#too many skeletons to tag them all

[sysig]

I was inspired from on high (Patreon)

[metashard]

Guess who I collected yesterday

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twelve —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: *hint at sexual assault. please be cautious!* death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Dense mud packs onto the soles of your boots. You shift the near-empty backpack on your shoulder and slip back a few sweat-laced strands of hair from your face. Never before were you a morning person. In fact, you used to purposely sign up for all the afternoon lectures in uni. But now, time and sunlight are precious. You set out to search for the camp this morning with only a sliver of sunrise as your companion. 

You hope Ghost was right.

He suspected that their camp would be situated in a location with easy access to the military base, river, and nearby village so they could draw resources from all three. So that's the direction you're headed in, squinting at nearby landmarks and interstate signs to help guide you. It's quite the hike: grueling, hilly terrain and moist air that you can't distinguish from your own sweat. You've stepped over some interesting sights along the way. An old forest station with CAMP FEES and LEAVE NO TRACE posters still outside. A small skeleton tucked in a bush with only child-sized rainboots left on it. For a moment, you saw Joseph. Toddling around in the puddles outside your sister’s house. You had to force yourself not to look at it for too long; you wiped your eyes, gritted your teeth, and prayed it had been painless for them.

You come to a narrow creek, crossing over a stone bridge that spits you out among dense evergreens. Finally, a faint column of smoke comes into view just above the forest's canopy. 

That must be it.

It's certainly a sign, so you suck in a shaky breath, ignore the rush of blood in your veins, and do what Ghost suggested: climb a tree to get a better look. 

There was a time not long ago when climbing trees was your only means of survival. This time, it feels so much easier to hoist yourself up and grip the bark as your muscles flex to steady yourself on a high branch. Luckily, there wasn't much to bring in the backpack Ghost gave you. For now, there's nothing in it other than your lighter, a roll of gauze, that romance book, and a small piece of dry wood. 

Squinting your gaze, you make out the silhouette of triangular, orange tents and uneven fencing. Definitely a camp. The fence doesn't appear barbed from here, but it's at least a meter higher than the one that surrounds Ghost's place. You're close enough to see a few blue crates in the center that look like those ones from the military medical site. Is that what they're keeping the supplies in? It seems like the only obvious place based on the layout.

What you really want to know is how many people. Soundlessly, you shift your boots to get a different angle and finally spot movement coming out of one of the tents— a sizeable male wearing a leather jacket.

One.

Is that it?

Your eyes stay locked on the stranger for a minute, tracking his movement as he cooks something over the fire. He gives out a long whistle, the high-pitched sound audible even from where you stand nestled in the treetop. Panic seizes your breath: did he somehow see you and is alerting someone else? But no— you're much too far, and his eyes never shifted in your direction. 

Instead, there's more movement, the faint shuffling of paws on the ground, and then a large dog appears at the man's side. He tosses something in front of it, what must be a slab of meat, because the dog is quick to start chowing down with the enthusiasm of a mindless Grey.

"Fuck me," you whisper to yourself, fingertips splintering against the bark. "Couldn't prepare me for that, huh, Ghost?"

The plan he instructed you with is fairly simple and straightforward— you'll just have to stick to it and be mindful of the additional obstacle. You've survived much worse even just a few days ago, so with that in mind, you slip down the column of the tree and purposefully backtrack your steps, gaining a bit more distance between you and the camp. 

You need a ruse, something to draw the man out for enough time for you to grab the ammo. Ghost told you to bring the book to help get a fire started since the twigs and leaves here are damp after the storm, so you find a good spot and start ripping out the pages, crumpling them up. You arrange the piece of wood and paper in such a way that you have a minute or two before the smoke really gets going. You pull out your lighter from the pocket of your jeans, start it, and then head back towards the camp, this time going around so you can approach it from the side. 

You keep your footsteps as light as possible while moving quickly. Once the man notices the smoke and leaves to scout it out, your timer starts. There's another whistle followed by a gravelly bark from the dog. You sneak close to the side of the fence, pausing behind a tree, just when you catch a glance of the stranger shucking a rifle over his shoulder and exiting out the gate. He shuts it behind him with a series of padlocks.

It won't take him long to find the source of the smoke and realize it's nothing, so you muster all your strength and begin climbing the fence, rusty links digging into your palms. You try to do it without making much noise, but the moment you jump down with a thud, the dog's head snaps in your direction. It begins to growl, flashing thick canines under its bloodied muzzle. You break out into a sprint toward the blue crates, but it crosses the span of the camp in mere seconds, clamping down on your forearm before you can even begin to look for the ammo.

The pain is white hot. You silently cry out as the dog shakes its head, tearing through the fabric of your coat and the tissue of your muscle. 

"Fuck."

You tug at your arm, but it doesn't let go. Remembering the piece of squirrel meat you brought as a snack, you dig it from your pocket and wag it in front of the dog's face.

"Come on, let go— please."

It's enough to catch his attention, the bite on your arm loosening once you toss the meat a few meters away and he follows it. You clutch your arm with a ragged breath, ignoring the blood and pain that radiates from it.

The squirrel can only distract him for so long, so you urgently flip open the lid of the first crate. Staring back at you is a mix of what appears to be severed limbs and various animal parts. The pungent smell floods up your nose. You instantly clamp the lid back down, fighting the urge to vomit, and move on to the next one. 

Ammo.

Plenty of it.

Without a second to waste, you sling off the backpack and begin stuffing it with the cardboard packs of cartridges, hoping it's the kind Ghost needs. When you tug the zipper closed, a decision pops into your brain: to keep looking through the other crates for medicine, or to get the fuck out of there. You take a millisecond too long to think about it because suddenly, you notice the dog from the corner of your eye, done with the meat and moving towards you with another throaty growl. 

You tug the heavy backpack on and make a beeline for the closest side of the fence. In the panic, you fail to notice the creak of the gate opening until you are stumbling into a hard chest. A strong hand wraps around your bicep.

Fuck.

He's back.

This is it, then.

"Rocky— sit."

The growling behind you ceases. A whole new fear washes over you as you blink up at a rugged face. The stranger uses his other hand to take hold of your jaw, hard enough that your teeth are forced to grind together. In a heart-pounding silence, he inspects you, bluntly looking you up and down. Then, he takes out a knife and presses it to your neck. Your throat bobs against the icy metal. 

"Fucking bitch," he mutters. "Start a fire to try and steal from me?"

"N-no!" Your brain reels for a lie. "No— I don't know what you're talking about. I-I came here looking for help."

"Try a better lie, sweetheart." 

"I mean it," you stammer, holding onto the fact that he hasn't slit your throat yet. Raw desperation speaks for you. "My… my friends are gone. Someone attacked us a few days ago and killed them. I've been alone ever since and then I found your camp, hoping someone would be here to help me."

This seems to grab his attention. Dark eyes narrow. It's now you realize he's quite young, maybe in his thirties.

"Someone attacked you, huh? Who?"

"Um, some guy. I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him because he was… he was wearing a mask."

"So some guy killed all your friends by himself?" When you slowly nod, cringing at your terrible story, his jaw flexes. "I've lost my friends, too. They went out on a hunting trip three days ago and haven't come back."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you lie, swallowing. "So you… so you believe me?"

"I believe your friends are dead. I don't believe you didn't start that fire to distract me."

His words make your heart race. Again, his eyes trail down, and the knife follows, lowering to the floral fabric of your blouse and popping open one of the buttons. 

"Take it off," he suddenly orders. 

"W-what?"

"The shirt. Take it off. Let me decide if I should kill you or keep you."

You put on a brave face and do as he says, not given much room to protest despite the sick feeling that twists your gut. You drop the backpack, half-inclined to swing it at him, but then what? There is no way you can take him in a fight, especially since he's armed with a knife and gun, and there is no Grey this time to help you out. 

The coat falls to the ground at your feet before you shakily undo the buttons of your blouse, wincing from the movement of your bitten arm. Crisp air greets your bare skin. Your nipples tighten uncomfortably and his gaze darts right to them, intensifying the churn in your stomach. 

He gives a low whistle. "Lucky me."

Your nails jab crescents into the palms of your hands. "Am I… am I worth keeping, then?"

He bears a sick, toothy smile. "Pretty for a thief," he confirms. "Haven't seen someone so pretty in a few years now." His eyes flash to your arm and he reaches to grab it, making you choke. "Hell, Rocky. You gave her an ugly bite, though. Might get in the way of what I have in mind for you."

Half-naked, you are dragged by the arm to one of the blue crates. He slips the knife into his pocket in order to search through it. You notice pills, liquids, and a single glass bottle of what appears to be clear alcohol, which he pulls out along with a cloth.

"Tell me your name," he says, forcing you to sit down on a folding chair. "Before I enjoy you.”

You tell him quietly.

With an eery gentleness, he sits across from you and dabs the bite with some alcohol. The sting is immeasurable, but you roll your eyes to the sky and silence yourself. The feel of his cold, calloused fingers makes you imagine how they would feel touching other parts of your body. You need to think of something quick before he gets the chance to. He still has the gun on him, and the only knife you brought is in the jacket on the ground. Your eyes flicker to the bottle, which he set down by the leg of his chair.

"What's your name?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Leo."

"So, um, Leo— how did you end up here?"

"I was a new recruit in the military when shit started five years ago," he explains idly, fixated on your arm. "Stationed at the base nearby."

"I saw medical tents there," you mutter, clearing your throat. "Did you help with that?"

He chuckles. "For all of a day until some buddies and I decided to take what we could and leave. There was no point in trying to help people. We figured that out pretty quick."

"Oh. Were those the buddies who haven't come back?" 

He nods. "I'm sure they're dead by now. But, one good thing is," he reaches for the gauze, sniggering lowly, "—that means I don't have to share you."

As he begins to unwrap the gauze, you decide he’s distracted enough. It happens in one, urgent motion. You clasp the alcohol bottle by the neck, arch it above his head, and thrust it down. The glass shatters, drenching him with alcohol and blood as a piece slices open his forehead. He immediately drops the gauze and hisses in pain.

"Bitch," he snarls. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

He leaps to his feet and pulls the knife out again. As he does, you dig the lighter out of your pocket and ignite a flame, bringing it to his soaked shoulder. Instantly, fire flashes up his neck and face in hues of orange and blue, even catching your wet fingertips. It renders him blind as he howls and tries to swing at you, but you immediately run away, rubbing your burned hand against your jeans.

You grab your discarded clothes and backpack before flinging open the crate with medicine in it. You begin stuffing as many bottles into the side pockets of the backpack as you can, breathing frantically.

"I'm going to kill you," he seethes again, and the firing of a bullet somewhere behind you means he must have grabbed his rifle.

But he still can't see, his eyes blistered by the flames that continue to lick his face. Each shot bites the ground as you heave the backpack on your shoulders and take off toward the fence.

The dog barks, louder and louder as he runs after you. You don't look back. You wad your clothes up in a ball and toss them over the fence to free up your hands. Then, you quickly climb up, the muscles in your face tightly clenched as the full backpack weighs you down. 

You're too slow. 

Teeth grab hold of your boot.

You're pulled back down, hands spreading out to break the fall. 

In the mud, you wrestle beneath a snarling jaw, dirtying up your hair and exposed skin. This time, you don't hesitate to hurt the animal. You grab your lighter again and thrust the flame into the dog's eye, making it leap back with a pained squeal. 

Freed, you scramble back up the fence.

You leap down. Grab your clothes

You can still hear him shouting as you run away, weaving through the thicket of trees. Only when the sound fades do you stop to catch your breath, sinking down against a tree and putting your clothes back on.

"Here."

A moan of relief escapes your lips the moment you shrug off the backpack and drop it at Ghost's feet. He crouches down, swearing under his breath when he unzips it and the ammo practically spills out. He grabs a few boxes, opening and inspecting them under the violet light of sunset. The walk back took you hours longer. You were almost tempted to sleep in a tree for the night, but the threat of Greys or any more strangers kept you going. 

