#when this sonofabitch appear

[crimsonvictory]

HELP

MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags: Simon Riley x Reader, Ghost x Reader, Ghost smut

Warnings: Overstimulation, pussy!drunk Ghost, tipsy!Ghost, CONSENT IS IMPORTANT

Notes: I’ve never wrote anything about Ghost so please be kind :)

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You don’t know exactly when the troubled soldier began stopping by your barracks when the voices of the dark recesses of his mind wouldn’t quiet down.

It wasn’t uncommon. Mostly everyone in your unit was accustomed to night terrors. In a sickening way, it made you feel a bit better about yourself, knowing that you weren’t alone. Everyone had their demons. Yours had been especially bad lately.

Everyone kept to themselves. Seeing as asking for help as a sign of weakness. Typical stigma. Riley especially kept to himself, only appearing when he was needed. Although, he thought he wasn’t worth a damn.

You had been made aware of Riley a few years ago, fresh meat thrown to the wolves. You were nervous, a new environment, a new team, and you immediately noted him as a pain in the ass once you made eye contact with him.

Riley was a cocky sonofabitch. All bark and bite when necessary. He was full of snarky quips and loved smoking cigarettes. To be honest, he liked the burn of the smoke - the way it would curl around in his lungs and leave him breathless - a reality check. As if he didn’t have them every damn day of his career.

He was a mystery and liked to keep it that way. No one questioned and those who did got their asses handed to them. You didn’t work with him very often, but when you did, he watched your six, kept you safe, and you did the same for him.

He was reliable. And you tolerated him for that. That night, you had awoken with a shout, gasping for air as you fought your way out of your mind. Your sheets were drenched with sweat, clothes clinging to the small of your back, pulse loud in your ears. You took a deep couple of breaths, re-orienting yourself in the living world. Your lips were dry and parched. You groan, throwing your covers off of your body and looking at the clock through bleary eyes.

2:27AM

You slid to the edge of your bunk, bare feet pressing into the cool floor. Standing up, you padded over to your door and snuck down the hallway into the kitchen. There, you grabbed a glass of water and a cigarette.

As far as you knew, no one knew you smoked - not your proudest habit. But when you dealt with the scum of the earth for your daily job, a cigarette wasn’t that bad in your opinion.

You chugged your glass of water before lighting your cigarette. Not wanting the smoke to fill the room, you open up one of the windows. You take a drag, inhaling the smoke into your lungs and holding it for a good twenty seconds before exhaling; watching the smoke slowly spiral out the screen in the window.

“Fancy a share?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, whirling around quickly and squinting in the direction of the voice. Your eyes are darting back and forth, trying to adjust to the darkness.

A tall, looming figure steps out of the shadows.

Riley.

“You fucking scared me!” you whisper-shout.

A shrug for a reply.

“You gonna share or not?” he asks again, a smirk in his voice.

You roll your eyes, holding out the cigarette and flicking ashes in his direction. He steps up closer to you, taking the rolled tobacco from your fingers. You turn away, giving him his privacy.

No one has ever seen Riley without a mask. Ever. No one questions it.

He takes a few puffs, blowing the smoke out and through his mask. The cigarette is passed back and forth between you two until it is nothing but ash. No talking, just silence. It’s comfortable.

You put the cigarette in the ashtray, grab a glass of water, and nod goodbye. One is returned to you.

Walking back down the hallway, you make it to your door and slip back inside. You know you are not able to go back to sleep, so you wash your face with cold water, brush your teeth, and fluff your blankets.

You lie on your bed, enjoying the cool night air that is cooling the sweat on your skin. Although you are not going back to sleep, you close your eyes. A smile spreads across your face, enjoying the moment that happened in the kitchen not too long ago.

Riley was a mystery card. He was starting to grow on you though. You were naturally curious about what he looked like. The only part of him you had seen were his eyes. They changed, sometimes dark and stormy, a cloud of black swirling in with the amber - usually after a mission - processing the day's work. Sometimes, when the sun would hit them, they looked like molten honey, flecks of gold peeking through.

A knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts.

You sit up warily, throwing your legs on the side of the bed and placing your feet on the floor. Walking over to the door, you stifle a yawn. You unlock the door and your eyes widen when you see him.

Riley.

Your brows scrunch in confusion. As you’re about to ask, he cuts to the chase.

“Can I come in?”

You’re taken aback, mind-reeling. Why in the world would your lieutenant want to come into your room? Had you done something wrong? You blink a couple of times, widening the opening in the door and stepping back.

He takes the opportunity, squeezing in through the opening of the door. He’s fucking huge, filling up your entire doorframe. You take a step back behind him before closing the door. Still trying to process, you turn back around. He’s looking around your room, silent and stoic.

You clear your throat, grabbing his attention. He’s standing there awkwardly, a bit like he has regretted his decision in coming down here.

“‘S Nice,” he murmurs, accent thick.

You hum, nodding in agreement. Your room was one place you wanted to feel safe in at the end of the day.

The silence is awkward now, not like the comfortable one you had shared earlier. You hadn’t really taken a look at him earlier, so now you do. He’s wearing black sweats that sit low on his waist and a form-fitting black t-shirt.

He looks good.

This is the least amount of clothing you’ve ever seen him in. You have never thought of him in that way. Your job was too stressful, too busy - and the fact that he was your superior was another daunting if.

You hadn’t noticed his eyes on you. You snap out of your reverie, only to find him staring at you. Your heart lurches, meeting his gaze. A predator and prey. You swallow a gasp as he lurks towards you.

His eyes are dark, troubled. You can see the pain in them as he gets closer. The white of his mask contrasted with the darkness swirling in his irises.

“L-Lieutenant?” you whisper, stepping back towards the door.

He’s silent, stalking forward until you are pressed against the cool, metal door. Your gut lurches, telling you that this was a mistake. Your heartbeat quickens and your mouth goes dry.

