

She was continuing to massage you until you sat forward once more and began pushing. Jessie held your leg and you reached forward gripping her shoulder and leaning on her as you grunted.

Her eyes grew wide as suddenly a small teardrop began to form at your entrance and the first glimpses of your baby together began to appear. A rush of elation and trepidation ran through her.

"S-she has hair," Jessie told you excitedly as she looked up at you. Despite your concentration and effort, you opened your eyes to look at her and a feeble smile crossed your face before you grimaced once more and continued pushing.

"Oh my God. Y/N - you're doing it - you're moving her down. I can see more of her. You're doing so amazing," Jessie praised, tears suddenly pricking at her eyes.

"Oh God," you panted, fingers digging painfully into Jessie's shoulder. "Oh fuck, it hurts, Jess. Oh my God," you said as your lips began to slowly bulge and stretch around the burgeoning head. Jessie gently braced your entrance in support at the instruction of Theresa.

"I know, baby, but you're doing so good," Jessie coached you and you fell back, collapsing against the pillows again during a brief reprieve from the rolling onslaught of contractions. She looked down between your legs to see the baby's head had retracted completely within your tunnel again.

"Jessie," you whimpered in exhaustion and frustration.

"I know, love," she said gently as she kissed your knee and then quickly dabbed your forehead with another cold compress again.

Almost as soon as the last contraction ended, a new one started and you leaned against Jessie's shoulder again as you bore down. She watched as the head reappeared, much quicker this time and soon stretching you wider and anew. She applied more oil to your lips and supported them as they pulled tightly around the head as it crowned.

"Oh it's burns!" You cried as your lips were stretched taut around the large head of your baby.

"You're so close, Y/N," Jessie tried to sooth you. "I can see so much of her."

This time, the head didn't retract as your contraction faded. The progress remained, but that also meant that the head was lodged at your entrance, stuck in a crown and stretching you unbelievably wide. Jessie was absolutely in awe of what your body was doing and achieving right now.

During birth class, many of the partners were squeamish and tentative, but Jessie was curious and attentive. She wanted to know what to expect so she could support you as unwaveringly as possible. She wanted to be ready for this moment so she could be present and be there for you in any way you needed.

And here you were, the woman she loved most in the world, the one she wanted to spend the rest of her days with. The moment was here - you were finally delivering your baby here in your bed, the same one she was conceived in all those months ago.

Jessie massaged your thighs as you groaned in pain, legs quivering.

"I-I can't," you panted as you gave a weak shake of your head.

"You can. You're doing so incredible. You are so, so strong. I know it's hard, but you are almost there, I promise," Jessie told you as she leaned up to give you a kiss on the forehead. Your hand shot up to cup the back of her neck and hold her there. She kissed you again. "I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you for bringing our baby into the world. You are the most incredible woman. I love you so, so much."

You grunted, leaning forward and curling into yourself in another push.

To Jessie's shock and amazement, she saw your lips stretching impossibly further, the skin now white and bloodless from the tension.

"It hurts so much," you cried helplessly. "It's burning so bad."

The stretching continued until you released a scream and the head popped out with a rush of fluid. You gasped, body jolting at the momentary reprieve.

"Oh my gosh," Jessie nearly cried, hand out supporting the head of her baby and seeing her for the first time. She reached out and grabbed your hand to bring it down to the head as well. You began whimpering, tears forming in your eyes as you felt her and looked at Jessie. "She's almost here."

"One or two more good pushes and your baby will be here," Theresa said with a smile.

When it was time, Jessie saw a new level of focus cross your face and you began to push. She held her hands out, guiding her baby as a slow yell filtered up your throat as the shoulders began to stretch your entrance out.

"You're almost there," she encouraged, ignoring the way your fingers dug painfully into her shoulder.

The shoulders appeared and with a final push, Jessie caught your baby in her hands, a scream coming from you and a gasp from her.

Suddenly, a new cry filled the room. Jessie's eyes were absolutely transfixed on this small, brand new being, wriggling and crying in her hands.

"Oh my God," she breathed as she stared at her daughter. She was here. Finally here. Something that started off as a wish so many months ago was now entirely real. A permanent, physical manifestation of the love you and her had for one another; a perfect mix of herself and you. 10 fingers, 10 toes, a cute little face and a head of dark wispy hair.

"She's here, baby," she said in awe, belatedly aware of the tears streaming down her face as she very gingerly lifted your daughter and oh so carefully laid her on your chest.

You sobbed as you took her and Jessie cuddled in with you both, eyes still not leaving your little girl.

"Oh my God, she's beautiful," you said as you gently caressed her cheek as her strong cries filled the room. "Riley Fleming - we love you so much."

Jessie felt like her heart could burst as she took in every little detail about your daughter. She gave the easiest smile of her life.

"She's absolutely perfect."

A/N: This is not the conclusion of the series; however we are very close. I have two more chapters for you.

[booasaur]

I think there are some takeaways here, if we want to learn from this.

First: third-party voters were irrelevant. In no swing state did left-leaning third-party voters add up to enough to push Harris over.

Second: many progressive policies and politicians outperformed Harris.

Third: appealing to Republicans did not work.

It has never worked, in the US or in Europe, we've seen time and again that giving ground to right wing policies only legitimizes them and voters then prefer the original. For example, if you worry about immigration, and both sides are saying it's a problem, who do you trust more to handle it?

Fourth: polls were pretty accurate. There were months, years, really, of debate about polling being broken, which demographics were underrepresented, which were overrepresented, herding, hopes that they were overcorrecting for the last two misses on Trump, but they ended up closer than anybody wanted. Which also means that Biden would have lost by even worse.

Fifth: on the one hand, people should hopefully see this graphic and realize there's no minority to scapegoat:

On the other hand, I'm seeing a lot of people take it as a sign the country has simply shifted to the right in a huge, undeniable way that's depressing and ominous and feels hopeless. After all, Trump will win the popular vote by a lot, the first time a Republican has in decades.