"Good. This is good, Twix." There's a hint of disbelief in his voice before he clears it away, zipping the backpack up. He stands and offers a lengthy look from your head to your boots. "How many were there?"

"Just one."

"Just one," he repeats, brow lifting. "And you look this roughed up. What happened?"

"There was a dog," you say dully, lifting your arm up to show him the bitemark in your sleeve. Beneath it, you already bandaged the wound, not wanting to draw attention to its scent. “Just a dog and a cannibal rapist guy."

"What?"

You shake your head. "Nothing. I'm going to sleep."

Before you can take a step past him, warm fingers latch onto your wrist. So warm. You inhale a breath, a burn of moisture lining your eyes.

“Please don’t touch me," you request in a harsher whisper than you intend.

You can no longer see the details of him with how bleary your eyes are, but you feel his touch disappear.

"What happened?" he asks again, voice lowering.

"Nothing. I got your ammo and I handled it. When can we leave?"

There is a pause before he responds as if he is debating whether or not to drop the subject. For now, he does.

"Tomorrow, hopefully."

"Good." The back of your hand smooths over your eyes. "Don't— don't forget our deal, Ghost. Promise me."

A firm nod. "I don't back out on my word."

As if to prove it, he shucks off the jacket and hands it over.

[elizabethemerald]

Don't Sneak up on People with Swords

@im-totally-not-an-alien-2 made a prompt about Danny sneaking up on Jason Todd and @sky00asara made a comment in the tags about what would happen if Danny did that to Talia. So here is my version of that! Enjoy.

Talia al Ghul watched her beloved from afar. He was out, again patrolling his city for those he considered wrong doers. Her son was by his side. She scowled at how Damian’s fighting style had changed, softened in the company of her beloved. Despite her love for the man under the cowl, he had a tremendous ability to take even the most ruthless of killers and change them to spare the undeserving. He had even tried it with her. 

She was hidden on the roof of an abandoned tower nearby. The tower had succumbed to fire and was now condemned until the city got around to destroying it properly. For now it made the perfect place for her to observe her beloved and her son work undisturbed. 

“Excuse me?” 

Talia whirled, drawing her blade as she spun. Her blade moved fast enough to almost cut the air itself yet the small shape ducked under her stroke and back-pedaled quickly to move out her range. 

“Jeez! Why is everyone in this city so jumpy!” 

The voice more than anything made her realize that the person who had somehow snuck close enough was an actual child. Their black hair and blue eyes made her wonder if this was another of her beloved’s adoptees. Except surely this boy was too young to catch Bruce’s eye? 

“Well maybe you should not sneak up on people?” Talia hissed, her voice soft yet stern. To say nothing of how a child who couldn’t be older than five had snuck up on her at all. 

“Well maybe you shouldn’t brood on the roof of my home!” The child snarked back, just like one of the Bat’s brood would, completely unafraid of the blade still in her hand. Talia raised an eyebrow at him then looked around at the burnt skeleton of the building they were standing on. 

“This building is not fit for human occupation.”

“Neither was the last place I lived.” He said dismissively. “This place hasn’t even killed me yet, so it’s practically a paradise.” 

She was tempted to take the child’s words as sarcasm, yet something in the way he spoke made her think he meant it more truthfully. 

“You’ve died before?” Talia asked. She relaxed her hold on her blade, allowing it to rest at her side. 

“Oh yeah, I die all the time.” He said, then he looked at her curiously tilting his head first one way, then another. “You’ve died too, huh?” 

She nodded, now examining him closely, looking for the signs she would recognize. She could see the hint of a scar on the boy’s palm that might have caused a death. 

“What is it with this town that so many people have died and come back?” The boy asked, apparently rhetorically as he didn’t let her answer. “First the stabby Robin, then the stabby Batgirl, then Batman, and even Red Hood. It’s like everyone I run into is contaminated.” 

Talia’s eyes widened. 

“You can sense those who have utilized the Lazarus Pits?” She would have to inform her father about this child. He could put the entire League of Assassins at risk. The child before her just shrugged. 

“I have no idea what that is. Red Hood mentioned some kind of pit as well, but I’ve never seen anything like that. I just know y’all are contaminated with ectoplasm, though not enough to make a core.” 

“What is this… ectoplasm?” Another name for the Lazarus Waters? Had there perhaps been a Pit outside of League control? In the midwest somewhere based on the boy’s accent. 

“Oh it’s this stuff.” He held his hand out and Talia couldn’t help keep her expression of shock withdrawn despite all her training as his hand filled with the glowing green light of the Pits. He held the Pit Water in his hand then tossed the glowing orb to his other hand in a half juggle as if he weren’t carrying the League's greatest secret and weapon. 

Nevermind telling her father about this child, he could never learn of him. If Ras had the power this child had under his control the world would never survive. There was only one option. She needed to train this child to wield this strength. With the stealth he displayed in sneaking up on her and his power over the Pits themselves he could make an assassin like the world had never seen. He could be the next Head of the Demon under her guidance. She knelt down to the boy’s level, slipping her sword back away as she did so. 

“Tell me, young one. Are you living in this death trap of a building all by yourself?” 

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I’ve got it taken care of. I know I’m little, but that just means people are less likely to notice me. I’m able to steal all the food I need from that big box store down the street.” 

“Oh of that I have no doubt. My name is Talia al Ghul. What’s yours?” 

“Hmm. I’m Danny.” The boy seemed hesitant to trust her, which to be perfectly honest was probably a very smart thing to do, but at least she had a name for this gift of Lazarus. 

“Danny, how would you like to come live with me? You won’t have to steal any more, or worry about food ever again, and I could train you how to fight even better than the Bats.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, looking her over closely. 

“Would I get a sword?” 

“If a sword is what you want, then once you were trained in its use I would acquire one for you.”

Danny looked like he was about to nod, but then he froze, his head tilting to the side as if he was listening to something. His eyes widened and Talia tensed. 

“Uh-oh. Fruit Loop incoming. I gotta go.” 

Talia half turned as she heard the sound of one of her beloved’s grappling lines catching on the building’s edge. By the time she had turned back to face him, Danny had completely vanished. She hadn’t even heard him leave. She stood and scowled as her beloved landed on the rooftop next to her. 

“Talia.” He grunted at her, glaring all the while. 

“Beloved. Must you ruin every nice thing in my life?” Talia snarled back. The boy, Danny, had the gift of Lazarus at his beck and call and Batman had scared him off. 

Bruce looked momentarily stunned at her fury, but quickly hid it behind his mask. However Talia couldn’t care less about her beloved right now. She just needed to lose him so she could return to find the boy. The boy who would change the world with his power. 

[cable-salamdr]

The growing pile in question

Does anyone else have this problem where you keep picking up minifigs from their supposed-to-be-designated-spot to take around, but then afterwards instead of putting them back into Their Spot you put them at the edge of your desk, eventually accumulating into a pile of minifigs that are just laying there and judging you for constantly forgetting?

Or is that just me

[sheepispink]

A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

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

Masterlist AO3

pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)

tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)

A/N: I’d appreciate if no one complained abt the accuract/realistic of the story (ofc if its the characterisation of ghost that’s perfectly ok!) i’m open for criticisation for how i write etc etc but this is a sensitive topic and.. based off personal experiences 😅😅 so it’s very realistic to me even if its not to you!

This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it

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

You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.

Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.

A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.

The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.

The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.

“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”

Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”

You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.

“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.

“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”

You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.

You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“

He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”

You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“

“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?

Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.

That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.

You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?

You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.

“Fuck— sorry—“

Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—

Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.

“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”

Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.

But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?

Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.

“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.

He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.

“Look at me.”

He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”

“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”

With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.

“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.

“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”

His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.

“What is like to hate someone?”

“What?”?

“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.

“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”

“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?

You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.

“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”

“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”

You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?

“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”

You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.

“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.

Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.

“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”

He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.

“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”

He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”

The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.

Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.

But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.

His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”

“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”

“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”

That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C’mere.”

You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.

“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”

Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.

He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.

You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.

“Okay, i promise i will.”

You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.

[blckbrrybasket]

Double Negative

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: past breakup, fluff, alcohol consumption, Rafe being sweet

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.8k

part 1 here

Nobody’s gonna regret this for you

If it don’t make you smile (oh)

I’ll let your skeletons shake all evening

And bless your heart for tryin’

After running into you at the party, Rafe was unable to get you out of his head. He had worked so hard to forget about you after the breakup. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you anymore, he always loved you, but that was the problem. He was sure that he would love you until his heart stopped beating and without you it caused too much pain.

Forgetting was the easy way out of what he didn’t want to feel. Therapy was the other. He had tried, seriously tried this time.

Losing you was the largest eye opener he had in a long time. Getting clean and dropping toxic people from his life had done wonders, but therapy hadn’t. Rafe couldn’t get past the walls he had built since he was ten to speak about anything besides how horrible he was.

He had always blamed himself for how you two split. He knew he was to blame, he also knew you wouldn’t blame him. Ward was unbearable to him, infiltrating every part of Rafe’s brain until he couldn’t function as himself.

Rafe was the one to distance himself, focusing on getting his father’s approval. You were the one who broke up with him after so many lonely nights, struggling with your own mental health. Yet, you knew how Ward was. Without him you were positive Rafe wouldn’t have destroyed himself the way he did.

There was no one that could have saved either of you. Sometimes you have to go on your own to fix the problems. Rafe was certain you had said that before. You were always so wise. That’s all he could think about as he tilted his head back, downing his rum.

Drinking was an expensive habit picked up from his dad, but it was safer than the drugs he used to do. 

He had yet to see you working at the end of the counter. Rafe a few months ago would be at the country club, but now he was at a fancy bar in one of the nearby hotels. He didn’t like the recognition that he got at the country club anymore. 

Setting the glass down with a small thunk, Rafe lifted his eyes to the mirror behind the counter. He studied the eyebags that had come months ago and refused to leave. His hair had grown back out, closer to how you had known it when you first started dating Rafe.

He sucked in the side of his cheek, biting it while his eyes drifted around the space. Naturally they gravitated towards you, not even questioning why you were working there. Rafe wondered if you had quit your other job. There was zero chance that you had been fired.

You were an excellent employee, he was biased but also correct. Watching you now, dutifully making drinks while keeping conversation up with businessmen only strengthened his argument.

Rafe was too far to hear the comments of the man though. I’m on a business trip. The misses didn’t want to tag along. You’re so pretty and smart, you must be a heartbreaker. Your eye had been incessantly twitching since he had started speaking to you.

Feeling the second pair of eyes on you, you looked over to find Rafe. Instead of feeling unnerved at the second man staring at you, your stressed expression melted some. No matter what happened you were safe. Sighing imperceptibly, you turned back to the man.

“Sir, you have a wife,” you started at a volume you knew Rafe could hear as well as other patrons, “I know she isn’t here, but I doubt she would want you flirting with your bartender. Am I correct?” The man’s eyes widened, thoroughly shocked in how you spoke to him. Rafe’s eyebrows raised, looking quickly at the man. If he did a single thing out of line, Rafe wouldn’t hesitate to personally throw him out.

Didn’t you know who he was? Another washed up douchebag of a businessman, you’d had your fair share of them. “Ma’am I-“ the man started in an appalled tone. “No sir, I asked a question.” Your eyebrows lowered as you stood straighter, eyes casting an exasperated glance at Rafe. He chuckled silently, knowing you could hold your own.

Looking back in front of you, you tilted your head. “Would she?” The inevitable grumbling about the customer service came, his drink abandoned as he got up and briskly walked out. It had gone better than other times and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was due to him spotting Rafe as well.

Anyways, it was settled, you grabbing his half empty glass to clean. Out of anything you hadn’t expected Rafe to come over and sit on the now vacant stool. After the party a few weeks ago you had assumed he was ready to completely move on from being around you. Once again, you were wrong when it came to guessing his behavior.