Why did you, not even second guess on letting him in?

He towers over you, leaning an arm above your head and resting on it. He’s close now, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You’re breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with panic. Your throat is constricting, and a cold sweat forming on your skin. The heat radiating between your two bodies is almost unbearable.

You don’t know what to expect from him. Riley is not predictable, which is what makes him such a force in the field. Your mind goes to a dark place involuntarily - a part of the job, prepare for the worst. You close your eyes, you can’t look him in the eye, not right now.

It’s embarrassing how affected you are. You try to calm your breathing. This cannot be real. You’re panicking, spiraling, letting the inky tendrils of despair grab you tight and pull you down into the depths.

“Look at me,” his voice is as clear as a bell, you oblige and open your eyes.

He’s looking down at you, and his eyes have softened a bit, could that be - concern?

You clear your throat, embarrassment flushing from your ears down your neck. He was never going to let you live this down. He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your gaze up to meet him.

“Breathe,” he whispers, petting your chin with his forefinger.

His hands are covered with his signature gloves, hands that have killed in cold blood, hands that had you in between them. Your breathing starts to slow, you close your eyes for a moment before opening them again, peering up through your lashes at the man before you.

“Fucking Christ,” he curses, turning his head away for a moment.

He turns back to you, his eyes have darkened again. But this time, it’s something different - his pupils are blown wide - desire. His eyes are nearly black with lust. Your stomach flips, confused about all the signals you were getting.

“I need help,” he comments, looking up towards the sky. “Lord forgive me.”

Riley was not a religious man. You find it a bit funny. A smile threatens to break out on your lips. You are watching him silently, your teeth tugging on your bottom lip. He meets your gaze again before asking,

“Would you oppose me on my knees?”

Your brain short circuits, not fully understanding what he is asking. You are sleep deprived, still in shock that he was even in your bunk. You blink, looking up at him. Your mouth opens to ask,

“What are you askin’ me, Riley?”

He sighs a heavy, tired thing. He’s exhausted.

“I fancy your taste,” he slurs a bit. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about that little cunt of yours.”

Your mouth drops open, shock clearly evident on your face. You cannot even begin to wrap your mind around what he has just said. He doesn’t even give you a chance, just drops to his knees in front of you. He looks up through his lashes, eyes sparkling with desire.

“You gonna deny a man who is on his knees for you?”

Oh fuck.

Warmth spreads involuntarily down to your clothed pussy. You choke out a gasp. He looks so fucking pretty like this. Your mouth opens and closes and he just sits there, silent, waiting for your okay. How drunk was he? Would he even remember coming down here? Oh, you did not want to take advantage of him.

“L-Lieutenant-“ you start.

“Please,” he begs, almost a fucking whimper. It’s pathetic.

How could you tell him no? He was asking so nicely. You had been single for so long, and hadn’t had an orgasm in God knows how long. Your panties were already soaked. Fuck.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He’s on you immediately, grabbing your legs and yanking you forward. You yelp, stumbling closer to him. Riley quickly removes his gloves and steadies you by placing a hand on the back of your thigh. He slides it across and loops back near your inner thigh, grabbing a hold of you. No going back now. You steady yourself, not really sure where to put your hands.

He taps your right thigh and then taps his shoulder, wanting you to set the hinge of your knee over it. You oblige, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. He leans forwards, up towards your core and fucking inhales, taking in your scent. You whine, squeezing his shoulder.

He rolls the bottom of his balaclava up, exposing his mouth before placing kisses along your inner thighs. His lips are soft, you feel a scar on his upper lip. He licks a stripe of your skin, tasting you. A low hum comes from him, pleased with your taste. You are burning hot with a flush, it spreading from your ears and down your chest. Your body is arching into his touch, desperate for any attention.

You wish you could run your hands through his hair. You pet the top of his head gently, a repeated motion to soothe your nerves. Riley reaches up into your sleep shorts, tracing your folds through your underwear, Your knees nearly buckle and he tightens his grip on you. His bare hands feel good on your skin, erupting goosebumps along your thighs.

His index finger loops around the bottom of your panties and pulls them to the side, exposing your dripping folds.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Look how wet you are.”

You blush again, turning your head away in embarrassment. He leans up, making his tongue flat and licking a stripe up your folds. You gasp at the sensation. He repeats this again, getting your taste ingrained on his tongue.

“O-Oh,” you gasp, loving the feeling of him exploring the most sensitive part of you.

He growls, tightening his grip and picking up the pace, swirling figure eights through your folds and around your clit. It feels so good. Your chest is heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. He’s like a man starved, lapping at your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You are making an absolute mess, dripping down his chin and onto the front of his shirt. It’s taking everything in you to keep quiet, biting back your moans into your hand. You involuntarily grind down against his face and he goes fucking feral.

“Fuuuuuck yes, use my fucking face,” he grunts out in-between devotions to your cunt.

You are near tears, it’s so overwhelming but in such a pleasant way. You have never ever received pleasure like this. He was fucking devoted to you, making sure to milk every last drop.

The noises his mouth and your pussy had been creating were obscene. The smell of your arousal had filled the room and you didn’t even care. He was thriving on it. Your first orgasm was approaching, white-hot pleasure building in your lower stomach and taking you by surprise. Your knees start to buckle as it sweeps over your body, Riley not even stopping as your brain goes into overwhelming pleasure.

You cry out his name, sobbing around his tongue in your folds.

“S-Simon!”

It’s fucking euphoric, your body floats up, up, up, and then comes back down to reality. You slam back into your body, aware that Simon is still continuing his ministrations. You gasp at the overstimulation, pushing his head until he finally pulls away.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything prettier.

Simon, on his knees, absolutely drunk off of your pussy. His pupils are blown so wide that his irises are completely black. He’s not even here with you, he’s fucking gone. Your slick is painted on his lips and down his chin. His chest is heaving.