However, this should be taken in conjunction with these numbers:

Now THIS is something that's open to further analysis and that can be worked with.

Why did so many Democrat voters not show up?

Here are some potential reasons for this, the truth most likely being a combination of at least several of them:

She's a Black-Indian woman. There's no denying the racism and misogyny among the US electorate, but given earlier polls where she was leading, I don't think this was the main or certainly only reason.

She was seen as too progressive/leftist. Again, by virtue of our racist, misogynistic electorate and our billionaire-owned media, Harris was seen as too extreme left by a lot of people, not just because of policies, but because inherently, her identity itself is extreme left to them. I personally don't think this was a crucial factor because, again, she had been leading when she was going stronger on the progressive messaging, other progressive policies and politicians outperformed her, and a lot of the people who think she's too extreme are Republicans who'd never vote for her. I just don't think it's a good enough reason for the millions of Democrats who didn't show.

Palestine. There's a coalition of pro-Palestine people, not just Muslims and Arab Americans but leftists and other POC too, but numerically, their vote for third parties made no difference. Did enough shift to Trump or not show up at all? Certainly in Michigan they swung to the right, but would that have made a difference? Did they matter in other less tangible ways, e.g., a lot of the same active progressives who'd have been out campaigning simply voted quietly for Harris and left it at that? How much of a distraction was this for Dems, having to constantly address Gaza as opposed to putting forth their own policies, and did it contribute to the overall perception of them being incompetent and weak and bringing chaos when people were tired of it? I think Palestine did have an effect, but enough to swing it overall...?

Not being progressive enough. A lot of people will point to Palestine and immigration, the decision to campaign with Liz Cheney and Mark Cuban and court Republican moderates, stifling Walz, and various other shifts that abandoned the left for the center and then the left didn't show up while the center went for Republicans as they always do, but the left isn't that large. I think, if this one point is a factor, it's more that it was simply difficult for normal voters to show up when they didn't really know what the candidate stood for, aside from "more of the same" and "not Trump".

Biden. When you have a ton of people unhappy with where the country is going, including their biggest priority, the economy, being tied to an unpopular incumbent was going to be tough, especially when, as a Black-Indian woman, she would be judged as disloyal if she broke too much from him. Nevertheless... People were unhappy with him and his administration.

Ultimately, I think there's a lot to learn and I hope Dems will.

I think we're in for a tough time and we're going to need community and solidarity, not fighting among ourselves.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Coolio featuring L.V. - Gangsta's Paradise 1995

"Gangsta's Paradise" is a song by American rapper Coolio, released on August 1, 1995 from his second studio album. Interpolating Stevie Wonder's 1976 song "Pastime Paradise", "Gangsta's Paradise" features vocals from American singer L.V. who served as a co-composer and co-lyricist with Coolio and Doug Rasheed, with Wonder also being credited for the composition and lyrics. L.V. released a solo version of the single in 1996 on his debut album, I Am L.V. This version featured additional lyrics written by L.V. himself, with rap lyrics written by Scarface and Dani Blooms. "Weird Al" Yankovic's parody "Amish Paradise" reached number 53 on the US chart.

The single reached number one in the US, UK, Ireland, France, Germany, Italy, Sweden, Austria, Denmark, The Netherlands, Norway, Switzerland, Australia, and New Zealand, making it Coolio's most successful single. In Australia, the song stayed at number 1 for 14 weeks, a record that would only be broken 22 years later by Ed Sheeran's "Shape of You". Following Coolio's appearance on Celebrity Big Brother 6, it re-entered the UK singles chart peaking at number 31. In the UK, "Gangsta's Paradise" was the first rap single to sell over a million copies as well as the first rap single ever to go straight to number one. In the US, the single spent twelve weeks in the top two of the Billboard Hot 100, of which three were spent at number 1 and nine at number 2. The song was certified triple platinum by the RIAA on February 23, 1996, indicating 3 million copies sold. It has sold a further 1.9 million downloads in the US in the digital era as of September 2022. Following Coolio's death on September 28, 2022, "Gangsta's Paradise" debuted two days later at number 5 on the UK Official Singles Sales Chart Top 100, and reentered the Official Top 100 Singles Chart on 7 October 2022 at number 55.

In 2008, it was ranked number 38 on VH1's "100 Greatest Songs of Hip Hop". Coolio was awarded a Grammy for Best Rap Solo Performance, two MTV Video Music Awards for Best Rap Video and Best Video from a Film, and a Billboard Music Award for the song/album. The song was voted as the best single of the year in The Village Voice Pazz & Jop critics' poll. The accompanying music video for the song was directed by American film director Antoine Fuqua and featured Michelle Pfeiffer reprising her earlier role as US Marine LouAnne Johnson in the movie Dangerous Minds. The video also includes scenes from the movie. The video hit one billion YouTube views in July 2022.

"Gangsta's Paradise" received a total of 92,1% yes votes! 🎉

[covetyou]

stars and stripes

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: nipple play, novelty underwear, balls, anxiety, democracy, the pledge of allegiance, friendly brotherly contest, alcohol, prelude to oral sex (m! receiving) word count: 5k summary: Roles are reversed this Fourth of July when you surprise Joel with a little festive treat of your own.

A/N: happy 4th of July to folks in the US and happy general election day to my fellow UK pals! If you haven't exercised your right to vote yet, and you're registered, you have until 10pm BST tonight to get to your polling station - as long as you're in line by 10pm, you'll be able to vote. do dress up Joel proud, and go do a democracy.

I make absolutely no apologies for anything in this fic. not a single thing. especially not that thing. tis the season. happy ballidays, pals!

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As it turned out, Joel knew a guy who knew a guy who could fix your AC, and within two days your house was a safe haven from the burgeoning Texas summer.

Easy as that, apparently. Your desperate attempts to call around HVAC companies the week your AC busted seemed stupid now that it was all a matter of simply knowing a guy.