“Hey,” he drummed his fingers on the counter. “Is this seat taken?” You rolled your eyes, turning around towards the sink to hide the smirk creeping up on your lips. “It is now,” you commented, sparing a look over your shoulder.

Rafe seemed pleased, smiling down at his glass. “Yeah?” He scratched behind his ear, “And is that a good thing?” Was it? You mulled over the question, placing the glass in the sink, and spun around again. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Your crossed arms pressed on the counter as you leaned on them for support. Not bad, Rafe would take it. He nodded, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Good…good. Uh, what time do you get off?” With the absence of excess alcohol you had expected him to be less forward, surprise flashing in your eyes. He must have registered what he said, panicking.

“Not like that! I, uh shit, I was going to walk you to your car!” Okay, that is a way better approach. You snickered and shook your head at his worried face. “Rafe, it's fine. I’m off in like…” You looked at your phone tucked under the counter, “Five minutes?” You shrugged, “Is that fast enough for you not to lose interest?”

Rafe wished to say he could never lose interest in you, but he was sober enough to know that was a terrible idea. “It’s perfect. A minute later and I’d let you walk alone,” he said sarcastically, smirking. It was sweet to see him bantering with you again. 

“Oh and here I was thinking you were my prince charming.” Rafe snorted at your far fetched claim. “Yeah, whatever. I’m going to run to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a few.” You didn’t know that it was an excuse for him to nervously talk himself down. He needed to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid like he had plenty of times before.

You blissfully wrapped up your shift, unaware of him obsessively fixing his hair before coming back out six minutes later. Rafe swiftly found you leaning against one of the pillars in the lobby. “Ready to go?” You glanced up from your phone, a smile growing on your lips. You quickly tucked your phone in your bag and fell into step beside Rafe when he walked towards the door.

“As always,” you hummed. “Thank you,” you mumbled when Rafe held the door open for you, letting you walk out to the parking lot. “Where are you parked?” Rafe tried hard to make conversation without staring at you to study every inch of your face. If it was socially acceptable, he’d commit you to his memory any time he could.

“Second row, over there.” You pointed in the direction. It had to be a sadistic joke that Rafe had parked behind you, or maybe a subconscious need to be near you. “I’m behind you.” You didn’t have to be told that, you could see the silver of Rafe’s truck glinting under the parking lot lights.

Maybe it wasn’t intentional, either way you didn’t mind, not when his hand went to hover above the small of your back. Rafe didn’t know what was okay anymore, too scared to actually touch you and possibly scare you away. Halting for a split second, you let Rafe’s hand bump into your back, immediately walking again once it settled over your shirt.

Once again silence fell over you. It seemed to be a recurring theme in the last times you’d run into each other. The quiet seemed to linger on the border of talking about everything that was new and the long past you shared when you had once known everything about one another. Stopping at the side of your car, Rafe’s hand fell away, letting you unlock and open the driver's door.

“Drive safe, ‘kay?” You looked at him and nodded with a small, sad smile, “You too?” Rafe’s demeanor softened, hand clenching over his thigh. He already missed the feeling of touching you. “Always.” Your eyes slowly moved from his as you got into your car and started it up. Rafe granted enough space for you to pull out and drive out of the parking lot.

He didn’t get into his truck until he had watched you drive down the side road, car lights disappearing into the night. If he hadn’t pussied out at the party maybe he would be the one driving you home. You would be able to rely on him again, instead of having to do things alone.

Rafe knew you liked being self-sufficient, but he also hated knowing you didn’t have a best friend and partner by your side. You in turn hated how alone Rafe was. After cutting out the toxic people from his life, he had lost a lot of close friends.

Ultimately, it was his decision for the better, but your heart still ached for him. Could you even be that person again? Should you text him? What was the point of no contact if every time you saw each other that invisible string pulled you together?

There was no point. At some time along your journey of grieving your relationship with Rafe you had let go of the anger and sadness towards him. After the last week or so from seeing him at the party, it was impossible to think of anything but him. Red filled the front of your car, your hand moving faster than your brain to get to your pinned texts.

One text, that’s all you needed. ‘Thank you for walking me to my car 🫶 i knew you were soft’. It was sent before the light could even turn green. You tossed your phone into your passenger's seat, focusing on the rest of the drive home instead of panicking over the message.

Still near the parking lot, Rafe tapped his fingers on his steering wheel as he drove home. The ding of his phone distantly registered over his music, his eyes darting to the screen. He couldn’t read all of it, but he could clearly make out your contact name with the heart he never took out of it.

God he missed you. It couldn’t hurt to text back, right?

[qin-qin16]

Chromatic Crew and Murder Time Trio Poly existing at the same time, BUT with two Killers.

The first, one of the few to survive for so long in the tar-like claws of Nightmare, was also the first to meet Murder and Horror. The relationship between them was troubled, something… mediocre – too superficial to be friends, but too deep to be just “work colleagues”. In a way, they managed to understand each other, together in some way in that deep, dark hole that was being under the rule of the Lord of Negativity.

But this Killer had met Color – they had already made promises to escape together even before Murder and Horror came into the picture. They can manage without me, Killer thought while watching Murder pretend to sleep on one of the countless nights they shared. I’ve taught them everything they needed to know, he pondered when he saw Horror hold back the bitter words he wanted to say against Nightmare, knowing that it would only end with his bones being broken.

It’s not like they would notice my absence, I can be selfish for once, was his last thought about them, before finally fleeing far from his past, to start over alongside Color (and later, the other members of the Chromatic Crew). And of course, being safe in the Omega Timeline, Nightmare couldn’t just enter there and reclaim his subordinate/slave. In fact, after thinking for a long time while venting his anger on the other residents of the abandoned castle where they lived, Nightmare realized it was only a matter of time before that Killer escaped from his grasp.

It was obvious, that thing had already met its most faithful liberator; all Nightmare had to do was get a new one and prevent this one from having the same hope as the former. It wasn’t hard to capture another stray Killer, suffering after so many resets – hungry for a moment of silence and painlessness.

Nightmare didn’t even try to hide that this Killer was a different one – it wasn’t hard for Horror and Murder to figure that out either. In a way, it was easier for this Killer (whom I will name Kei to avoid confusion) to adapt, having two other skeletons to guide him, just as the other had done with them. Kei was more curious, less cautious with his actions, almost like an animal playing with the traps set for him.

Horror and Murder, having spent more time together, had no trouble including Kei in their activities – in missions, in the few dinners they shared, in the sleepless nights when one of them remained alert, awake for any imagined intruder. The three were like wild dogs: needing sacrifices to place their trust, whether time, attention, or a vital part of their body – gnawing on each other’s bones as a way to show that they trusted one another.

It would be interesting if, after some time, the three of them planned to escape from Nightmare as well – there was nothing there holding them except themselves. Of course, they didn’t have an Omega Timeline to escape to, and no allies who would help them if they could finally hide. But perhaps living on the run was better than remaining in the clutches of that true devil.

Uhhh idk who would like to see this but i want to tag more of my mutuals so, @spuirrelwiththeletterp @t3m1 @suorgummiis (since you three seemed interested) @what-have-i-unleashed (because i used your mermaid bunny au for this) @triglycercule (no this is not my mtt poly chart) @howlsofbloodhounds (because well… Killers here)

yes i need to justify the tags

[boopshoops]

Common sense doesn't feel all that common when coming from a fella such as this.

template by ai-kan1! dividers here! sound on :)

Alias: Creek

Nickname(s): Cricket, Piranha

Gender: Xenogender

Pronouns: Any with they/it preference (they>it). Also prefers masculine language/titles (i.e. lad, mister, sir, etc.)

Sexuality: Unlabeled

Birthday: June 1 (Gemini)

Age: Somewhere close to 200, they've stopped counting

Height: 5'8 or 172cm, though the height of the doll is adjustable.

Voice Claim(s): Yuri Lowenthal, Keiichi Nanba

Twisted From: Jiminy Cricket

Unique Magic: None! It's magicless.

Job: Playful Land Owner

Hobbies: Terrarium making, architecture, entrepreneurship, bug collecting, raising bug colonies, reading, violin, creating soundscapes, fashion.

Likes: Bugs, spiders, nature, Italian roulade, their doll body, cricket song, old locomotives, leaving large impressions on others, seclusion.

Dislikes: Existentialism, extreme pessimism, extended periods of boredom, drawing in an unwanted crowd, unrewarded extended efforts.

Fears: Being completely numb, feeling nothing, being stuck in one place for too long.

Summary: The eccentric yet secluded benefactor of Playful Land, both feared and loved by many for their charities. The owner is known for exploring many different business ventures, to the point where their company is behind a startlingly large amount of big names and faces. It's been around for a suspiciously long amount of time... at least others find it suspicious, Creek's lifespan isn't that much of a secret to their close circle... that circle mostly consisting of a bunch of insects, but still.

Creek, evidently, is more so focused on doing their own thing and finding constant sources of emotion rather than living up to the standards their business has risen to. After all, once you reach the top, it has to find out just what else life has in store for them. That, and what life has in store for others. Whether that is dangerous or not is up to you, long as you stay on your toes.

Playful Land's owner is known among their hires - even in avenues outside the amusement park - as being oddly generous, if not even incredibly intelligent. Guidance is something they are almost always willing to offer, in any topic or field. Don't get it wrong, though. They're not kind or overtly rude. What you see is what you get, even if it gets you sent straight to hell. Thems the facts, lad.

CHARACTER PLAYLIST - CREATION STORY - DEATH STORY

Author's note: koisdghdosieeee theyre so sillayyy! theyre just sooo sillay guys trust me guys its just a sillay lil geek mk! wym they abandoned isola and stole whats practically her skeleton. what could u posibly mean i jhave no idea what you're talking about :) they just like little critters theyve never done anything wrong no human trafficking into labour here noooooooooooooooooooooooooo pal!!!!!! perfectly legal lived a perfectly normal amount of time totally is NOT a peepaw and has not fed ANYONE to their massive supply of crickets.

anyway ernesto/fellow bombing their giantass ship was the most entertaining thing thats happened to them in a decade <3

mr. "why are you charging those two for the destruction of the park" "i just wanted to see what would happen lol" Creek

Tag list :)

@skriblee-ksk @lowcallyfruity @justm3di0cr3 @kitwasnothere @cecilebutcher

@distant-velleity @thehollowwriter @techno-danger @scint1llat3 @the-trinket-witch

@beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @qsoap @twsted-canvas @prince-kallisto

@gimmeurmoneyagh @tixdixl @sillyslipperybananapeel @twstinginthewind

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #25

Satan: What are some good cities?

Solomon: Owl

Satan: Too many fireflies, infested

•

Mammon: Scary how fast someone can mean so much to you

Leviathan: Scary how fast you can mean nothing to someone

MC: Scary how fast I switched my car insurance to geico

•

Leviathan: Dead leafs? That’s card yard salad now, and it’s the new food trend

Raphael: Leaves*

Leviathan: Where are you going?

•

Mammon: I got some many love in my souls

Luke: Why do you have more than one soul?

Mammon: Irrelevant

•

Diavolo: Assert your dominance by calling your friends by their student ID number

•

Simeon: Homework? Decent grades? The Bible said Adam and Eve not Adam and achieve

Belphegor: I almost spit everywhere

•

Leviathan: Fanfic titles be “we have not touched the stars (nor are we forgiven)” and then you look at the tags and the first one is “anal fisting”

Satan: I choked

•

Mammon: I can’t believe clowns are real what the fuck…

Belphegor: DID YOU JUST DISCOVER MIRRORS?

Mammon: SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

•

Beelzebub: You ever get a bus driver that drives like they’re running from god

Solomon: You’re really complaining about the discount roller coaster?

•

Beelzebub: Due to plaque build up, human arteries are sometimes crunchy. Also, the arteries themselves are made up of a smooth, elastic (possibly gummy?) type of tissue. Therefore I imagine that eating a diseased human artery would be a similarly experience, texture-wise, to slurping one of THESE babies

*picture of a nerds rope*

Raphael: May the only thing that dampens the flames of hell for you be God spitting in your face

•

Leviathan: So, do seahorses read fpreg?