He makes eye contact with you, licking his lips and sliding his hand down to adjust himself. He’s nearly straining through his sweatpants, erection ever so present. Such a people pleaser.

You moan at the sight of him.

“I’m not done with you yet.” he drawls, getting up onto his feet and towering over you again.

You blush, line of sight dropping down to your feet. His finger tilts your head up, bringing your lips mere inches from his.

“Have a taste,” he whispers before crashing your lips together.

He’s overwhelming, a clashing of teeth and tongue as he explores your mouth, not wanting any part to go untasted. You moan, tasting remnants of whiskey, your shared cigarette, and your own pussy.

It makes heat flood your core again. He frames your face with his hands, exploring your mouth with his tongue. Riley leaves you absolutely breathless. He pulls away suddenly, putting his index and middle fingers to your lips.

“Suck,” he orders.

You oblige, taking his fingers into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, bobbing your head up and down just a bit.

He groans, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

“Good girl,” he coos, pulling his fingers from your lips with a pop.

His hands make their way down to your hips, yanking your shorts and underwear down - leaving your bare skin vulnerable. You shiver, scooting closer to the man before you. He flips you around, walking you back until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sit and then lay back against your plush pillows.

He follows suit, laying on his left side. His arm snakes its way behind your head, providing a cushion. So caring, you think. The other trails its way down to your folds. He swipes his fingers through your slick, repeating this a few times before sliding back up and grabbing the bottom of your inner thigh. He yanks in an upwards motion, pulling your legs open for him. You spread them wide for him, nervous about his next move.

His fingers trail down, down, down to your entrance. He slides a finger inside and you gasp, the feeling unusual. He starts slow, picking up the pace when he feels you relax for him. You’re a hot mess, moaning around his long fingers. He’s got two into you now, scissoring and thrusting your walls open. You’re a writhing mess, wanting him in every part of your body.

He curls his fingers in a “come here” motion, finding that spongey spot that makes you see stars.

“Oh, fuck Simon.” you gasp, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He chuckles, slowing his thrusts down. You whine, lip pouting out in disappointment.

“We’ve got all night, little one,” he says sneakily, dragging your second orgasm out of you.

It’s shorter than the second but more intense. It punches you in the gut, taking your breath away from you. You cry out, sobbing around his fingers. You sink down on them, milking your own pleasure. You’re gasping for air, slowing down as your pleasure settles.

You’re already exhausted, your body feeling satiated from your pleasure. Simon slinks down in between your legs, laying on his stomach. A whine leaves your body, he’s insatiable, ready to please you again.

“S-Simon,” you weakly protest.

His gaze catches yours, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. He keeps eye contact with you as he slides his tongue up and down your folds before thrusting it inside of you. You clamp around his tongue, sobbing softly.

He thrusts in and out of your hole, lapping up your juices willingly. Not a drop wasted. You feel movement at the end of the bed and notice he is getting himself off by pleasuring you. He’s thrusting against the bed, groaning into your pussy. You hear his words of praise mix with the sloppiness of his mouth.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.”

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Atta’ girl.”

You sob, thrusting your cunt into his awaiting mouth. You’re fucking addicted to him. He willingly takes everything you give him. You hear him choke out a moan, hips stuttering into the mattress.

It sends you over the edge and you come again. Sobbing while you try to pull away and thrust into his tongue at the same time. You are in pure bliss, completely satiated. It takes a moment before you come back, you barely hear his words.

“One more, just one more for me sweet girl,”

You let him take from you. You give, give, give until you can’t anymore. Your body is spent, satisfied, and oh so loved. He spends hours worshipping your body. When you physically cannot give anymore, he cleans you up, tucks you into bed, gives you a kiss on the forehead, and slips out of your room.

When you wake the next morning, you are so sore, but there is no regret at all. You sit up, stretching and letting out a soft groan. You look over to your bedside table. There is a glass of water and a cigarette. You smile.

The next time he visits, you’re more than happy to help.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

"Are you asleep back there?"

The response at first was just the rustling of fabric as Daryl shifted in the back seat of the SUV the two of you were hiding from the storm in. The rain had slowed and was now just a soft pitter patter on the roof. "If I was, I wouldn't be anymore, would I?"

Your face appeared between the two front seats, peering back at him. "Right... Sorry. I just—I can't sleep."

Daryl sighed and sat up, stretching his tall frame as much as he could in the cramped space. "Yeah, me neither," he drawled.

"It's kind of funny, isn't it? Us being run partners now," you said.

Daryl rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his mouth and chin. "What d'ya mean by 'funny'?"

This drew a small laugh from you and you paused thoughtfully. "Um—I guess, just compared to how things used to be."

Daryl hummed a vague acknowledgement and stared down at his hands. He still always felt a bit sick at the memory of how things had been between the two of you, though he couldn't say he completely blamed you alone. He hadn't helped his own case much in the beginning.

There was a moment of silence that felt suddenly thick. You sounded a bit guilty when you spoke again, still leaning toward him with your chin resting on your hand on the seat. "I—I used to hate you, you know... Well, hate is probably too strong a word. Really dislike."

Daryl's blue eyes shot up to meet yours and you found them, to your own anxiety, unreadable. "Yeah. I know," he drawled.

"I thought you were pigheaded and brash and immature and insensitive—"

He laughed a little dryly. "Easy now, ya know I can't take compliments well."

You gave him a sympathetic look. "—and I wrongly assumed that the way Merle was, that you'd be too."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "Ya mean a racist sonofabitch?"

"And sexist..." you explained apologetically. Daryl nodded knowingly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed so much."

"S'alrigh'. To be fair, back then I was pretty much angry, insensitive, and stubborn."

"We were practically kids," you said. "Anyway, do you know how I feel about you now?" you asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Darryl's eyes met yours again in the dim glow of the lantern hanging from the hanger hook above and he shook his head. "No. Not really."