Not that it was all easy. Letting someone else into your house after everything that had gone on suddenly felt scary, and it took Joel promising you he'd dip from his own job for the afternoon to keep an eye on things for you to feel okay with any of it.

But, even that left an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You'd told him to let himself in, though this time you'd given him a key, and that felt like something. For as many times as he'd broken in, and for as long as you'd left your house open and vulnerable - and, by extension, yourself - handing over your spare keys to Joel for the day felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt with him wandering your house at unknown hours of the day and night.

It felt like something all over again when you handed them over to him the next week too - there was a jammed drawer he wanted to fix, and he said he could get in to see to it before work one day.

Even when you opened the door to him on the nights he didn't have Sarah - his daughter, you'd learned - it felt like something. Especially knowing that that spare key now sat attached to his own, jingling in his pocket each time he walked into your home, invited.

And the more somethings it felt like, the less you felt like figuring it out.

It continued the same way for weeks. Him moving back and forth the short distance between his home and yours, while you stayed safely cocooned in your own, cool, four walls.

Then, barely one month into this officially unofficial something that you were, it was finally time for you to make that short journey down the street to Joel's.

Being honest, the thought of it had terrified you, and you'd almost backed out multiple times.

Not because it was Joel, or Joel's house - at least, that's what you told yourself - but because a "the whole neighborhood is invited, bring snacks or beer" type of Fourth of July party wasn't the kind of way you'd envisioned your first time in Joel's home. You figured maybe it'd be dinner, or a movie, or a quick fuck against the stairs with Joel's balls trussed up in something. Normal things.

Not loud peopley things.

Still, you readjust your top once more, take the briefest of glances in the mirror, and head out the door anyway, nerves be damned. You can totally handle a Fourth of July BBQ at Joel's house.

You think you can all the way up to Joel's driveway, when the nerves come back with a vengeance and you stand there, feeling sick, listening to the sounds of people and music coming from the backyard.

You try to tell yourself it all makes sense. It's a new place, a place that should mean so much because it's his, but try as you might you can't fight back the panic rising as you think of the very many faces that are going to be in this new place too. Familiar faces, faces you'd seen most days as you went about your life down this street you called home, people you'd shared small talk with and said good morning to almost every day as you left for work.

Then there's this stupid outfit you're wearing. The you from weeks ago chose it the very same day you said yes to Joel's invitation, and the you of today didn't have the energy or inclination to think of anything else. Wear whatever, Joel had said, it's just a casual thing. So, you'd gone for casual.

Braless is casual, right?

Not that that was a specific choice, more a necessity. You'd chucked the third bra on the floor in a huff, cursing your shitty outfit choice and lack of bra to fit it, and instead decided to stick on some nipple pasties and be done with it.

All that's done now, and now here you are, still standing like an idiot in the driveway, closer to Joel's home than you have ever been, psyching yourself up to go inside.

With a deep breath of the dry Texas heat, you head for the open back gate, the soft sound of your shoes on the paving stones so loud in your ears as everything wooshes and fizzes in your head.

It's somehow both better and worse than your expectations.

You're immediately greeted by a sea of recognizable faces, the bottle of wine you forgot you were even holding whisked out of your hand and taken inside before you can even get your first round of hello's in. You don't have much of a chance to be nervous, or self conscious, or any of the things you'd worried about being in the days leading up to being here, because there's just so much of everything around you. Noises, smells, people.

Everything, except for Joel. You've not caught a single look at him since you got here - minutes ago - and you wonder if he's even here and not relaxing back at your place on the couch.

Then you see him. At least, you think it's him. His back is to you, locked into conversation so fierce he hasn't noticed the commotion about your entrance.

You think it's him, but you're also certain you don't know of anyone else who would dress head to toe in red, white, and blue candy stripes. The sight of it makes you forget your own outfit worries as a grin forms on your face, and that familiar rumbling of something in the pit of your stomach comes back all over again.

"Not eyein' the very slightly younger model, are you?" comes a gruff voice that has you twisting rapidly on the spot, the smile barely given chance to fall from your face when you spot the actual, real life Joel standing right there next to you, cold beer in hand.

In your own defence, real life Joel isn't dressed much better than the other Joel stood over the other side of the yard. He's probably dressed worse, actually. He's head to toe in stars, all the way from the novelty headband on his head to the flashing star lights clipped to his shoes. It's gaudy, and camp, and so perfectly Joel that the smile that dipped from your face for all of half a second is back, and you're grinning up at him, that feeling in your belly violently boiling away now that he's right there.

"Oh, him?" you say with a wave of your hand. "Nah. He's like a dollar store version of you."

"Really? I'll be sure to tell Tommy he's Dollar Store Joel from now on. He'll love that. Hey, Tommy!" he calls over the yard, before slipping his free hand behind your back. "C'mon. Let me introduce y'all."

He guides you over, hand never leaving the small of your back, touching you out here in front of all these people as if you are actually officially the kind of something that everyone should know about. And maybe you are.

But then, you're looking into familiar friendly eyes, so similar to the ones you've been staring into and dreaming of since Christmas, and watching this familiar strangers face light up so brightly you briefly wonder if his joy is misplaced until he's wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

"Shit, he weren't lying," says Tommy as he rocks on his feet with you in his arms before releasing and looking down at you. "You are real."

Before Joel can land a firm whack to Tommy's shoulder, Tommy's pulling you in for another hug, telling you how nice it is to finally meet you, because he's heard all about you, dropping in a few choice words about his asshole brother here and there as he chatters to you, and Joel, and even himself.

At some point, whether it's during the fourth hug or the eighteenth, you're not sure, Joel slips off to grab you a drink, leaving you with his bizarrely dressed brother.

"Ain't never seen him smile so much without Sarah around," he says, the moment Joel's out of earshot, giving you a nudge and another fond smile. "Y'know, I think he might like you."