Lucifer: Seahorses are illiterate. A quality I wish I had so I didn’t have to read this post

•

Mammon: Laying an egg hard and loud

Solomon: Will the person who tagged this “Stephen Colbert” please approach the bench

•

Satan: Someone in my younger siblings class said they were “yandere for them” and my sibling responded “first of all cringe, second of all red flag” and no phrase has entered my daily lexicon so fast

•

Mammon: I go to Home Depot

Beelzebub: I eat the tools

Satan: Stop it

Belphegor: Crumch

•

Mammon: There’s no crime in being a thief

Lucifer: What a thief does is steal someone’s property without their permission, which is a crime

Asmodeus: Not when I do it. I’ll steal your heart and you wouldn’t mind

Solomon: …

Satan: That was very smooth

Leviathan: I’m gonna steal both your organs and money

•

Diavolo: What do teens like?!? Is it memes? Memes about skeletons? Piss? Communism?

Solomon: This post is 20x funnier if you imagine a CEO shouting it at his board of directors

Last • Next

[mikimakiboo]

Time Travelers AU - Bathroom Break

I am baaaaaaaack on the story ! For those who missed it I published everyone's backstory, all are linked in the master post !

@ancha-aus it's been a while since I tagged you here

First

Prev

Next

I feel like this chapter is way too short compared to the time it took me to write it

Here it was: the moment Dust dreaded the most... going back to work. Not that there was a problem with his job, his colleagues were fine, the customers were usually nice except for some exceptions, but it was to be expected when working in a fast food. No, the thing that worried him was leaving his roommates, because they were basically roommates, alone all day. He wasn't afraid they would fight, thought Nightmare had been quite distant these past few days, he didn't participate in conversations during meals and usually just translated for Killer and asked him a few things, but apart from that he always seemed moody, mad about something and avoiding them. It did worry Dust, maybe it was something he did, or didn't do, that caused the noble to change his behavior ? He'll need to talk about it with him. Regarding the others they all seemed to get along, he noticed Cross would sometimes lower his guard when Killer talked, or rather rambled, to him to listen to what he was saying, which was something important to note as the knight only ever left the door to eat, Dust knew it because he saw him sleeping while still standing. Horror was nice to everyone, just not paying much attention to Nightmare as he seemed to avoid him more than the others anyway, and Killer just liked to chat with everyone, not caring if they understood him or not. So no, Dust wasn't scared they would fight. He was scared they would get bored, get curious and break something or even hurt themselves, that someone would knock at the door and call the cops when seeing them, or many other things they could do that could result in troubles both for them and for Dust. He really didn't need that.

Dust sighed, preparing yet another burger and putting it in a bag for those at the drive through, he didn't need to think about it anymore, the movements were basically muscle memory at that point. Should he introduce the others to burgers ? Maybe he could order everyone a burger once he got his paycheck, and he could buy soda and potatoes to make the fries himself ? Would they even like it ? Nightmare would probably despise the grease, maybe Cross too as he seemed to be very in shape, but he had a feeling Killer and Horror would like it. Well, that could be a plan for later then.

He felt someone tap on his shoulder.

- Break time, I'm taking your place.

His colleague said. Was it already his break ? He didn't see the time pass, for once. Well, he usually didn't have much to think about, so he must admit he wasn't particularly focused on the time that day.

- Oh, okay, thanks.

He finished the burger he was making before putting down his apron and going to the changing rooms to grab his phone in his locker. He then went to the bathroom, not that he needed to go as he was a skeleton, but he liked sitting on the throne in his little cabin, that way he didn't have to sit in the staff's room and make small talk with the others, he could just scroll on his phone for fifteen minutes without being disturbed. He sometimes wished he had a digestive system so he could take a dump on company time and be paid for it, but he didn't have one, anything a skeleton consumed was either turned into magic or would get thrown up if the body couldn't "digest" it. What a shame, honestly.

He wondered for a moment if he should call home on the land-line, but he soon figured it would be useless as he didn't teach them how to pick up a phone, so he just hoped everything was fine and went on socials to see what new brainrot was available to pass the time.

His alarm went off after fifteen minutes, indicating the end of his break. He sighed.

- Alright, here we go again...

He muttered to himself, getting up without flushing, and opened the door to step out of the cabin. He tripped on a branch and fell face first on the grass.

Cross flinched, planting his sword in the ground as to maintain balance when he felt everything shift around him. The house had dissapeared, and he found himself in a field surrounded by a forest. It felt like a few days ago, when he appeared in Dust's backyard, he had felt the air sting and crackle before everything shifted, and when he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.

Where was he now ? He pulled his sword from the ground, holding it tight in case a threat would appear, and looked around him, were the others here too ? He heard a noise behind him, and quickly turned, only to see Killer gripping on a branch, hanging from a tree. As he was about to run by his side he saw Horror coming out from behind a bush, leaves and twigs stucked in the furr of his coat. Killer saw him too.

- Horrooooooor ! Adiuvaaaaa ! He cried.

Horror jumped, not expecting to hear a voice above him, and quickly went to grab Killer and put him safely on the ground. The Roman then immediately opened his bag to make sure all of his stuffs were with him, and sighed in relief before looking up at the Viking.

- Gratis..

Horror nodded, then looked at Cross.

- Vel ?

He asked, thought Cross didn't understand, but he supposed Horror asked him if he was doing good, as he looked concerned. Cross was doing fine, he wasn't hurt and by chance landed on his feet and on a plain surface, unlike Killer who ended up in a tree.

- Eo vais ben, mercit.

He thanked him, before hearing a spine-chilling scream.

- Google noooooooo !!

All three of them turned quickly, startled, and saw Dust, a little farther, kneeling on the ground with his little magic rectangle in his hands, visibly distressed.

- Dust ? Killer called, bene facis ?

- Google's dead ! Dust cried out, holding his rectangle in the air, it's mort, morz, mortuus, liflátinn, dead !!

Cross froze, who was dead ? Who was so important that Dust had to announce their death in five languages ? Was his rectangle dead ? Wait, wasn't the rectangle what allowed them to communicate ? Oh. They might have a problem then.

They looked at each other for a minute, not knowing how to save the rectangle from death, before Killer went to the wheeping skeleton and kneeled before him, looking through his bag. Dust looked up at him when he took out the thick book Dust had been reading recently: the Old Norse dictionary. Cross remembered Killer shoving the book in his bag when Dust left without it, saying he would keep it safe until he returned. Dust looked at the dictionary in awe, taking it carefully.

- Oh my fucking god, Killer, I love you so much right now, gratis.. !

Killer smiled, happy to have been useful.

As Dust was getting up with Killer's help they heard a new noise, and as they turned, they were met with a rather unusual sight: Nightmare, the very sophisticated Nightmare, was laying face flat in a mud puddle, the only mud puddle in the whole field, and looked particularly horrified, and disgusted, when he stood on his elbows, his face covered with mud. Killer couldn't help but burst out with laughter, especially when Nightmare tried to get up only to slip and fall again. Cross heard Dust fight back his own laughter and Horror chuckled, but even if the scene was indeed funny, Nightmare trully looked distressed, and Cross couldn't leave him like that.

- Sire !

He rushed to his side, helping him up by letting him grab him for balance, not caring if he dirtied his armor as it was rather easy to clean.

- Vous trouvez cela amusant !? Nightmare yelled, angry, and shaking slightly, asking if they found it funny.

Horror raised his hands in an apalogy motion, but Killer was still pretty much dying on the ground, wheezing and holding his non-existant stomach, Dust simply avoiding his gaze. Nightmare huffed, a shameful blush on his cheeks as Cross helped him step out of the puddle and sit on a log nearby as he tried to wipe the mud from his face, taking his gloves off as they were just as muddy anyway.

- Estes-vos blecié, sire ? Cross asked, wanting to know if he was hurt.

Nightmare shook his head, he wasn't hurt, physically at least. Cross nodded, standing straight again to look at the others: Killer had stopped laughing and was now catching his breath, Dust was looking at their surroundings, and Horror was looking at Nightmare, thoughtful, but didn't come any closer.

Now that everyone was here, they needed to think of a plan. They needed to figure out where they ended up, or when, if they could seek shelter somewhere, or if they couldn't and would have to build a sort of nest at least for the night, what they could hunt or gather, take turn to stand guard, ... Horror didn't seem to have his axe with him, which was... rather inconvenient, but he was pretty sure Killer still had his knives in his bag so it meant they were at least two with weapons to defend the group. He looked down at Nightmare again. They had to find water.

He sighed and gestured to everyone to come closer. He would rather they didn't split up.

- Nos devons trover eaue, he said, glancing at Nightmare who was still staring at his hands, senz se séparer, he added, looking back at them.

- Okay wait, Dust stopped him, "eaue" means water, right ? I mean he does need to wash himself so it would make sense he needs water... wait I think I remember the translation... he thought for a while, looking throught the dictionary, okay so.. aqua for Latin ? Aaaand... vatn for Old Norse.

Killer snorted.

- Sordidus est, aqua eget.

Cross wasn't sure what that meant, but judging by Nightmare's glare it most likely was a mockery, or one of the Roman's usual tease at least. He wanted to reprimand him, now wasn't the time for teasing, but Horror was faster than him and gave Killer a gentle nudge on the shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly, to which Killer whined but didn't push it. Horror then pointed at the woods.

- Vatn.

Before anyone could reply, he opened the way. He had fallen in a bush and heard running water in the distance when he got up, surely there was a river nearby.

- Wait wait wait ! Dust interrupted again, Horror stopping to look at him. We're just gonna accept that we apparently got tossed throught time ? I mean it ain't you guys first time but it is mine ! And I actually have to go back to work !

Cross frowned. Work ? He knew what work meant, but why was Dust talking about work ? Oh, right ! Dust was supposed to be at work ! But he couldn't get back to work now, they didn't even know in what time they were, but surely it wasn't Dust's time anymore as these strange buildings were nowhere to be seen. Cross shook his head, Dust couldn't go back to work for now.

- What do you mean no ? I need the money.

Cross thought for a while, trying to remember the translation for money, and shook his head again.

- Nos sommes denz une altre époque, pas de "work".

He tried to explain, telling him they were in a different time. Dust frowned at him, before sighing.

- Well it's gonna be one fucking long bathroom break then... He mumbled, before following Horror again.

Cross held out a hand for Nightmare but the noble got up by himself, and simply followed the others from a distance, Cross walking behind to make sure no one deviated from the line and no threat appeared.

After only a few minutes they heard running water, and at the next turn around a tree, they saw a small river. Nightmare went to kneel on the shore and put his hands in the water. Killer went next to him, crounching down, and ignoring Nightmare's glare to rummage through his bag and take out a piece of cloth that he handed him. Nightmare looked at it for a while before taking it without saying a word, still bitter that they laughed, and put it in the water to clean his face. Dust stayed near Horror, looking at the trees.

Cross stood back, watching them all, making sure everything was safe for them to stop here.

He really hoped they could find a shelter soon.

[janearts]

ASDLKFJADKJ I love how you two immediately jumped to 'ok but like... is he #4 material?' (For those wondering, "What The Hell Is A #4?", the answer is linked here for reference.)

(The way to a woman's heart is through her favourite animal, obviously.)

Halsin is very much Roisia's type physically—aka large and in charge—and he has character traits that she would be attracted to: he's kind and compassionate, strong-willed and decisive, gentle and slow to anger, and in possession of a wry sense of humour and a keen intellect. So, yes, in that regard, Halsin definitely stands next to Wyll on the "suitable suitor to bring home" list. Top tier. Well done.

Additional rambling thoughts below the cut.