You got that damn smile on your face then, the half-smile that still touched your eyes and sent them sparking. "Do you want to?"

Daryl's brow furrowed. "Is this some kinda trick question? Who the hell goes around just tellin' people what exactly they actually think 'bout 'em?"

You laughed and shrugged. "Me, I guess." You only paused for another moment. "Now? You're my favorite. Period."

Daryl gulped and thanked the universe that it was dark in there so you wouldn't see the red flush that he was sure accompanied the heat he felt in his ears and face, spilling out from his chest.

Prompt: "I used to hate you, you know." / "Yeah, I know." / "Do you know how I feel about you now?" / "No. Not really."

[misguidedasgardian]

Wildcats (Part XXI)

XXI. AC/DC

MASTERLIST

Summary: Stands for…  Account all Casualties in the District of Columbia 

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, shots, injures, wa talk, ptsd, might miss some important warnings!

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: ALRIGHT! we might come back across with the military ninja!

Daryl’s face appeared in your eyesight as he called your name

“Hey! HEY! look at me!”, he demanded, but you only got to grunt. The impact had been tough, your ears were ringing and your body started to resent the fall. luckily you didn’t smash your head in, having been trained to prevent it. Muscle memory was incredible, considering. Your entire shoulder felt like it was on fire, spreading up and down your arm. 

“Fuck it hurts”, you heard your team shouting, shots being fired, as Daryl grabbed you and pushed you against the vehicle so you’d be away from the eyeshot of whomever has fired that shot

“Ya alright?”, you could see the panic in his face, he slapped your cheek softly, “stay with me”

“I’m fine”, you whispered, “considering, ugh!”, the pain came and went in waves, grabbing you tightly. He looked positively horrified, “I swear, I’m good”, you said as you looked at the wound, at least you were not going to bleed to death, it didn’t look like it at least.

Rosita ran towards you, filled closely by Eugene and Abraham

“HERE!”, she said, grabbing huge patches you had grabbed from the pharmacy, she pulled your shirt and pressed it and stuck it to the front and back of your wound making you whine in pain. “It went trough, it’s fine”

“Yeah it feels fine”, you whined

“It looks like it is just one guy”, muttered Daryl as you could still hear shots being fired. 

“Abraham and Eugene?”, you asked. Daryl turned to see the scene and then turned back to you

“They’re in the armored vehicle, Rosita covered them, they’re fine!”, he said. 

But Abraham decided to take matters into his own hands, shooting towards the building where the shot that got you came from

“There is only one shooter in the building in our backs”, said Rosita, “or that is what it looks like”

“We can take it”, you said

“No”, said Daryl angrily, “your little experiment is over”

“We need to take cover!”, said Rosita, “that building is our best shot”, the other was too far away, the entire esplanade ahead, you’d be sitting ducks even if you ran for it.

“Let’s do it”, you said, “let’s make the run”, and you stood up on shaky legs and you ran. Abraham and Eugene ran too with you, shots were being fired towards you, you could hear them landing on the floor, and soon, you were in the safety of the lobby. 

Abraham came straight to check out your shoulder.

“Taking it like a champ”, he admitted with a proud smile, “you are gonna be fine”

“Fine? this is a goddam war zone!”, said Daryl

“There is only one shooter”, said Abraham

“The one that shot me”, you whined

“Let’s fuck him up!”, said Abraham, who was… freakishly ready to “fuck someone up”, that being a walker or an enemy

“It is impossible to know the exact numbers of armed people sitting above us in this building”, said Eugene nervously, “our best shot is to go on and take the HUMVEE and the wagon and ran for it”

But you had to do something, this was some sort of desperate attempt, and by the looks of it, it did seem like it was only one shooter.

Abraham went first, he ran towards the set of marble stairs that went into the rest of the floors, you followed closely, you tried to keep your arm as attached to your side as you could, still feeling an intense pain whenever you moved it. But you had not even taken the first step when the big ginger man seemed to trip with something.

“What was that?”, he asked

“LOOK OUT!”, you screamed as a huge log came swinging down. You couldn’t stop it, the thing caught the five of you and threw you on your asses. 

“A fucking booby trap?”, Rosita cursed

“Is anybody hurt?”, you asked

“Imma kill that sonofabitch”, grumbled Daryl. This looked like something caught out of a cartoon, “Ya stay ‘ere!”, Daryl was losing his patience, but he was about to lose it even more

“Hell no”, you said angrily, especially once you looked outside and ten walkers had gathered there. 

“Dammit woman!”, Daryl was angry, you could tell, but the mission was still on as Rosita cut down the huge log and you were able to keep going

“Beware of more traps”, you called, Daryl stuck to your side, his hand on your lower back instead of his crossbow. You turned to him, to look him in the eyes, “you promised me”, you whispered to him

“Ya got shot”, he said

“You promised”, you said, he nodded, so you kept going, as Abraham took the front, he was guarding your six, you felt his presence behind you like he was a wall, it was weirdly comfortable. You scouted the second floor, nothing, this was an office building, and even with all the mess that was going on, you managed to read “Office of Veterans affairs” on the outside. You couldn’t move your left arm or shoulder, so you were content with grabbing your gun with your right hand and dealing with whatever’s coming this way. 

The huge log wasn’t the only boobytrap you encountered, the others were equally laughable, buckets falling from the ceiling, invisible cables on the floors making you trip. These were traps for walkers, not people, or you’d come to that conclusion, because even if they made you trip, at least they weren’t lethal.

“Ya’ think there is only one f’them?”, asked Daryl. Abraham seemed to think about it, and then he nodded. A new wave of pain hit your shoulder and arm, and you had to cover your mouth to stifle a whine. Daryl seemed to notice

“We need to move”, said Rosita, “so we can patch her up completely”, she said whispering to him, like you weren’t even there.