"Mm, I think I might like him too."

Small talk with Tommy is easy - the man's a talker, if you ever met one. He's a charmer too, and if you met him in a bar you might think he'd be coming on to you with the way he so attentively talks to you, only directing his attention elsewhere for the briefest of moments.

"What's with the outfits?" you eventually ask, with a flick to his striped top hat. "Joel never said it was a dress up party."

"Oh it ain't, this is just a family tradition. Dad always used to dress up in dumb shit for the holidays, make us laugh, and it just sorta stuck. 'Course, added in some friendly competition over the years too, and then this," he says with a dramatic sweep down his body, "was born."

"Competition?"

"Mhm. Joel'll tell you, won't you brother?" Tommy says with a wink over your head before ducking sideways to raid the snack table.

"What am I s'posed to tell you?" he says, handing you your drink, letting his fingers linger near yours and stroke a trail of burning heat gently up your arm before falling back to his pocket.

"The competition."

"S'easy. Stars or stripes," Joel points to himself, decked out in stars and then to his brother where he stands loudly chatting to yet more guests in his candy stripes. "You gotta pick. Most votes, wins."

"I've got to pick?"

"'s the rules, darlin'."

"So you want me to pick between you, or some costumed guy I don't know - a practical stranger?" you say, with a glint in your eye, watching Joel's face drop in faux offence.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't underestimate me, Joel. I think you know exactly what I'm capable of."

Your eyes meet in a silent stalemate, the glint in your eye never leaving as Joel bites at his cheek to hold back a laugh. Tommy was right - you do like Joel, some days too much, and moments like right now, you think maybe it's reciprocated, and you like him just the right amount.

Poking him in the chest, finger pressed to the middle of one of the sea of stars decorating his body, you let yourself break first. "Stars, Joel. I pick stars."

With a roll of his eyes, and a kiss pressed lightning quick to the side of your head, Joel's hand winds back around your back.

"Thank fuck for that. Let's get you a votin' card so you can make that official."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

As the evening draws on, you think you've talked to just about everyone in your street several times over, and then some. It also turns out that Joel and Tommy take their little competition very seriously, and always have, if your neighbors are to be believed.

By the time the votes have been counted and Joel in his star spangled outfit is declared the winner, Tommy has sunk to his knees, his hat toppled off in his despair as he hangs his head in shame.

You're still listening to them bicker as you sneak off to use the bathroom, their voices only disappearing when you've slid the patio door shut and taken your first official step into Joel's house.

"The headband swung it."

"The headband is Sarah's, and your massive skull is breakin' it..."

Even through the mess of the party, you can see that this place is distinctly Joel, with hints of a 10 year old girl dotted around the place. From the pictures on the wall to the cushions on the sofa - mostly a rich navy, but one soft pink nestled in with the blue - through to small ornamental carvings on a side table and the drawings stuck on the refrigerator.

You're looking at one - not a masterpiece by any means, but very decent attempt at a bluebonnet - when the pressure inside the house changes again with the slide of the door.

It's Joel, arms laden with bottles, and the headband flopping forward pathetically on his head. "You snuck off quick," he says, dumping the bottles onto the counter. "Get lost findin' the bathroom?"

"Distracted. Never had chance to sneak around your house looking at your shit before," you quip with a smile, trying to get comfortable with the very uncomfortable thing that brought you two together in the first place.

"Then shoes off. Lemme take you upstairs, give you a little tour, and you can use the bathroom up there. Probably in a better state than the one down here now anyway."

He holds your hand in his all the way up the stairs. That something rears its head again, igniting your palm where it meets his, your brain not registering a single word he says as he points to various doors before dragging you through one, into his bedroom.

His lips are on yours immediately - or yours are on his. You can't quite work out who started it, you just know that you're a tangle as your hands roam each other, biting and licking kisses into each others mouths. His hand finds your ass, and you're moaning as he presses you forward, into him, and the soft lump in his pants. You want to grind yourself against him, but the angle isn't right, and a nagging forgotten thing is worming through your brain when Joel pushes your bodies together once more.

Oh. Right. You remember now.

"Joel - mmph - Joel," you say with urgency through his kisses. He pulls back, searching your face with panic and a pinched brow. "I really gotta pee."

With a kiss to your forehead he lets you go, pushing you toward his ensuite. When you exit a few minutes later, he's exactly where you left him, stood with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish as he possibly ever could.

"I'm glad you came," he says, looking at you and setting that something off roaring through your body again.

"Me too. I... I've had a nice time."

"Just wanted you to know I didn't invite you here just for, y'know," he says, with a gesture to his bed. "Didn't bring you in here for it either. Just, sorta missed you. Not used to not bein' alone with you. It's weird sharin' you."

You don't want to remind him you've barely left each others sides all night. You don't want to draw too much attention to the something, just in case you scare it away.

"Damn. Got nothing for me? Nothing at all?" you joke instead.

"Got nothin'. Nothin' planned anyway," he says with a look around the room, his eyes focussing briefly on a drawer before flicking back to you.

Really, you should be leaving space between you and Joel. Space for the something to flourish, space that is just enough to not magnetize your body to his, smashing yourselves together and turning the nothing into something. What you should do doesn't have the power to stop your feet from slowly pulling you toward him again though. And it doesn't stop you from putting both your hands on his chest when you finally reach him.

"No? Got no magic tricks up your sleeve? I was hoping for a wand or a rabbit or somethin', you do look like you ran away from the circus."

"I'll have you know this shirt is the finest polyester you can find at Party City."

"Mm, sounds sweaty."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"So you're sweaty and gross, and you have nothing to wow me with? I'm starting to wonder why you invited me." Which is a lie. You know why, and so does he, and you're glad for it, even if it still frightens you to think about it too much. You suspect he knows an awful lot more about you than you've told him. He's perceptive like that.

"Maybe I'm retractin' your invite."

"You wouldn't."