The trouble with Roisia when it comes to matters of the heart is that she unwittingly looks at a person, thinks she knows their true desires, can play out their combined future in her head, and judge them as compatible or incompatible without questioning her basic assumptions about that person. So, for example, Roisia would in many ways find Halsin an ideal romantic partner. And then, she would get into her own head. Like so:

Halsin is an archdruid. An elf accustomed to leading a notoriously outdoorsy lifestyle in a grove. Roisia is going to someday inherit an entire funerary business and wants to stay in Baldur's Gate, known for being not-at-all grove-like. Surely Mr. Outdoorsman will feel cooped up and miserable in a city if he thought the Grove was too comfortable for his tastes. Incompatible!

Halsin is all about the Natural Order of Things. Balance. Guess who disrupts said natural order when she takes dead things and reanimates them? Roisia. Roisia does. So they're at opposite ends of an ideological spectrum. Incompatible!

He's an elf; she's a human. They are on two different timelines as regards their lifespan. Unless Roisia can guarantee her own extended lifespan in a way that preserves the flesh on her bones in addition to her bones, she wants to grow with her #4 and not outpace her #4. Incompatible!

Again, these are assumptions that Roisia would make about Halsin, and I think she would ultimately write him off as a potential #4 more out of fear of some future rejection down the line than of Halsin necessarily explicitly confirming any of these assumptions to be true OR as relationship dealbreakers if they were. I want to shout out to @gracelessrogue for their tags:

It would not occur to Roisia that she could bond with a druid and a healer over life and death. If she would only think to challenge her own baseline assumptions about what she thinks she knows about the people she's travelling with, I think she would see the ways in which she could nurture long-term romantic connections with one or multiple of our possible companions.

Because, as it is, I think the larger issue is that Roisia would write off not just Halsin, but all the current known companions as not being a good fit for her #4. I don't think she would look at any of them and say: 'This person would stay with me in the city of Baldur's Gate and be totally, completely comfortable and content in a house with bodies in the basement, my skeleton father roaming the halls, and a graveyard right out back.'

Granted, it's still only Act 1/EA, but that's just a real bummer.

[beamiesbuddies]

Part 2: A Dream of an Autumn Garden

A few more photos of Mr. Morpheus, continuing from my post here!

As I said on the other photoset, I'm very happy & proud of him! I'm happy I decided to take my time to get him just how I wanted & edit the photos I took nicely. I hope you all love him too. Sweet dreams~

I have included a bunch of Cool Facts about how I made him under the cut if you are so inclined!

Started: Late Jan 2022 / Finished: Dec 30 2022

Approx work hours- 273 hours (worked on average every 3rd day out of 274 days; averaged 3h/session)

Times I remade something because I messed it up/wasn't happy with it: Hands- 2; Feet- 2; Head- 2.5; Body- 1; Clothes: 3

Pattern: trial, error & determination

Height: 3ft tall

Materials:

stretch jersey knit (body)

polyfill (stuffing)

brushed out acrylic yarn (hair)

star sapphire x2 (eyes)

pipe cleaner (hand armature)

wooden dowels/18 gauge wire (elbow/arm skeleton that keeps snapping I may add)

acrylic paint/pastels (shading & details)

acrylic thread (body sculpting & upper eyelashes)

stretch velvet/velvet burnout, cotton (clothes)

Fun facts:

his look was inspired by his overall appearance in the comics; I particularily like the depictions done by Jill Thompson, Mike Dringenberg & Marc Hempel!

his arms and legs are jointed in the same way as many teddy bears are: you use a washer, nut & bolt to butt-up the limb against the body internally and it gives the limbs full rotation. First time I have tried the method and it's definitely something I'll try again!

I had no idea how I was going to do the inset eyes, but I was determined to have them as some sort of stone. I had to redo his first head completely because I cut too far in! Eventually I got it to work by creating a "backcushion" with clay for the stones, and then closed and sculpted the eyelids overtop to secure them in.

You can't see in most of my photos but his eyes are star sapphire: when light hits them correctly, it causes a ✨to appear just like his eyes in the comics~!

making his hand & feet were a challenge, especially thinking about where to put the needle through to sculpt tendons, nails, etc (and also deciding how detailed to get without looking strange). I think I learned a lot tho and I'm very proud of the hands

my favorite sculpted parts are the collar bone/chest, the right hand & the nose~

because the skin is white, he gets very dirty with his black clothes, so I had to line all of them in white. He also has to soak in bleach once in a while to maintain his complexion (LOL)

A signature somehwere on his person xD

Thank you all again for your nice tags & comments so far on my work. If you guys would like for me to share some behind the scenes photos of this photoshoot, or WIP photos of me making him, let me know and if there's enough interest maybe I'll make a post down the road!

[khywren]

❛ pairing: Astarion/f!Tav; Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) ❛ word count: 4.6k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: canon-typical violence, piv sex, rough sex, fingering, hair pulling, blood/blood drinking, soft dom Astarion

‣ preview: Ysera pulls away, flashing him a grin so smug Astarion is positive she couldn't have gotten it from anyone but himself. His swollen lip throbs. The traces of crimson on her lips do something unspeakably wicked to him, a tremor of desire thrumming through him and sending a delicious wave of pleasure straight to his groin.

“Something wrong?” Ysera asks, barely bothering to pretend she doesn't know exactly what she's doing. Her eyes narrow, twin slits of molten amber that flicker with the embers of her frustration. 

“This is the game you wanted to play, so now we're playing it.”

AO3 ┊ series masterlist

No matter how many reanimated skeletons Ysera sends back to the grave, the one thing she'll never get used to is the unnerving sound of their rattling bones, the way they creak and groan with every stuttered step they take. She and Astarion have been surrounded by the things, a trap triggered by the chest Astarion was all too eager to lockpick the moment they broke their way into this dusty expanse of a tower.

The placement of the chest in question had been conspicuous at best, hardly hidden away like one might expect for something so heavily laden with gold and other precious gems. And that was without accounting for the disturbing amount of skeletons littered about the room, many of them still wearing gold and silver trinkets that would likely fetch quite a large sum of money. It was odd to think no one had bothered looting them in all the time they must have been here, rotting away in the dark.

“They're dead, darling – lucky for us, they won't be needing them,” Astarion had assured her, waving away her concerns only moments before the chest had popped open and the trap-that-was-so-obviously-a-trap had been sprung.

An arrow had whizzed past Ysera's head only moments later, burying itself into the chest as she had barely avoided being struck. Another shot had pierced her straight through the shoulder only moments later, pain ripping through her like searing fire before she wrenched the shaft from the wound and roared with rage. Astarion had leapt into action like a feral beast the moment he smelled her blood, slashing and cutting his way towards the skeleton who had dared to harm her.

They're standing back to back now, Astarion sending arrow after arrow into the farthest targets and deflecting their returning blows with quick flourishes of his dagger between shots, kept clenched between his teeth until he needs it. Blood trickles down Ysera's forearm as she weaves a bolt of lightning between her hands, hurtling it at a group of skeletons shambling towards them. Their dry, brittle bones burst on impact, but no sooner have they collapsed than do others take their place, hellsbent on making the pair of them the latest addition to their ranks.

“Are you all right, love?” Astarion asks, glancing at her over his shoulder as he looses another arrow without looking; the noise it makes when it hits its intended target confirms it's found its mark.

“I'm fine,” Ysera says brusquely, rearing back to unleash a searing fireball into another pack of skeletons. With so few left, they separate to pick off the stragglers, making quick work of them. When no more enemies remain, Ysera fishes inside her pack with her good hand, her left arm numb and immobilized from her injuries. The potion she pours down her throat tastes bitter and earthy, the way she imagines it might feel biting into a pine tree, and she sputters a bit at the foul flavor of it but sighs in relief as her torn flesh begins to knit itself back together once more. She flexes her fingers to make sure everything still works.

Then Ysera turns her attention to Astarion, finding him across the chamber.

“All right, what the hells were you thinking?” she admonishes him, kicking her way through scattered bones and ash as she storms towards him and fixes him with a withering look. “You almost got both of us killed back there!”

Astarion wrenches his dagger from the empty eye socket of the last skeleton he felled, crushing its grinning face with a swift stomp of his boot for good measure. He sheathes the blade and turns to face Ysera, incredulous as she sets her jaw and waits for his explanation.

“Excuse me?” he snipes back, a flash of fangs and furrowed brows. “I saved you from being sliced to ribbons –” he holds his fingers aloft as he counts “– one… two… three times! Minimum.”

If anything, she should be thanking him.

Ysera merely folds her arms across her chest, the golden amber of her eyes narrowed in frustration as she appraises him. Her shoulders heave with a heavy sigh.

“They shot me,” she counters, rolling her shoulder. “And at any rate, you wouldn't have had to if you had just listened to me,” she groans. “I told you something was off about this place.”

Astarion mirrors her expression and crosses his own arms. He's being petty on purpose, and they both know it. When Ysera says nothing, Astarion swallows thickly; far easier than swallowing his pride and admitting he made a mistake. He feigns disinterest and shrugs off her accusations with practiced ease, pretending to pick at a piece shattered bone on his sleeve.

“Yes, yes,” he says with a wave of his hand, “that's all well and good, but it turned out fine.” A few gold coins scatter over the open mouth of the chest as he gives it a swift kick and adds, “And look at what we have to show for it. Honestly, darling, sometimes I swear you hate good news.”

Flames flare hot between Ysera's clenched fists as she advances towards him, and Astarion flinches when he finds her face mere inches from his own, scowling up at him. She's far more fearsome like this, with her magic finally under her command, able to wield it with frightening precision. Her tail thrashes in frustration, spaded tip slicing through the air so violently he can hear every twist and turn it makes behind her. Even without saying anything, her fury is palpable, her shorter stature doing nothing to diminish its impact.

Astarion clears his throat and averts his gaze, but he can still feel her eyes boring into him, the heat of her skin as her face flushes – not in embarrassment, but in anger. But then he affixes a grin to his mouth, risking his own safety when he leans in closer and murmurs against her lips, “Darling… have I ever told you how adorable you look when you're angry?”

Ysera seems to savor the feeling of his lips against her before reason kicks in and she jolts back, face cut into a deep frown. She shoves a single finger into his chest, practically snarling when she says, “Oh, no. You're not flirting your way out of this one, Astarion.”

Astarion chuckles softly and cocks his head to the side, reveling in his handiwork. The fact of the matter is, he wasn't lying; she really is something else when she's riled up, all pouting lips and exasperated sighs that he so rarely gets to see.

And if he happened to purposely give her a little nudge in that direction for his own amusement? There's certainly nothing wrong with that, as far as he's concerned.

“Is that what you think this is, my dear?” he teases her, pressing the tip of his finger against her nose and smirking triumphantly when she scrunches up her face but doesn't pull away any further.

“Tell me I'm wrong, then,” she goads.

Astarion pretends to take a moment to consider, placing the finger on her nose on his chin instead as he hums thoughtfully. 

“You’ve got me dead to rights,” he says eventually, hands held up in surrender. The irony occurs to him, then, and he giggles mischievously, “Well, even more dead than I already am, of course.” When she doesn't laugh at his joke, his expression sours, lips pursed as he pouts miserably at her and sighs. “My humor is wasted on you.”

Astarion doesn't expect the stones to be so sharp when Ysera pushes him back against the wall, and he squirms uncomfortably when the edge of one of the bricks digs its way between his shoulder blades. He watches her, her breathing measured as her eyes rove slowly over his face, daring him to test her patience any further.

And Astarion takes the bait, because of course he does. His brow lifts slyly, and he lets a single fang poke out from behind his grinning lips, knowing the effect it will have on her. 

“What's this? Eager to kiss and make up, are we?”

Astarion doesn't have time to enjoy his victory before Ysera unexpectedly crashes her lips against his, pinning him flat against the wall with a growl as her tongue sweeps into his open mouth. His satisfied groan is cut short when she sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood and make him curse instead.

“Mmmph… fuck.”

Ysera pulls away, flashing him a grin so smug Astarion is positive she couldn't have gotten it from anyone but himself. His swollen lip throbs – as does his cock, straining against his trousers. The traces of crimson on her lips do something unspeakably wicked to him, a tremor of desire thrumming through him and sending a delicious wave of pleasure straight to his groin.