Daryl opened the first door, to find an empty office

“Here, now”, and you accepted, because you would be putting them in danger if you kept going, they were going to be concerned for you instead of doing what they had to do.

“I’ll stay with her”, offered Eugene

“Ya keep ‘er safe!”, demanded Daryl handing him a gun, and you knew you were doomed, if anybody was going to be protecting anybody it was going to be you. And they left down the hall.

If there is only one of them and three of us, I like those numbers”, you muttered

“Due to the context in which we find ourselves in, and due to what’s been happening in the last 24 hours including you and Rosita being assaulted by a ninja and then Abrahan getting caught on a regular trap you’d think that what we are dealing with, is a professional soldier”

“What?”, you whined, “Eugene sometimes you make me turn off my english”, he cleared his throat 

“You noticed we are in the department of veterans affairs”, he said quickly, “this is a military man, clearly”

“You say it’s the same guy? the one who attacked us yesterday and the one of the traps on the street?”

“Or he’s got buddies”, he said severely, and it made sense, the same kinds of traps… nothing lethal…

“Eugene…”, you asked him, he hummed affirmatively, “did I bring everyone to a dumb mission, where we are likely going to die?”

“Negative”, he said, “I think you had prove yourself to be a competent leader”

“That does make me feel better”, you whispered, “only if they all come back safely”

“You are the one that got shot”, he offered

“Yeah, luckily”, you mumbled. “Lucky if it was me, and not anybody else”, you whined, “but Daryl is pissed at me”, you mumbled

“He’ll get over it”, he said simply. “His attitude is due to the fact that he is irrevocably… heads over heels for you”

“What?”, you asked him

“He is only acting like that because he loves you, and you just got shot”, he said. You stopped your movements

“What did you say?”, you heard steps in the hallway, quick steps, only one person. You unlocked the gun in your hands, expecting the worst.

They barely got up one floor and hell broke loose. They advanced through an empty hallway when they heard a thumb behind them, when they turned it was too late. He was there, the man in the mask.

He pushed Rosita first and then came at Daryl, who was pointing his crossbow, but the man moved so quickly he lost the first shot and couldn’t recharge until he came crashing down on him.

Abraham couldn’t fire his gun, he was too close to his friends, so the best he could do was go ahead and beat the stranger up… or at least try to.

But he beat them up.

Again he was not carrying any guns, but one wooden weapon he used to beat the crap out of the three of them, and then, he ran out down the hallway. They followed, reloading their weapons and angry as hell, the three of them just sprinted down the corridor, and down the hall were just double doors open. There weren’t any other places to hide, so they entered the huge space, that could be a massive conference room, and then both doors closed behind them, locking them in.

“Cabrón!” 

They tried everything to open those doors up, all of it, gunning it down, kicking them, pushing it, but nothing seemed to work out, they were about to try and push Rosita up towards the vents, as that is how he managed to sneak past them the first time, when you opened the door from the outside. Behind you, was Eugene.

“C’mon, let’s go!”, you said quickly

“What the hell happened?”, asked Daryl

“You heard someone ran pass the office, didn’t know we were there, so I knew it was him, but didn't take the risk to get to him”

“You did well”, said Abraham

“We need to get the hell out of here, if a couple of us cover us we can take the vehicle, and just go”, you said, thinking things through

“If this guy is a soldier, he knows weapons, he probably has some”, said Abraham. 

“Yeah, what if he uses them against us?”, you asked back, “he could have blown our heads off, we were out there like sitting ducks… but he didn’t, I think we should take that change and bolt”

“We are already here”, said Abraham

“I don’t want anybody to get hurt”, you said back

“We should move forwards”, said Rosita, “we need the firepower, always will”, you took a long breath, it looked like it was five against one, right? well, three and a half against one, but still.

“Fine” you said, more calm now that they wanted to go ahead with it.

“I’m starting to think I should have stayed in Alexandria”, muttered Eugene

“Shut the hell up!”, mumbled Daryl

So you moved forwards, in formation, the five of you, you behind Daryl, and Eugene behind Abraham, Rosita in the middle. 

“Watch the vents!”, said Daryl, his eyes looking through his crossbow. “that's how he sneaks on us”

Hunting this guy didn’t seem like the right thing to do, but you did it anyway, if he could get to you out there in the shopping mall, and on the street, he could get you wherever. 

You searched room by room, but there was no sign of him anywhere, you were on the very last floor when you felt confident enough to separate, Rosita, Eugene and you checked one of the last rooms on the hallway, and the boys on the other. 

This room had a collection. Someone was living in here, it had a cot in one corner, guns posted against the window where he probably shot you from, it had food and bottled water… 

You then looked at the corner of the room, and to your complete surprise, you saw the same box you had gathered at the mall, filled to the brim with Pork ribs Ramen

“He is…!”, you turned around to meet Rosita, but she had a knife to her throat, the man was holding her tightly against him, his face covered by the mask you saw

“Easy”, he said calmly, you surrendered all your weapons, Abraham and Daryl entered the room and the guy move so his back was to the window, using Rosita as a shield

“Drop them”, he asked calmly, and Daryl and Abraham dropped their weapons quickly, “now explain to me, what kinds of psychopaths just enter a building where they are clearly not welcomed at?”, he asked.

“You are the sicko who attacked us!”, you said angrily, pointing at the box. \

“Yeah, you were taking all the ramen”, he said simply

“Look, we don’t want anybody to get hurt”, you said slowly

“This seems to want to”, he said, looking at Daryl, who froze, he was reaching for his gun on his back, “I don’t want to hurt this miss here, but if that’s how he wants to play it!”, he moved his arm with the knife and you screamed at him to stop

“NO! WE WILL LEAVE!”, you said quickly

“Drop the gun”, he said to Daryl and he obeyed. “Now step back three paces”, and they all did, and he released Rosita, just like that, putting his arms up. You all relaxed your stances 

“I’m Alexander Price, an army veteran, did some tours in Afghanistan”, he said simply. He only got in a defensive position, crossing his thick arms over his chest. This is the first time, in movies and real life, that that kind of exchange goes somewhat smoothly. 