"No?"

"What if I've got a little something for you instead, am I still invited now?"

Joel's eyes light up and soften all at once, turning so bright and sparkling you think he might cry. It's not exactly that you've never done anything for him in the ways he has for you. When he mentioned his favorite snack, you got some in the house for nights you spend watching a movie before devolving into fucking on the floor. You bought new lingerie, which only ever stayed on if it was too difficult to get out of, and once or twice he'd caught you wearing the heart shaped butt plug before leaping on you and pounding you into whatever surface was nearest, thumb pressing down on the base and making you see stars.

Still, for all you had done, you never swapped positions in the little game you'd been playing with each other for over seven months. Each time, he was the one who came to you with some silly thing or trick or toy to tease you with, and each time you loved it. You hoped he would love this too.

"You do?"

"Mhm," you say as you put some distance between the two of you again. Space to breath, space to move, space to let the something calm back down into the pit of your stomach and curl in on itself like a cat settling down to sleep.

Your let your fingers glide up your body, gently pulling your skirt for a moment before they coast up your belly and reach your shirt, flirting with the hem before curling around it and tugging, letting your tits jiggle behind the fabric.

With a final soft tug, you peel the fabric up your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out the bottom of your top.

"Holy shit, baby," he says, a whisper of a moan on his lips. His eyes have been glued to you, wide and curious, ever since you suggested you may have something for him. And now, they're darting from your chest to your face then back down, taking in the sight of your covered nipples.

You had made some choices earlier today, in your nervous state. Going braless was only one of them. The pasties too, were another. And then, there was the shape. You has flowers, hearts, circles, straight tape and, finally, stars. It was a no brainer when you'd rifled through the packet for two that matched that white stars were the perfect choice for today. It'd only really occured to you when Joel had worn his own stars, that you were perhaps better matched today than you thought, that maybe you could have your own little game with him for once.

"Told you I was all in on the stars."

"Damn right you are," he says as he approaches, his hands finding their place on your waist, itching to move upward. "They don't hurt?"

"They're just pasties, Joel. They're soft. Feel."

And fuck, does he feel. His hands cup you, gently squeezing the softest part of your breast before letting his thumbs dance across where the pucker of your nipple should be. The sensation is muted, infuriatingly muffled by the feel of the pasties covering you.

"S'good?"

"Imagine I stroked your dick over your pants. It's good but it's not the same."

"Damn," he curses, thumbs still gently rubbing over your nipples, watching them slowly come to life and prickling beneath the coverings. "They come off easy?"

"Like a bandaid."

"Shit."

And you just know what he's thinking, because you're thinking it too. There's no real way you can take them off right now and let Joel have his way with your nipples like you're both desperate for, even if time and the swathe of people downstairs wasn't an issue. You have nothing else to cover up with and the soft breeze combined with the cold drinks and the age of some of the guests here means it's probably not a good idea to go without them.

That doesn't stop Joel from kissing you again though, more restrained than he has any right to be with your tits in his hands. You know from his frustrated groan when you bite at his bottom lip that he's two seconds away from telling everyone the parties over, only to come back up here and continue with a party for just two.

To your surprises, he pulls your top back down. Not before kissing one breast, then the other, then back to the first. You know he wants to sink his face into them, but he doesn't let himself, and he rises from his crouch with a groan and pulls you out of the room.

"Don't show Tommy," Joel whispers to you as you make your way back down the stairs. "He'll say the contest was rigged."

"Damn, I was so hoping to show your brother my nipples."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Joel's eyes keep flicking to your chest for the rest of the night. More than once he drags you away inside, either upstairs or into the garage, just to ask you to show him one more time. If you weren't covered, your nipples would have been rubbed and pinched raw by his eager fingers by now, just as your lips were swollen by his eager mouth.

By the time it's all over, you're positively exhausted, propping yourself up on the arm of a chair and talking to Tommy as Joel waves off the last of the guests and closes the back gate.

You had barely left his side all night, and if anyone had anything to say about it, you hadn't heard it. Neither had Joel. And Tommy, a clever man when he wanted to be, hadn't made a single joke about it either. All in all, it was as much of a successful day than you could hope for, initial nerves aside.

Tommy, continuing to be a clever man, doesn't put up much of a fight when you offer to be the one to stay behind and help clear up. Of course, he's already gone around and collected most of the trash, and put the leftover food inside, but he relents at your insistence he head home - you do only live down the street after all.

Neither you or Joel get much further with the cleaning. Once trash bags are dumped in the garage and you've both washed up, his hands are back under your top, damp fingers cupping your breasts and pulling you back into him.

"Stay?" he asks, as if there was any other ending to this night, as if Tommy hadn't left precisely for this reason.

You barely agree by the time his mouth is latched onto your neck, drawing unrestrained moans out of you right there in the kitchen now that you're finally alone.

His hands, of course, find their way back up to your top, stroking over the edge of the pasties once more.

"You really like 'em, huh?" you ask as his thumb brushes the edge of one, starting to curl and pull the point of one of the stars.

"Like that we match. Feel like you picked 'em for me," he mumbles into your neck, releasing one breast and tucking his hand into the waistband of your skirt. "Like that I've had somethin' to think about, somethin' to play with, even with all these people here."

Fuck, if you haven't liked that too. Letting him play had been one of the highlights of your night so far. Being manhandled into the garage, giggling and pushing Joel as he clasped his hands together in a plea to please see your tits. The souvenir love bite you'd let him suck into your left breast after dragging you back upstairs for a second time. You'd spent half the night flipping between Joels hands and mouth on your tits, to being dragged back out to socialize. Your pussy had given up trying to regulate itself after the third session of Joel's teasing, and you'd spent the rest of the evening wet and waiting.