“Something wrong?” Ysera asks, barely bothering to pretend she doesn't know exactly what she's doing. Her eyes narrow, twin slits of molten amber that flicker with the embers of her frustration. 

“This is the game you wanted to play, so now we're playing it.”

She kisses him again, tongue delving into his mouth, and he can taste the metallic tang of blood. His blood – her blood, not so long ago, before he fed from her the night before. The traces of her magic still linger, if he cares to search for them. But he doesn't, because nothing is more enticing than the way she fists her hand in his hair and moans hungrily against him.

He much prefers to focus on that. On the way she slots her body against his, the familiar curve of her hips beneath his broad hands. How strong and warm and alive she feels.

“Fine.”

A primal growl rumbles low in Astarion's throat, and he uses his superior strength to flip them both around so this time it's Ysera pinned and squirming beneath him. She is so delightfully feisty, fighting in vain to overpower him as they exchange heated kiss after heated kiss. Her muscles tense and undulate as she wrestles with him, but the moan that tears itself from her throat as Astarion pins her hands harshly above her head tell him that she's anything but unsatisfied with her current predicament.

And then their eyes meet for a brief moment, searing red and simmering gold. Their shared breaths mingle in the space between them, an unspoken understanding of what they both need from one another in this moment. Their lovemaking is rarely quite so intense – Astarion quite enjoys taking his time with Ysera, after all, taking her apart piece by piece before building her pleasure to an intense crescendo – but there will be nothing soft or tender about what Astarion intends on doing with her now.

His free hand pushes open Ysera's robes, fumbling with the buttons of the shirt beneath it as he searches eagerly for more of her bare skin. The damned thing gives him more trouble than he intends, and with a huff of exasperation, Astarion sinks his teeth into the neckline for leverage before weaving his fingers between two buttons and wrenching the thin fabric apart, exposing her belly and the heavy swell of her breasts beneath her stays. He tugs at the laces impatiently, and the last barrier between his hands and her body falls away, swept over her shoulders to fall to the floor with the rest of her robes as he takes her eagerly into his hand.

As he cups one breast, he dips his head to take the other into his mouth, feeling the way her nipple pebbles beneath the broad sweep of his tongue. Ysera's breath hitches as he bites down into her tender flesh, fangs piercing her skin like a hot knife through butter. Astarion laps lazily at the blood that spills from the puncture marks he's made, restraining himself from taking even more from her.

Ysera groans, teeth clenched as she arches her back, throwing her hands into his soft curls to hold herself steady. She tugs on his hair hard enough that his eyes drag a lazy path upwards, even as his mouth remains on her.

“Astarion,” she grumbles, “That was my favorite shirt.”

Ysera can feel the way he smirks into her skin before he pulls back enough to murmur absently: “Was it? A pity.” He clicks his tongue and pinches her other nipple between the soft pads of his fingertips, dragging a soft cry from her. She glowers down at him through clenched teeth, and he laughs.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” They have more than enough gold for it, after all. He'll get her a whole new wardrobe, if she asks. “How do you feel about silk? Lace?” He busies his mouth with more of her delicious blood, sweat and her floral soap mingling with the familiar taste of iron.

“I'm fine with either, naturally,” he prattles on, “but you do look quite lovely in –”

Ysera tugs his hair again, pulling him from his thoughts of her half-naked body, hidden from him only by lacy scraps of fabric that leave little to the imagination. He files the thought away for later, when they're back in the city and he can have something made.

“ Astarion. ”

“Hmm?”

She's trying so hard to stay angry with him, her expression stern even as desire blazes in her eyes. Her nails rake over his scalp, one hand twisting between their bodies to palm his cock through the infuriating barrier of his trousers. There's just enough friction to entice him, and Astarion rolls his hips into the curve of her hand, breaths ragged as he chases his pleasure. Ysera's grip tightens, halting his shallow thrusts, voice husky as she makes her demands.

“No. You're going to make it up to me, right here. Right now.”

Astarion's eyes darken as he reluctantly abandons her breasts, choosing instead to bury his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder. Here he can feel the steady rhythm of her pulse, fangs pressed against her throat as he drags an agonizingly slow path of pleasure towards her jawline. A violent shudder tears through Ysera like lightning, prickling her skin as faint traces of the Weave dance across her skin. Her magic is electrifying, alighting his nerves with a strange, intoxicating sensation that feels a bit like sinking into a warm bath as it caresses every inch of his body.

“Wicked little thing,” he purrs. “I’ll enjoy watching you come undone on my cock.”

Astarion descends upon her once more, drinking in her desperate moans as his hands slip beneath the waistband of her pants. Her hands make quick work of his own laces, greedily slipping inside his underwear in search of his cock. He's achingly hard when she finds it, slick with precome that she spreads over the tip with a swipe of her thumb. His hips stutter, pushing his cock deeper into her hand once again, unable to stop himself from groaning obscenely into her mouth.

It's a miracle Ysera's pants and underwear make it off her body in one piece as Astarion all but yanks them down around her knees before she kicks them off along with her boots. When they part for breath, Ysera jerks her head towards the center of the room, her voice trembling almost as much as the rest of her.

“Desk,” she mutters, helping him lift his shirt over his head, where it joins the rest of their hastily discarded clothes. “I am not about to let you fuck me next to a pile of pulverized skeletons.”

“Darling, where is your sense of adventure? I thought you might prefer an audience.”

“I think I've had enough ‘adventure’ for one day,” she says icily, the last threads of her patience stretched thin. Astarion sweeps her off her feet with little effort, hiking her legs up around his waist as he makes short work of the distance between their current position and the old desk piled with papers and books of various irrelevant subjects. He sets her down gently and chuckles softly.

“No audience, then.”

By the time Astarion has fully undressed, Ysera's taken the liberty for him and bent herself over the desk, back arched in such a way that he can see how eager she is to take him. Her thighs are slick with the arousal between her legs, tail swept aside so he can fully admire the view of her dripping cunt.

“Mmm…” Astarion makes a noise that sounds downright feral, lining himself up with her entrance as he braces a hand on her hips. “Aren't you quite the sight, love?”

Her cunt clamps down on his cock as he pushes inside her, hot and wet and tighter than she's ever been. A keening whine tears itself from her throat, her hips adjusting to accommodate him as Astarion slowly seats himself inside of her. They both gasp when he bottoms out, overwhelmed by the sensation of how good he feels inside of her. Astarion digs his fingers into the plush curve of her ass at the same time his free hand presses down on the base of her tail, thumb stroking the sensitive underside as he rolls his hips slow and deep to work her open.

Ysera buries her face against the polished wood and releases a single guttural moan, the sconces scattered around the room flaring to life as her magic surges through her. The glide of his cock is sinful, her body molding perfectly to him as his pace quickens with every punishing thrust. 

She's far too quiet for his liking, stubbornly withholding her pleasure from him even as she digs her nails into the desk and throws her head back in a silent scream. Astarion grunts as he angles his hips to hit the sensitive spot deep inside her core, kneading the ample flesh of her ass before bringing his hand down and smacking her roughly with his palm.

Her hips jerk and her knees buckle, and Astarion spanks her again at the same time as he slams his hips into her, her skin blooming red and hot beneath his hand.

The desk splinters beneath her nails as Ysera lets out a ragged cry, babbling and whimpering as Astarion soothes the angry marks on her skin and squeezes the base of her tail.

“There, see how easy that was?” he coos. “You give me what I want, and I return the favor.”

“Nnn…nhnnnn…” Ysera murmurs, straining to find her voice. Astarion runs a hand along the curve of her spine, deceptively gentle before he fists his fingers in her hair and yanks her head back, her back bowing as she goes rigid beneath him.

“Say my name, Ysera,” Astarion growls, fangs bared as he snaps his hips forward, fucking her hard and deep. Ysera gasps for breath, her throat parched and raw as she mouths the first two syllables.

“Asta – ahh!” When the tip of his cock strokes against a particularly sensitive part of her cunt, Ysera's concentration frays completely, leaving her helpless but to succumb to the pleasure that wracks her to her very core. Stars burst in her vision, but the hand still tangled in her hair keeps her upright even as the strength leaves her body.

“Ysera,” Astarion says darkly, catching her eyes as she tilts her head back to look at him. The pace of his thrusts remains just as relentless, the way her cunt flutters and pulses around his cock almost enough to make him spill inside her then and there.

“Say it.”

“Astarion,” she whines, her tongue lolling out over her kiss-swollen lips as her mouth falls slack.

“Oh,” Astarion says slyly, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You can do better than that. I know you can. Try again.” Astarion wets the pad of his thumb with a pass of his tongue before bringing it down to press against her other hole. He kneads her open delicately, the contrast of his brutal thrusts inside her cunt against the tender way he slowly eases the digit inside past the first knuckle so intense that she loses whatever control she had left and screams his name as she comes hard on his cock.

“Astarion!”

Astarion grunts as her walls contract around his cock, fighting every urge he has to follow after her as he fucks Ysera through her orgasm. “Good girl,” he huffs, amused by the way she clenches even more tightly around him when he praises her. His thrusts slow but don't quite stop, enough to bring him back from the edge of the pleasure that claws desperately at him and begs him to keep going until he's completely spent.

“Don't stop,” Ysera wines piteously beneath him as she comes down from her high, head turning so she can look at him beneath the curtain of her hair when he releases her. Her brows knit together in consternation. “Don't you dare stop.”

“I'm afraid that's not how this works, love,” Astarion admonishes. Ysera bucks her hips back against him, but they're pressed so close together that she doesn't even have the luxury of being able to fuck herself on his cock. She lets out a wail of frustration and balls her fists tightly.

“What was it you said earlier?” he muses, a flash of fangs beneath his wolfish smile. Realization dawns on Ysera's face as the consequences of her actions come back to haunt her.

“Ah, I remember now. This is the game you wanted to play, so now we're playing it.”

“Astarion…” Ysera's eyes are dark and wide with desperation, pupils blown as she silently pleads with him to give her what she wants. She barely has the strength to prop herself up, but it's not enough. She needs him to find his own release, wants him to make her come for him again as he empties himself inside her. She's furious that he still has the patience to play with her like this, while she's been reduced to this.

His voice is low and husky as he leans over her, tipping her chin up and capturing her lips in a long, languid kiss. 

“Beg for it,” he growls against her mouth, biting down and sucking her bottom lip between his blunted teeth. “Beg me to let you come again.

Astarion straightens, hands splayed over her waist as he spreads her open and teases her with several long, drawn-out thrusts of his hips. Ysera's face falls back against the desk, her teeth grit every time Astarion rolls his hips forward.

“No,” she groans through her teeth. Her nails dig into the desk again, cutting deep gouges in the wood as she drags herself back up and fixes him with a stubborn scowl. 

“You don't want to come again?” he asks, tutting. “And here I thought you were enjoying yourself.” He stills inside her, and her cunt clenches tightly around him as if trying to draw him deeper inside. Pinned beneath him as she is, all she can do is snarl and writhe, unable to even slip a hand between her legs to finish the job for him.

Astarion arches a brow and smirks devilishly at her. In this battle of wills, he knows he will come out the victor. He can tell by the way she quivers and pants for breath, squeezing her eyes shut when she feels his cock pulse inside her cunt.

Ysera turns away from him and buries her face in the desk.

“Please.” 

“Hmm?” Astarion hums. “Speak up, love, I didn't quite catch that.”

“Please…” she says again, louder than before. The anger in her voice is tempered steel, but she can only deny herself for so long.

“Please let me come, I need…”

Astarion gathers Ysera's wrists and pins them behind the small of her back, arms bent at the elbows as he tenderly smooths his thumb over her skin. A sheen of sweat glistens over her entire body, capturing the firelight that still flickers throughout the room.

“What do you need?” Astarion prompts, voice firm but not unkind. As feisty as she is, she's been so good for him, and he's only asking a little more of her, after all. He wants to hear her say it, will never tire of knowing how badly she aches for him, the same way he aches for her.