“You beat us up!”, accused Rosita, quickly realizing about the box

“Damn right I did”, he said easily, he was… very handsome, tall, broad

“You attacked two women”, Daryl threw on his face

“You said that I shouldn't have attacked them because they are women?”, he asked, frowning, “that’s a bit sexist”, he said, “I’ll attack anybody”, you couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Look if I wanted to kill you, I WOULD HAVE”, he said simply, “you came at me with guns, axes and knives, I had chucks”

“Oh yeah? Is that supposed to make us feel better?”, asked Rosita

He opened his arms, pointing at the whole room

“I have an arsenal”, he said simply, you looked around the room and you actually saw the rifle he used to shoot you, it was a .22, and it was sitting next to a big ass assault rifle that could have blown your whole upper body. Rosita seemed to notice that too, “I don’t kill the living, only the dead”, he said firmly, “and well, some fuckers, but you don’t strike me as the kind who lost their shit, and want to kill me for the fun of it, because yeah, I encountered some people like that”

“You shot ‘er!”, said Daryl, pointing at you

“You were taking my tanker!”, he said simply, “that was a warning shot! You get shot and normally you wouldn’t go after the shooter”, he said, “who the hell are you people?”, he said then, looking at you, he seemed truly concerned 

“More people send us, looking for supplies”, you said quietly, not revealing much

“Are they more of you?”, he asked

“Damn right”, said Abraham, “and they’ll come looking”, he warned, Alexander just threw his hands in the air in a defensive matter

“Look, I ain’t looking for any trouble”, he said simply, “you got into my territory, tried to steal my HUMVEE and my truck… tried to steal my ramen…”

“Hey! the ramen was fair game”, you warned 

“Enough with the damn ramen!”, said Daryl, he grabbed his weapon and pointed his crossbow at Alexander, which he didn’t seem to mind. “Are they more of ya?”, he asked. Alexander shook his head

“No I… have been alone for a while, I was trading with a group that lived on the other side of the Potomac, they were a family… but i haven’t seen them in a while…”, he said, you could tell he was sad. “You are the first people I’ve seen in a week”, he shook his head, like chasing his demons away, “How you evaded the rest of my traps is the real question”, he asked calmly

“We took refuge in the lobbies, went from building to building”, you said quickly

“That’s what I would have done”, he said, pleased, “who trained you? him?”, he asked pointing at Abraham, who was looking at him, squinting.

“A captain from the military, deployed in Atlanta”, you said softly, “I called him Mayor”

“Seems like a good man”, he said, you agreed. He took a long sigh, “I can patch you up, and you can spend the night, leave in the morning”, he said shortly, Daryl eyed the weapons, “don’t…”, he warned. Was he actually going to let you stay here? after you came at him with guns and threatened him? he barely seemed concerned at all

“We have a community”, you said loudly and quickly

“NO!”

“HELL NO!”, they all complained at the same time

You gathered, the five of you, in a corner of the room to discuss it, while Alexander there just stood there. It was kind of comical, he pretended like he didn’t care, checking his nails for dirt, or walking about looking everywhere but where you were. But he could clearly hear you

“Hear me out!”, you said, “he is a veteran, expert in weapons, and we can’t leave him here alone!”, you said

“I’m not gonna let this wacko near ya!”, said Daryl

“If he wanted to kill us, he would have”, you said, you looked at Rosita and then Eugene

“She is right”, she said

“I have to say, due to this guy’s knowledge, and training in combat, I think he would be a great addition to Alexandria…”, said Eugene, “on top of our necessity of his motorized vehicles…”

“And he’s got an arsenal”, you said then, “weapons we can use in the defense of our people”

“Rick doesn’t want anyone else”, said Daryl

“Well, you can all agree that this is a different situation”, you said quickly. “He is here alone, he’s gonna lose his head”

“Better he loses his shit here than Alexandria”, said Abraham, “that isn't our problem”

“He doesn’t strike me as a psychopath”, you said then

“She is right, we need his HUMVEE, and the cart, and we want the tanker, we need those things to carry the stuff we have to take back, and he can be an addition to the team, specially if he knows how to treat bullet wounds”, said Rosita, and her word weighted, since you both had been attacked by him.

“I can take ‘em”, muttered Daryl, looking at him

“This isn’t about that”, you said, “he has cleared this place of walkers, by himself”, you said. “a great part of downtown… we could use that, he has been in Afghanistan”

“Yeah, who knows what kind of messed up things he had goin on”, growled Abraham. But he looked at him, “but you are right, he could be an asset”, he as a military man himself.

“You vouch for him then”, Daryl said meanly, you barely nodded. Daryl then turned to him, “How many walkers have you killed?”, he asked him

“Lost count on triple digits my friend”, he said proudly, he knew what was coming, he tried not to look too excited

“How many people?”, he asked then

“Since my military days…?”

“Since the world went to shit”, said Abraham

“Just a couple of dicks who tried to take my weapons”, he said

“That’s the why”, and you had a flashback from where Carl and Rick asked you these questions, so this was it.

“Welcome to the team”, this guy’s eyes lit up and smiled

“Really?”, he seemed happy, but then he put on a proud face, “won’t let you down”, he said nodding, “where are we heading?”

Notes: you know what? I will leave you all to cast whoever you want as our new character… I will describe him as tall, broad, handsome, and in his 40’s,  then you take control, for me? it’s Jensen Ackles, mmmmm viejo sabroso

@crazyunsexycool @capricxnt

[akane171]

­­­Things about Ron Speirs that live rent free in my head

-“SPEIRS, GET YOURSELF OVER HERE!”