This is a fact he finds out now, as he slides his hand down over your mound to cup you over your panties. You both let out the same curse as he presses and wiggles his fingers back and forth over you, rubbing your clit over your underwear. You had hoped to peel the pasties off before you fucked him, giving him full access to your nipples for the first time tonight, but you don't think you're going to make it that far, not now his hand is pulling your panties aside, feeling for the slick wetness between your lips and dragging it up, up, up to swirl around your clit.

Not a second later you're scaling the stairs for what you know will be the final time that day, this time you dragging Joel as you both kick of your shoes and stumble up the steps. You already ache from all the standing, and if you have it your way, your legs are going to be shaking and trembling too much for the rest of the night to possibly be of use to you.

With his door pushed open, left wide now the house is empty, you pull yourself back into him, only for him to slip his still wet finger between your lips, letting you taste yourself before he captures your mouth, licking your taste from your own tongue.

Then, your hands find his chest, that ridiculous shirt, and pull at it, tugging the fabric taught to his body, eager to get it off and tumble into his sheets with him.

You were right about how sweaty he'd be under the shirt when you finally get your fingers on the buttons, working your way down until you can pull it off. He's shining underneath it, the dark hair of his body slicked down as you drag your hands up over his chest, to his shoulders and then down to his belt.

He suddenly stops you, pulling your hands away, pressing kiss after kiss to your mouth as he fumbles with the buckle. In a huff, after a few failed, distracted, attempts, he pushes you away and pulls off his belt before unzipping his pants.

Joel has barely tugged them down his legs when you're staring wide eyed, howling with laughter, staring directly at his cock. Only, this time, it stares back.

At least, the bald eagle on the front of his boxers does.

"What are those?"

"Nothin'," Joel says, covering himself and trying to tug his boxers over his erection with one hand still trying to pull off his pants. Grabbing his hands, you stop him, pleading as you tug them away from his crotch.

"Show me."

"Look, s'nothin. Just another stupid thing Tommy got me and I thought it'd be funny but..."

"Sure looks like you got somethin' there for me. All this time you were sayin nothin'. Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now. C'mon. Please."

You pout, trying desperately to get him to give in when you have an idea and you're tugging your top off over your head and throwing it to the side, brandishing your star covered nipples to him once more.

"Pretty please," you say with a small shimmy, and Joel's hand immediately falls away, coming up instead to cover his eyes with a sigh.

It's a sight to behold. Really, it is. The eagle is staring back at you once again, still bolstered by Joel's solid length and the heft of his balls behind it. What you hadn't noticed before is it's sitting on a canvas of United States flag, stars and stripes covering his thighs, his hips, his ass.

"Oh wow. Joel those are -" you cough out a laugh "- those are amazing."

He's rolling his eyes. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his posture. "Yeah, real funny, I know."

"No, I like them. Very festive. And y'know what," you say, cupping his cock right over the eagle print of his boxers as you clear your throat. "I pledge allegiance -"

"No, don't you d-"

"- to these balls -"

"Stop."

"- and the cock they sit under -"

"Oh my god," he says, fighting through a laugh, your fingers squeezing and massaging as you pledge yourself, whole heartedly, to the appendage in your hand.

" - one - uh, cock and balls? Is there even a collective word for cock and balls? - under Joel -"

"It's just gettin' worse."

"- definitely indivisible, no divisible balls here - "

"You're killin' me."

"- say it with me now - with liberty and justice for balls."

You try to keep a straight face as you finish. Really you do. But as Joel's whole body shakes and ripples, his balls jiggling in your hand as laughter wracks through him, you can't help but fall into him, letting yourself be propped up by him as you crumple in on yourself in delight.

"You callin' my balls Liberty and Justice now?" Joel finally says through a laugh.

You slide a finger up the leg of his boxers, pulling gently on them as you stare down at the flag adorning his ass and balls.

"Yep. You're Star Spangled Joel with your side kicks, Liberty and Justice."

You give his balls a little squeeze again as you name them.

"Now that you pledged your allegiance, you gonna keep yappin' or you gonna prove it?"

But it's too late, because you're already sinking to your knees, right there in his bedroom, a place you both know you're going to wake up in the morning, wrapped in each other as the sunlight peeks through the curtains.

"Just try to stop me."

next part

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123

@valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather

@stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @joelsdagger

[barefoothighlander]

never going back again - 01

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), violence, depiction of wounds, blood loss, mention of scars

next part masterlist

a/n: this poll won so here's the first part, enjoy

Ghost pulls himself from the rubble, the sound of the blast ringing in his ear, his whole body hurts but he can’t pinpoint where, he brings his hand to feel over his chest before looking down, definitely bleeding, he struggles pulling his weight out from under the rocks.

“All teams this is Ghost how copy?”

It’s radio silence,

“All teams this- ah” He winces as his headphones crackle, a small spark hitting his ear. They must’ve broken in the impact, his body blown back at least 15 feet from the blast, he manages to pull himself from the debris, wincing every time he stretches his stomach. He stands, moving to grab his side arm as his vision blurs, he looks down, a pool of red forming where he had just laid. He needed extraction, and fast, he looks around, clocking his location before advancing through alleys trying to make his way to the safe house.

He manages makes it out of the city in under an hour, stumbling over rocks and pot holes, his vision straining due to the loss of blood. In the distance he makes out a small cottage, assuming that was the safe house he limps towards it. He scans the area trying to find any sign of life before making his way to the door, knocking in a pattern that would signal it was him. He’s braced against the doorframe, his head hung in front of him as the door opens, he makes out a woman’s figure and a small gasp before collapsing on the deck and passing out.

You stand in your door way utterly shocked, the last thing you expected was a giant man wearing a skull mask, covered in blood, collapsing on your doorstep. You’re taken in a blind panic, your fight or flight in full force, you kneel down, your fingers pressing against his neck, he’s breathing and you can feel his heartbeat, you glance behind him for any sign of who might’ve done this, there’s no one there. You lock your arms under his shoulders, struggling to drag him into the house, knowing there was no way you could lift him to the couch so you let him lie in the walkway.