“You,” she says obediently. "Your cock. Need to come for you again…” Her words become a mantra as she mumbles a breathy, “Please, please, please.”

Astarion hums in approval, slowly increasing the pace of his thrusts. “I’ll allow it,” he murmurs, as if he hasn't been fighting every instinct in his body that tells him to drive himself into her as hard as he can, to make her scream and writhe as she falls to pieces beneath him. “Since you asked so nicely.”

The raw passion and desperate fervor from before is replaced by sensuous rolls of his hips, the intensity no less pleasurable for both of them as Astarion settles back into his rhythm, bottoming out with each thrust as the lewd sounds of their skin slapping together mingles with their shared moans. Ysera bucks against Astarion's fingers when his hand snakes down to attend to her neglected clit, the taut bundle of nerves slick with both of their arousal as he circles it in time with his thrusts. It doesn't take long before her thighs begin to shake, signaling the imminent orgasm building within her as she whimpers beautifully beneath him.

“Astarion!” she cries out, “I'm –!”

Astarion continues to tease between her legs, stroking and kneading her with skillful movements and wasting no time bringing her right to the edge. He will not last – and neither, he ensures, will she.

“That's it, love,” he encourages her, groaning through clenched teeth. “Come for me. Let's hear you sing.”

It's all she needs before she's coming for him again, voice breaking around the syllables of his name as she all but shatters. The way she cries out tugs him spiraling over the edge and into the raging torrent of his own orgasm, hips frantically thrusting as he fills her hot cunt with his come. It leaks obscenely down Ysera's thighs even as he fucks the rest of it deep inside of her, bent over her back to keep himself from losing his footing when his legs threaten to give out from the intensity of it all.

When they've both recovered and Astarion has mustered enough strength to move, he pulls out of her slowly, mourning the loss of her warmth immediately as he sinks limply to the floor and leans back against the desk. Ysera stumbles down after him, crawling into his lap when he beckons her with open arms and sighs against his chest when he pulls her into a tender embrace.

“You're not still mad at me, are you?” he murmurs against her temple, pressing a few soft kisses just above her brows. 

“Not really,” she admits, tail curling around his leg and nuzzles her face against his neck. “But I'm awfully tired now.”

“I suppose you'll want an apology for that as well,” Astarion sighs, grinning wearily at her. Ysera huffs, reaching up to pinch him by the cheek and causing Astarion to swat her away in protest as she giggles affectionately.

“You idiot.”

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 1: Language of Lust (Voice Kink)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: The first thing art of my third Kinktober challenge, let’s go besties!

Tags: voice kink, language kink, oral, scratching, gratuitous German, aftercare

Word Count: 4.3k

The Masterlist

You tried to understand Medic, you truly did. He talked about his experiments at length, and anyone could see how passionate he was about them. Still, he often forgot that not everyone understood the medical jargon that he did, and you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt him. The last thing you were able to understand was something about the superiority of the mega baboon heart when compared to the average human’s. It was all downhill from there, but as long as he kept talking, you would keep listening, nodding along. The truth was you loved to hear Medic talk, and the reasons weren’t entirely innocent.

“Now this part gets a bit complicated, are you paying attention?” Medic asked, gesturing towards a rough diagram he had scribbled on the back of some paperwork. As far as you could tell, it seemed to be detailing how one would successfully prevent the human body from rejecting animal organs, specifically the uterus, for some reason. Usually you wouldn’t question it, but you felt it would be wrong to let him keep going on if you truly didn’t understand. Plus, it might mean you get to hear him talk for longer.

“Oh yes! Of course I am,” you said. “But just in case, could you run it by me one more time?”

Medic sighed, smiling fondly at you in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “I am starting to think you just enjoy hearing me ramble, mein schatz.”

You hoped he wouldn’t notice the soft blush that colored your cheeks. He had no idea how well he had just read you. “Maybe I do,” you said, trying to keep your tone as casual as possible.

“Well, I appreciate that. Not many are willing to listen to me go on like this. However, you don’t have to pretend to understand for my sake.” You noticed a hint of sadness in that statement. You knew how it felt to enjoy something, especially something weird, and have no one to share your interests with.

“I don’t have to understand to see how passionate you are about it, and I like it when you get worked up.” You paused for a moment before realizing how that sounded. “When you’re excited, I mean. Excited about your work.”

Medic chuckled. “Is that so? I have always wondered what you enjoyed out of these conversations we share.” He got a bit closer to you, looking you up and down like an intriguing specimen. “And while I do believe you like seeing me happy, I don’t think that’s the only reason.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, perhaps a bit too quickly. You kicked your legs nervously, hearing the metal operation table you were sitting on creak slightly as you did.

“Let’s see,” Medic said, leaning in, studying you. Suddenly, he started touching you. It was entirely innocent, nothing that wouldn’t be done during a normal physical, even if it did leave goosebumps all over your skin. You started giggling uncontrollably when his fingers lingered on areas that he knew were ticklish. All the while he made mock ‘observations’ about you. “A slight flush, perspiration on the brow… excellent bone structure!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, growing more confused by the second. “What the hell does my bone structure have to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” Medic said. “But based on how much redder your face just became, I would say you like it when I compliment your appearance.”

You stared at Medic, finding yourself at a loss for words. He held your gaze, and you looked away first with an awkward laugh, feeling like he was staring right into your soul. Was this really happening? Was this Medic’s way of flirting?

Placing a hand on your cheek, you found that it was indeed warm. You also probably should have been unnerved by Medic’s comment, given his track record with skeletons. In fact, he had once detailed how he planned to one-up that particular achievement with something he lovingly referred to as ‘the circulatory system heist.’ Honestly, he probably wouldn’t be satisfied until he managed to steal every major organ system in the human body at least once, preferably leaving his victim alive in the process.

Finally, you responded. “It’s not just the compliments. Truthfully, I just like hearing you talk. You have a hot voice.” A moment of silence was all it took for you to realize what you had just admitted. Shit. You had gotten too comfortable. You had said too much, and of course, your immediate response was to stammer your way through a desperate, panicked stream of consciousness. “I mean nice! You have a nice voice, in a normal way. It’s, uh- unique, with the accent, you know? Yeah, that’s it. You would make a good narrator.”

Real smooth. Perfectly executed. He wouldn’t suspect a thing.

He had, in fact, suspected many things. An expression flashed across Medic’s face. First came realization, and then surprise. You weren’t sure whether you should be proud of the fact that you actually managed to surprise Medic, of all people.

“You like my accent?” He spoke with a certainty that implied he already knew the answer. You wished you could blame it on Medic being observant, but the fact was you had basically outed your massive crush on the team doctor in a moment of weakness. The only thing to do now was own up.

“Maybe,” you said, just above a whisper. You’re face was so red, and you felt hot from the blood rushing to your face. “I do have a bit of a thing for it.”

It was definitely more than just ‘a bit of a thing.’

“I am surprised. Usually when it comes to accents people go for the French, or the other romance languages,” Medic said, looking you over like you were a subject to be psychoanalyzed. It made you feel so small, even though you had the freedom to leave whenever you wanted. Not that you would. You liked where this conversation seemed to be going, even if you were embarrassed by how it was initiated.

“I guess I just have unique tastes.” There wasn’t much more of an explanation for you to give. You weren’t quite sure when you developed a thing for accents, let alone Medic’s in particular, but the human brain worked in mysterious ways. While you satiated yourself with the occasional foreign nickname he had given you, there was a part of you that occupied lonely nights with thoughts of how it might sound if he were to moan against your ear, whispering sweet nothings in a language you barely understood.

“I hope that this isn’t the only reason you come to visit me,” Medic said. “I actually thought you enjoyed hearing me ramble about exotic animal parts and Medigun technology, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking, ja?”

“Of course not,” you quickly reassured him. “I guess you could say I came for the accent and stayed for the sordid tales of grand theft skeleton.”

That at least got a laugh out of him. “Well then, I suppose I can’t be too hurt, liebchen.”

Damn it. Your blush had just begun to calm down, too. “That’s not fair!”

“Why not? You didn’t seem to have a problem with my little pet names before. In fact, I think you liked them very much.” His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on you in a way that reminded you of a wolf tracking its kill.

“It’s different now that you know,” you stammered, struggling to keep your composure as you held his gaze.

“How so, schatz?”

You huffed. Now he was just doing it on purpose. You weren’t going to humor him with an answer if he was just going to keep teasing you- until you felt a breath against your ear. “I asked you a question, mein engelchen. I expect an answer.”

“Oh fuck,” you whispered. You hadn’t even realized how close Medic was getting. Now his arms were on either side of you, gripping the edges of the operation table. He probably noticed the way your body stiffened and the way you squeezed your thighs together. Even so, a part of you worried you were being too presumptuous. Was this really going where you thought it was going? “Medic, what are you doing?”

“I thought that would have been obvious,” he said, chuckling softly. “I’m giving you what you want, if you’ll let me.”

“Seriously?” you asked, trying not to be too embarrassed at how the word came out as more of a shocked squeal.

“Only if you want to.” Medic backed away to look you up and down. He still wore a knowing smirk, but there was a hint of sincerity behind it that let you know that if you wanted this to stop, it would stop. You didn’t want that though. You had dreamt of a moment like this, and here it was, being offered on a silver platter, or rather, a silver operating table.

Before you could think, almost as if on instinct, you leaned forward and kissed him. You felt him startle, jolting against you slightly before he melted into the sinfully short kiss. You looked up at him with glassy eyes when you parted. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Looking up at him like that, you were irresistible. Medic leaned down, kissing you hard. He was much rougher, biting at your lower lip until he could slip his tongue into your mouth. Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him against you. He moaned into your mouth as you grounded against him, cursing the layers of fabric that remained between the two of you.

“Medic, please,” you gasped when you parted for a breath.

“How about you beg for me in my native tongue?” Medic said. “After all, I know how much you love it.”

“I don’t know how,” you whined, not even caring that you sounded utterly pathetic. Your voice was already quivering and besides a heated makeout, nothing had really happened yet.

Medic’s gaze softened. You were adorable when you were frustrated. “I’ll teach you, liebe. You know how to say please, don’t you?”

“Bitte.” You responded with some confidence, having heard Medic say it before, usually when asking for assistance on the battlefield.

“Very good. Now, repeat after me, ‘Bitte, lass mich deinen Schwanz lutschen.’” He spoke slowly, and you repeated the words at the same pace, occasionally struggling around the pronunciation that felt foreign on your tongue.

Medic smiled, and you took that as a sign that you did well. “What does it mean?”

That smile twisted into a smirk. “It means, ‘please, let me suck your cock.’”

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you knew you had just turned a much deeper shade of red. Perhaps it was a bit naive of you to think that what you had just said would be anything other than lewd. “Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Can I?”

“Certainly!” Medic’s swirk widened, his teeth glinting in the harsh light of the infirmary. His eyes tracked your every move as you dismounted the table, pacing around him until he was leaning back on the steel surface and you were knelt down in front of him. His ever present gaze made you shiver. Reaching for his belt, you paused at the buckle, glancing up at him nervously. “Go on, liebling.”

You nodded, wasting little time unfastening the belt and unzipping his fly. With some finessing, you eventually freed his cock, working him up with your hand. The way he groaned at your touch made you squirm, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to quell your arousal. You were quite proud to find that he was already half hard.

It wasn’t long before you could get to work with your mouth. You licked your lips until they were reddened and wet. The noise he made when you simply dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock was maddening. You had fantasized about what it might be like to hear him moan, to watch him come undone with your touch, but nothing could compare to the real thing. You needed to hear more.

Little did you know, Medic had thought about this before as well. He had wondered how you would look on your knees, lips parted and ready to take anything he gave you. You took it so well, too. Your mouth was tight around his shaft, and you did such delightful things with your tongue that made him grip the edge of the table and pulled shaky groans from his lips. “That’s it, keep going, liebchen. Du machst das so gut, you’re so good!”