I don’t know what I like most about this scene. The fact Dick just furiously passed Sink and ignored his commander, because his boys were getting screwed? Speirs running to him and then without a single word sprinting to do the job? Or Nixon with his binoculars liveblogging the whole  battle? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-The change in his voice and intonation between “I’m taking over” and “First Sergeant Lipton!”.

-The church scene, when Lipton says Easy men didn’t care about the gossips… It was HILARIOUS. Like, Lip? Sweetheart? Ron scared the shit out of Christenson and some poor innocent kids in the same damned ep. I could hear Pat’s sobbing in the background during that scene, mixed with the nuns’ chorus.

-A man needs a hobby and his was trolling people. Aside of the whole “did he or did he not shot the prisoners”, he enjoyed the gossips, appearing suddenly out of nowhere, while giving creepy speeches and traumatizing people. And he did it fabulously. Legend.

-His little, millisecond pause, when we watch his back while Lipton says “Well, maybe they keep talking about it because they never heard Tercius deny it”.

-And two things about this scene. Lipton knows Speirs was trolling people and it was amusing him. And Ron’s answer “Well, maybe that’s because Tercius knew there was some value to the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest sonofabitch in the whole Roman legion” - he knows Lip knows he was trolling people and (not directly) admits it. He never did that to anyone else, what also means he really respected Lipton (gross sobbing).

-Anyway, this whole church scene is a pure love and I adore every second of it.

-He was a history nerd ;_; I’m kind of sad, we didn’t see him and Buck taking about some ancient battles in Gaul.

-He kept tabs on Easy xD how much he’s learnt from creeping in the shadows and eavesdropping – no one knows xD

-The fact real Speirs was shot in the ass on some of his solo patrols proves he was just meant to be Easy’s CO. Fucking destiny.

-His favourite sergeant was Grant (ok, ok, put the pitchforks DOWN, I said sergeant NOT lieutenant, geez).

-The fact no one called him “Sparky” in the show is a crime against humanity. But at least we got one “Ron” from Winters. Still…

-I think I read somewhere here, that he wore his helmet so low, because it was too big and… yes? Absolutely? Whoever noticed it – I bow to you.

And it reminds me all the promo pics where we have most of the characters standing together and he stands on the side, a little farer and looking awkwardly like “mom said I have to socialize more, so here I am, ugh…”.

-Also, he looks tiny compared to the other guys on many shots/pics, what is hilarious on many levels.

-I realized it after the second watch, that he not only stole cigarettes from Buck, but he offered them to the German POWs. Not his cigarettes, but the shit he stole. I don’t know why, but it’s just so super HIM xD

-I wonder when exactly Easy Company did realize that their new CO is not exactly the meanest, toughest sonofabitch in the army, but a big ass weirdo, with poor social skills, suspicious hobbies and sticky hands.

-Ep 8 look >>>>>>>>>>>>> everything else.

-The moment when Webster throws himself to the ground and Ron just stands in the background, watching the missile like it was meh (he had a personal ranking of “Things that almost killed me” and that missile was not even on the Top 10).

-“No. You don’t have any experience.” How the fuck Jones didn’t drop dead right after is beyond me. Also, A+++ acting.

-The fact is that Lipton was his social-skills-only-working-brain-cell and it’s beautiful.

-The moment Perconte asked him to give him back his lighter, I guess it was the moment Speirs knew his reputation crumbled to dust xD

-Unpopular opinion, but I don’t think Malarkey scared him on a purpose. I think it was accidentally, what for me, makes it even funnier. But the fact Don started as someone who was scared of Speirs like no one else and ended scarring him – it just warms my heart.

-And that pure annoyance on Ron’s face when Malarkey’s approaches him a second after he scared him, will never stop making me laugh. It the look could kill the bottle in Don’s hands would explode.

-On some point Lipton was sitting with his head in his hands and moaning that he was not paid enough to keep his crazy CO with suicidal tendencies alive and Luz was there-thereing him.

-All the things he's done to keep Grant alive.

-Basically, Speirs gives me a stray cat vibes and the fact he kind of, adopted Lipton and whole Easy proves it.

-And finally, the way he went from “we are all dead, just accept it” to “ok, I guess I’m going to stay in the army to keep the idiots alive (sighs)” is one of the best character developments and is so… sooo … you know? ;_;

Anyway, the thing I like the most about his character is how unexpected he is. I didn’t expect to like him so much. I didn’t expect him to change so much in such splendid way. But here I am.

We meet him in the show as  “a cold blooded soldier” stereotype and we learn in the end he was just deeply compassionate man (and a weirdo), who applied being a sociopath to be a better man of war. It just makes him very human - thanks to the fact his character was based on a real man, I guess. And that applies to all BOB’s characters.

And BIG kudos to Matthew Settle for doing such a great job and creating an iconic character. I read and watched some interviews, where he admitted he had a big problems with grasping the role, but damn, in the end he absolutely NAILED IT.

EDIT: Part II (x)

[fickle-tiction]

Hey fickle! Do you think you would be interested in doing 11 and 24 for superbat? If not that okay, hope you’re have a good day!-bookanon💚

On a rare peaceful night in, Bruce and Clark were sat on the couch together, Bruce on one end and Clark in the middle. (Bruce's ear was still stinging from where Clark had flicked it earlier, after Bruce asked if he would be faking a yawn so he could wrap his arm around his shoulders.) On screen a couple were laying in bed together, when all of a sudden the guy rolled on top of his girlfriend and began tickling her, causing her to burst into sweet laughter. Clark positively lit up as an idea stuck him.

"Hey B?"

"Hmm?"

“Can I tickle you?”

Bruce slowly turned his head, meeting Clark's hopeful smile with a frown.

" …"

"I'll take your silence as a yes."