You rush to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit, kneeling back at his side trying to locate the origin of his bleeding, he’s completely passed out but you still mutter a quiet sorry as your hands pull his shirt up, his chest covered in the thick red fluid, you grab gauze to put pressure on the wound, its lengthy, not from a bullet.

You curse yourself, trying to remember the order of things, you breath deeply pouring some alcohol into his cut, his eyes strike open as he tries to sit up in panic.

“I’m sorry! I had to clean it, just, just lay back”

He’s moving around, glancing at his surroundings till his eyes fall to your form, your clothes stained with his blood as your gentle hands press on his abdomen.

“I’ll be quick”

He stares at you, then nods slowly.

“Okay”

Your hands make quick work of putting in a few stitches, noticing that he barely winces from the pain and wiping away any excess dirt or blood from the cut.

“Are- are there any more cuts?” Your eyes scan over his form,

“I don’t know”

You nod, “Can I check”

You wait for his permission, he undoes his vest allowing you further access to his chest, you push his shirt up further, his form is littered with scars, some old and white, some new and pink.

“It doesn’t look like there’s any more on your chest” You let out a sigh of relief

He blinks slowly,

“But um, you lost a lot of blood and I don’t have any antibiotics, I can call for some help”

“No, no cops”

“What about doctors”

“No, no one can know I’m here”

“Are you in danger?”

He huffs a laugh, he’s drenched in blood and wearing a skull and you think he’s in danger.

“I’ll be fine, I have to go” He tries to stand up but stumbles, your hands moving to try and hold him up as your palms dig into his flesh.

“You can’t walk”

“I can manage”

“Please just, you can rest here” You look up at him with worry in your eyes

He looks to you

“I live alone, there’s really not much for miles around, no one will find you”

“You really shouldn’t tell those things to a stranger”

“If you wanted to hurt me you would’ve” You huff a small laugh, eyes staring up at him, “Just rest a little”

He glances around the space, it’s cozy, feminine but cozy, lots of blankets and small lights.

“Do you have tea?”

A small smile forms on your lips, “I do”

You help him to the bathroom so he can rinse off, leaving the door open a crack in case he needs help with anything before you go to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and grabbing two mugs. You hear the shower turn off a few minutes later, turning your attention to the doorway and your throat dries. He’s stood arm braced against the frame, his skin glowing with droplets of water, his modesty only covered by a small towel.

“Any chance you have clothes I can borrow?”

You’re staring at him,

“Oi”

You blink your eyes at him, pulling back from your thoughts, “Yeah sorry, um, I’ll grab them” You run into your bedroom, rummaging through your drawers for anything that would fit him.

“Here these are my boyfriends, he’s smaller than you but they should fit” You hand him a pile of clothes,

“Boyfriend? I thought you lived alone”

“Ex boyfriend” You stutter, “Just never came back for his stuff”

“His loss”

You laugh lightly, allowing him the space to move back into the washroom to change, you lean against the wall,

“So what’s your name?”

He hesitates for a moment,

“Simon”

You whisper the name to yourself, the letters dancing on your tongue as he steps out,

“Not bad” You say glancing over his now clothed form

“Yeah, cheers”

You smile, moving to the kitchen to hand him a mug of tea,

“You’re very kind, I won’t be here long”

“It’s alright, company’s nice”

“Pretty good with stitches, you get a lot of bloody men on your doorstep?”

You laugh, “No just, know how to sew I guess”

Simon nods, sipping his tea, not waiting for it to cool,

“Any chance you can tell me how you stumbled to my door?”

“Um, got lost”

“Ah I see, lost” You make air quotes with your fingers,

He sets down his mug, “Lucky is more like”

“Lucky?”

“Could’ve accidentally stumbled somewhere worse”

“And by worse you mean..” You squint your eyes, he tilts his head slightly staring back at you, “You’re very secretive Simon, has anyone ever told you that”

“Never”

You smile at his words, fighting back a small laugh as you continue to drink your tea, paying attention to the way he squirms in his seat when he hurts his wound.

“You can stay here if you need, really”

“I don’t mean to put you out”

“It’s fine, get your bearings and you can head out whenever your assassin group needs you”

“Assassin group?” He’s amused by your assumption,

“Just, trying to figure you out, hoping I was close”

“Close enough”

“And on that note, the couch is all yours” You stand from your seat, placing your mug in the sink before moving to leave the kitchen, “You know where the bathroom is, everything else is pretty easy to find so, I’m just behind those doors” You point toward the sliding door of your bedroom.

“Thank you, I’ll be out by morning”

“Right” You nod, turning back to him quickly, “If you find a small cat, that’s Goliath, don’t mind him”

“You named your cat Goliath?”

You furrow your brows, “Thought it was funny, goodnight Simon” You nod to him and walk towards your room, sliding the door shut before getting ready for bed.

Ghost makes his way toward the couch, keeping an ear out for any noises outside the house, still nervous he could've been followed, he feels strangely safe within the walls of your cottage, he knows he shouldn't. He doesn't know you, you don't know him, and yet you helped him, gave him shelter and stitched his wounds, he'd never known such a simple kindness before, always seeing the worst in people but you were different, like a glowing ray of sun in his dark mind.

It doesn't take him long to fall asleep, another anomaly considering it usually took him hours of tossing and turning to finally sleep, eventually he'd blame it on his injury and the fact that the couch was insanely comfortable compared to his issued cot.

He woke in a full panic the next morning, darting his gaze around his surroundings, remembering where he was and who he was with, it took him a moment to settle his heartbeat as a clatter came from the kitchen, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, knowing he was relatively safe.

You peak your head around the corner, cringing at the amount of noise you were making, "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you"

"S'alright, should've been up hours ago anyway"

"You hungry?"

"No, I should be going anyway" The smell from the kitchen wafts through the living room, grabbing his attention

"You sure? I made too much anyway"

He winces as he pushes himself from the couch, "Why not"

Your smile lights up your face making Ghost pull his gaze from you nervously, his eyes moving toward the floor as he makes his way toward you.