You shuddered, a low moan escaping you. Although it was muffled, Medic immediately took notice. Your muscles were taut, and you seemed to double your efforts, bobbing your head faster and working your tongue against him. Something he said had certainly motivated you. ‘A praise kink,’ Medic thought to himself. ‘This will be fun.’

“Do you like it when I call you good?” You would have nodded if you weren’t otherwise occupied. In fact, you were so wrapped up in your current task that you barely heard him. He didn’t seem to need any further confirmation though. Medic weaved his fingers into your hair until he had a tight grip close to your scalp. “Let’s see just how good you can be for me then. I want to feel your throat tighten around me.”

He pushed you further down onto his cock. Every move was gentle and gradual. Medic paid attention to your reactions, pausing whenever he felt you gag, letting you adjust until eventually you managed to take him as deep as he hoped for. You were held there, breathing slowly through your nose as you felt his cock press into your throat. Your tongue continued to massage the underside of his cock.

“Sheiße,” Medic cursed softly. His grip on your hair loosened, and you took the opportunity to start bobbing your head again. Only now, you could take him to the hilt on your own accord. Instantly he was gripping the edge of the operating table in a white knuckled grasp. “Oh gott, liebling! That’s so good!” He was panting, and you loved it. Every sound that came out of him was breathy and high pitched, almost sounding more akin to whimpers than moans. “You’re doing so well, meine gutes mädchen, my good girl!”

Of course the praise wasn’t about to let up. You moaned around his cock, doubling your efforts. You were a good girl, you were his good girl, and you wanted to prove it with every fiber of your being. For a moment, you thought you could be content to simply bring him to completion right there, your own pleasure be damned, but it seemed like Medic had other plans. You felt a harsh tug on your hair, pulling you off of his cock. You gasped, the sound quickly turning into a whine.

“Sorry, liebchen, but with the way you were moaning…” He paused for a breath. Medic’s expression was pained, as if he didn’t want to make you stop, but forced himself to. “I was getting much too close, and I still want a chance to fuck you properly.”

You immediately jumped at that, almost literally, as you hoisted yourself back up onto the table with surprising speed. The metal had gone cold, cold enough that you felt it through your clothing, causing you to shiver. Speaking of clothing, you were still wearing far too much of it. At least that’s what Medic seemed to think. He quickly stripped you of your pants and underwear, only allowing your top to remain, to ward off the chill of the metal.

Medic took in the sight of you slowly, relishing every detail. Your legs were spread wide and inviting. Oh, you were positively soaked. He ran a finger over your sex and it came back wet and shining. The gesture left you shuddering. It seemed you were sensitive to even the smallest touch. This was going to be fun.

“Please, please fuck me!” you whined.

“You can’t withstand a little teasing, liebchen?” Medic laughed, letting his hands caress your inner thighs, so tantalizingly close to where you wanted to be touched, but just out of reach. “Don’t worry, you’ll have what you want, but first, beg for me properly.”

“Bitte!” you cried, recalling your earlier lessons. “Bitte, Medic!”

“You remembered! Very good.” He dragged you forward to the edge of the table, sliding his cock against you, past your entrance and up to your clit. So close, so agonizingly close. “Now let’s add some new vocabulary. Say, ‘bitte, fick mich.’”

“Bitte! Fick mich!” You didn’t hesitate like before. There was no need to speak slowly and sound out words. Desperation apparently did wonders for your pronunciation.

“Perfekt.”

Medic’s cock was coated in your arousal, twitching against you. He was just as needy as you were, he was just better at hiding it, but there was no need to resist anymore. In one quick thrust, Medic lets you feel every inch of him. The noise you made was animalistic. You clung onto his arm, pulling at the sleeves of the white coat that he still wore. You didn’t even mind- the uniform was starting to become part of the appeal.

He groaned, thrusting slowly, savoring the feeling of your warmth around him. You watched, enraptured by the way he buried himself within you. “So good,” he muttered. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “Is it good for you too, meine liebe?”

Medic stroked your cheek gently, his gaze softening. “It feels good. Fuck, Medic! Please fuck me harder!” you gasped, bucking your hips uselessly.

That moment of gentleness faded as soon as it arrived. Medic gripped the edge of the table for leverage as he fucked you against it. The metal creaked beneath the barrage, but it wouldn’t give away. This table was built to hold the likes of Heavy, there was no way it would buckle. Any other surface very well might have, though.

“I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time,” Medic groaned, his voice low and his breathing heavy. Even now, he tried to take in every feature, committing the image of you taking him so nicely to memory. Everything from the gentle bounce of your chest to the way you bit your lower lip in a vain attempt to smother your own moans would be a detail he could call upon during lonely nights. “If only I knew sooner that you were so smitten with something as simple as my voice.”

Suddenly, his grip shifted to your waist, pulling you forward to meet his thrusts. You keened, feeling him drive deeper into you. He rocked his hips against yours, letting you grind and adjust to the newfound depth.

“Medic,” you began, struggling to catch your breath enough to speak. “Medic, I want- oh fuck!”

“What is it, liebchen?” He paused, letting you regain enough composure to speak. “Go on, tell me what you need.”

“Just keep speaking to me, please, until I come,” you pleaded.

“What would you like to speak about?” He asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Anything,” you said, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “And could you maybe do it in German?”

“Natürlich, kleine Taube. Ich glaube, du willst es härter, ja?” Now unable to understand him, the ferocious pace you were subjected to came without warning. You held onto the edges of the table, feeling the metal dig into your fingers as your grip tightened. Medic’s fingers pressed into the softness of your waist. You gasped when his nails dug in as well, adding a delightfully painful edge to the pleasure. “Das gefällt dir, nicht wahr?”

The pain was gone almost as suddenly as it began. You whined, unable to hide how much you had enjoyed the rougher treatment. It wasn’t long before you got another taste. Medic’s hands moved down to your ass, his nails leaving little crescent shaped indents in the supple flesh there as well. You were starting to pant, mouth agape and gasping as he suddenly lifted your hips upward.

“Gott, du hast so einen schönen Arsch. Das nächste Mal sollte ich dich von hinten nehmen.” This new angle proved to be very effective. You were much louder like this, his cock hitting all the right spots. Medic knew that if he were to simply touch your clit right now, you would be coming for him in seconds. However he wasn’t ready for this to end just yet.

Your moans were music to his ears. Should any of his fellow mercenaries pass by the infirmary right now, it wouldn’t be hard to determine just what was happening. The thought managed to rouse some envy in Medic. Your sweet sounds were for him alone. Perhaps it would be better to quiet you down for now. Leaning down, he pressed his lips roughly to yours, muffling your noises. You still whimpered between kisses, but they were soft and subtle, just barely loud enough to reach his ears.

“Magst du es, wenn ich dich küsse? Soll ich weitermachen?” he murmured, stealing another soul reaping kiss. This was quite liberating, being able to say whatever he wanted to you, only to watch you melt at the sound of it every time. “Du musst nicht antworten. Es ist für mich offensichtlich.”

You rolled your hips to meet his. He felt the way your muscles flexed under his hands, and he knew you were close. You whimpered and gasped, haphazardly bucking against him, chasing the last bit of sensation that would tip you over the edge. Your expression was a beautiful mix of desperate frustration and overwhelming pleasure. It was a sight that brought Medic dangerously close to losing control. Realizing he was reaching his limit, he finally showed you some mercy, knowing that the look on your face when you came would far outweigh anything he had yet seen.

“Komm für mich,” he groaned. One hand splayed out on your lower stomach, his thumb reached down to rub quick circles over your clit. You may not have known German, but you could most certainly infer what that meant. You shuddered, back arching, letting out a harsh sounding moan as your orgasm overtook you. “Du fühlst dich so gut an. Ich komme- scheiße!”

Now that you had reached your peak, Medic’s inhibitions seemed to be gone. He chased his own climax, thrusting into you roughly and unevenly. When he finally went still, you had practically gone limp beneath him, overstimulated and teary eyed. When he came you could have sworn he was even louder than you were. You almost wondered if he was playing it up, given your affinity for his voice, but on the other hand, Medic was loud and proud in most situations. It would only make sense that he was a bit of a screamer himself.

When he finally came down from his high he noticed how you were trembling. It was clear that your body was overwhelmed. A few tears managed to spill down your cheeks, even as a blissed out smile remained on your face. You probably didn’t even realize you were crying. Medic withdrew carefully, making an apologetic sound when you whimpered at the sensation.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he said, stating the obvious. Medic observed you for a moment, making sure you were alright, before you suddenly found yourself being hoisted against his chest. You wrapped your legs around his waist for stability as he lifted you off the table and carried you towards an offshoot of the infirmary. Before you could ask where he was going, or how the hell he had the strength left to carry you like this, Medic opened the door to reveal a small, but cozy room. This was clearly his personal quarters. It made sense that it would be part of the infirmary.

“Why are we here?” you asked. Your words were soft, as if raising your voice above a whisper might shatter the pleasant afterglow that had began to settle over you.

“It is quite late. The least I could do is let you stay the night.” Medic laid you down on the surprisingly plush mattress. This was luxury compared to your barracks. You stretched out before burrowing into the blankets letting them engulf you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For all of this. That was so good.”

“I had fun as well, mein Täubchen.”

That pet name was new. He had used it a few times tonight, but only now did it pique your interest. “What does that mean?” you asked.

Medic smiled softly. “My dove.”

“Oh,” you said, too flustered to say much else. Being compared to one of his beloved pets felt nice. It made you feel delicate, like something to be cared for.

“You blush so easily!” Medic said with pure glee. You almost expected him to pinch your cheeks. “I will definitely enjoy this side of you, liebe, so easy to tease!

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, trying to brush it off, even though you knew your face was practically glowing with the flush that you were sporting. “Maybe we can do more tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”

“Of course. This was quite an eventful day.” Medic kissed your forehead, an oddly tender gesture after all the rough treatment. “Get some rest. I will join you once I’ve cleaned up in the infirmary.”

Medic left and you closed your eyes. When he returned just a few minutes later you were already asleep, snoring softly in your sanctuary of pillows and blankets. He had never seen you so relaxed before. You murmured something unintelligible when Medic slipped under the covers beside you, whispering for you to go back to sleep as he draped an arm over you, feeling your body press closely against his in the peaceful darkness.

[theroyalthornoliachronicles]

Advent Calendar 2023, Day X and XVII: Tenues d'hiver pour enfants

SURPRISE!

I told you it would be worth the wait!

I know there are few dates where I've been behind. But I thank you for your patience. Working 13 hours a day six days a week on top of being super sick, and then staying up into the late hours to make sure posts went out has been quite a lot for me. But things are coming!

I'm finally able to release the gifts that were due the last two Sundays (Dec 10 and 17th)! There were last minute drama's for each of them, but they are now fit and ready to go!

A huge thank you once again to @historicalfictionsims for her help in converting the dress from an adult frame to a child frame. Many may remember the dress in my previous advent calendar, as it was worn on one of my deco sims, but the dress was too broken and I didn't have any knowledge of how to fix it at the time. So with her help I was able to finally make this dress functional! And of course a huge thank you to @buzzardly28 as well for helping with all the clipping issues! We did it! <3

Robe d'hiver d'Odile

A conversion of @batsfromwesteros Elisabeth Winter Dress from Adult to Child

100 Swatches

Suitable for Children

Tenue d'hiver d'Eugène

A Frankenmesh edit of a top from @historicalsimslife Bodacious Boy's Suit and bottoms from @peebsplays skeleton suit

100 Swatches

Suitable for Children

My TOU:

Do NOT claim as yours.

Do NOT put edits behind paywalls/early access.

Do NOT reupload my content.

Recolours are allowed, so long as you do not include the mesh and give credit where credit is due!

If you feel so kind, please tag me if you use them! Would love to see your sims! (@theroyalthornoliachronicles)!

Download (Always Free!)

Patreon | SFS | Curseforge (Odile) | Curseforge (Eugène)