"Sit"

He obeys your command, watching you point toward a chair with a spatula in your hand, chuckling to himself at the sight of you, apron-clad some flour swiped across the front.

"Do you want syrup?"

"Please" Truth be told the man had a major sweet tooth, most people would assume he drank black coffee and ate bitter chocolate but in reality he loved sugar more than anything, always giving into his urges.

You place a plate of pancakes in front of him,

"Wait" You stop him from eating for a second, leaning forward to draw a small smiley face on top with whipped cream, giggling as he tilts his head at you.

"Thanks" He waits for a few moments, giving you time to sit down with your own plate before picking up his fork, he holds the utensil in his hand, staring down at the food.

"You aren't hungry?"

"I am, it's just, my mum used to make pancakes like this" His tone is light as he leans back in his chair slightly, thinking about his family.

"She sounds nice"

"She was"

Your smile drops, "Oh, I'm sorry"

"For what?"

"You said was"

He didn't even realize, so used to internally recalling memories to choose his words differently, shaking his head lightly at you, "Thank you". You can't see his face behind his balaclava, but his gaze softens letting you know he took no offence to your statement, giving him a tight-lipped smile before digging into your food.

You finish a few pancakes before sanding from the table, Ghost's eyes watching as you move around the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out a small bowl, filling it with food, shaking the dish to catch the attention of your cat.

"He comes and goes, usually he's back for breakfast, I swear he'd do anything for some food" You joke, sitting back down in front of him, "Any progress on your ear thing?"

Ghost swallows his food, shaking his head towards you, "Unfortunately no, I need to replace one of the pieces to get it to work, not sure where I'll find one"

"There's a bunch of tech stuff in one of the drawers in the other room, I don't know what any of it does but you're welcome to look through"

"That could help, thanks"

You reach for his empty plate but his hand pushes yours away, your fingers tensing at the contact, "I'll clean, least I could do", he stands from the table, collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink. You blush slightly at the gesture, tapping your fingers against the table a few times before standing.

"I have some chores to do but I'd like to check your stitches after"

"I'm sure they're fine"

You sigh lightly, leaning against the counter next to him as he rolls his sleeves up, your eyes drifting toward the ink on his forearm as the muscles tense, "Just, let me check them" You look up at him through your lashes and his mind blanks for a moment, lost in your eyes, the way you look at him like he's a person, not a monster, completely unfazed by his outward appearance.

He says nothing, just nods lightly, turning back to the task at hand, you smile to yourself at your small victory,

"I'll just be outside, don't burn anything down"

"I'll do my best" He watches you breeze through the front door, huffing a deep breath once you closed the door, suddenly aware of his surroundings and what he was doing, washing dishes in a stranger's cottage, he looked so out of place in the house, everything was soft and warm while he was dark and rigid.

He watches you through the window, you float around the property moving around the small garden outside, tucking your hair behind your ear as you kneel beside a bush of vegetables, carefully picking them one by one, tossing them into a small basket and continuing.

"Shit" He tugs his hands from the sink, the now scolding water burning him, he must've zoned out cause the steam from the sink was now filling the room, wiping his hands on a towel before turning the taps off, rubbing his skin slightly to soothe them. His attention is turned to the small black mass leaping onto the counter,

"You must be Goliath"

The cat just stares back at him with its large eyes, meowing loudly at the sight of the stranger, Ghost presses his hand to his chest, "I'm Simon"

Goliath meows, moving toward his bowl of food, leaning down to eat.

"He won't bite"

Ghost turns his head toward the front door, you're leaning against the frame, a basket of produce on your hip, "You can pet him, he won't bite"

"I'm not really an animal person"

"I don't believe that"

"Why not"

"Just doesn't seem true" You place your basket on the table, moving towards Goliath, stroking his fur lightly as he purrs, "He loves it, go ahead" You step back, urging Simon to pet him.

He raises an apprehensive hand, lightly tracing his fingers down the case back,

"You can use a little more pressure"

He looks to you, "I don't want to hurt him"

You smile, "You won't"

Simon flattens his hand, running his palm over Goliath, smiling slightly when the cat purrs in response to his touch,

"He likes you"

"How can you tell"

"He bites people he doesn't" You bite your lower lip to conceal your laughter, Simon's eyes widen as they look at you, pulling his hand back from the cat as you giggle.

"You're lying"

"Guess we'll never know" You nudge your head toward the living room, urging him to follow. He sits on the couch, shuffling a little as you sit next to him, he can feel the heat from your skin, you're close enough that he can smell your shampoo,

"May I?"

He nods as your hands gently tug at the bottom of his shirt, he leans back to help you, your eyes scanning over his form,

"How's it look" His eyes watch you

"Good, not my best work but, you'll heal"

You turn to face him, your fingers still feather-light on his skin, "Can I ask a question?"

"You can, I might not answer it though"

"The scars"

"From my job"

"Do you get stabbed for a living?"

"Something like that" His hand covers yours, dwarfing them as he pulls his shirt back down, "Nothing to worry about"

"They look serious"

He cans esne the worry in your tone, changing his own to reassure you "I'm fine love"

You nod, staying quiet for a moment before realizing that his hands are still holding yours, you move to tug them away but he grips them, holding them close as his eyes linger on you. He scans your face for a second before releasing your hands, shifting his gaze away, suddenly nervous as his hands move into his pockets.

"The drawer is just there"

"Huh?"

"The um, the drawer with the tech stuff, it's just there" You point gently toward the stack of cabinets on the other side of the room, he nods in understanding, crossing the room to search. His fingers sift through the wires, pulling some out to inspect them, tossing others to the back, his eyes land on the exact one he needs, staring at the wire.

"Find anything that works?"

He thinks for a moment, his fingers tossing all the wires back into the drawer, "Not in here"