Bruce wasn't given a chance to react. One second he was sitting on the couch with his "loving" boyfriend, and the next he was flat on his back and being crushed to death by over 200 pounds of solid muscle. "Clark!" Bruce grunted, trying to dodge Clark's attempts at grabbing a hold of his wrists.

"The fact that you're struggling this hard tells me you must be really ticklish." Clark taunted, lighting up with glee when he saw a dusting of pink appear high on Bruce's cheeks.

"That. Is. Classified Information." Bruce protested. "Shit." Clark laughed triumphantly when he got a hold of Bruce left wrist, stretching it above his head and securing it to the couch cushions with an iron grip.

"Any last words, tough guy?"

Bruce tried one last Hail Mary and used his free hand to sucker-punch Clark in the stomach. "Motherfucker." He immediately regretted his rash decision, knuckles stinging where they managed to connect just as Clark sucked his stomach in to avoid him breaking anything.

"Oh, you're going to pay for that." The smile on Clark's face was truly the stuff of nightmares.

"Can't we talk about this?" Bruce asked, unsurprised when his right arm was also pulled above his head and secured in Clark's grip.

"Sure." Clark walked his free hand down Bruce's right arm, feeling the muscles jumping beneath his skin as he slowly made his way past his armpit and down to his ribs. "You talk." He noted every spot that caused Bruce's heartrate to spike, though his expression remained unchanged. "I'll tickle."

"Clark, this is ridiculous," Bruce said, but the corners of his mouth betrayed a hint of amusement.

"Time to find out just how ticklish the Playboy Prince of Gotham really is."

Bruce couldn't even protest at the stupid nickname Clark saw in one newspaper and refused to let go of.

"Oh fuck." Bruce breathed, yanking uselessly at his arms as Clark's fingers began their dance across his stomach. It was just dumb luck that he started with Bruce's worst spot, but laughter was pouring out of him in no time.

"Bruuuuce," Clark said it in that sing-song voice that usually irritated Bruce, but he was too busy trying to burrow backward into the couch cushions to even notice. "You're supposed to be talking remember?" a quick squeeze to Bruce's side caused him to jolt and level his gaze on Clark. "I'm holding up my end of the agreement."

"You---Are--A--SOnOfABitch." Bruce broke down into deep belly laughter when Clark slipped his hand beneath his shirt and started scratching blunt nails over his bare skin.

"That's not a very nice thing to say." Clark admonished, dipping a finger into Bruce's belly button. He let out a delighted laugh when Bruce threw his head back and cackled. There really was no better word for it.

"I'm--fuck--I'm sorry." Bruce gasped out, cheeks bright red when Clark finally took pity on him and stopped vibrating his finger into his bellybutton at a slightly inhuman speed.

"Hmmm." Clark idly tapped his fingers on Bruce's ribcage as he pretended to mull something over. "No, I think you're going to have to do better than that." He then released Bruce's arms and buried his wiggling fingers into Bruce's armpits, unbothered by the arms that came flying down to try to force him out.

"I--AmGoingTo--hahaha-fucking--KihihihihihiKILLYOU!" Bruce shouted, doing his best to curl into a ball while Clark was sitting on his thighs and pinning him in place.

"The more you threaten me, the more I'm going to tickle you." Clark warned him as he easily slipped his hands out of his armpits. Bruce had 2 seconds to calm down before Clark was using one hand to squeeze at his side, while the other once more slipped beneath his shirt to gently scratch at bare skin.

"Cl-Cl-hahaha-Clark! You fu-hahaha-fucking asshole!" Bruce's knuckles were white with how tight he was clinging to Clark's wrists, but his hands might as well be pinned above his head again for all the good it was doing him.

"Oh?" Clark asked, dipping into Bruce's belly button warningly. Bruce squealed, face flushing bright red the second the sound left his mouth, and Clark took pity on him and allowed him to pull his hand out from beneath his shirt. "It's like you want me to keep tickling you."

"Shut up Clark." Bruce growled, the red flush in his cheeks racing down his neck and disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

"Wait," Clark's smile softened at the embarrassed look Bruce was now sporting. "Do you want me to tickle you?"

Bruce couldn't help the embarrassed little whimper that slipped out, shifting nervously beneath Clark's bulk. "I don't...not want you to." He mumbled looking anywhere but at Clark.

"Really?" Clark looked like Christmas, his birthday, and every holiday in between had just come early.

"If you tell anyone about this.." Gone was the embarrassed boyfriend of 5 seconds ago. That look and voice were all Batman.

"Yeah, yeah." Clark huffed, rolling his eyes fondly. "Your stash of kryptonite. My ass. Honestly, you need new threats."

Bruce looked like he was revving up for what was sure to be a chilling new way in which he could murder Clark so, naturally, Clark chose that moment to see if Bruce's neck was as ticklish as his entire torso seemed to be. Newsflash: it was worse.

[soelstress]

Going For The Gold

Pairing: Lance Tucker x female!reader

Summary: You show the God of Gymnastics what going the distance really means.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , nsfw , sex/smut, p in v sex , unprotected sex , oral sex (m & f receiving)

A/N 1 - This is my second submission for @mercurial-chuckles Smutber Fest. Thank you for extending the smut fest & apologies this is a few days late!

A/N 2 - Prompts - Once again I asked a friend to pick up to five prompts for me... and of course I was given five yet again so two stories it is 🙈 The prompts this time are mirror sex & marathon sex

A/N 3 - GIF from Hyperfixations Galore via Google Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

“Hey there gorgeous”. You prayed it was a mistake - that the greeting was not aimed at you. Or better yet, the annoyingly familiar voice did not belong to who you suspected. Surely fate was not that cruel. “I thought I recognised those pretty lips”.

Yep, fate was that cruel. A big patriotic mass plopped into the chair beside yours, ordering tequila. Subtly, you gave him a once over. Lance Tucker hadn’t changed in the year since you’d last met. Still proudly flaunting his Team USA coaching gear, his body appeared to be as toned as ever. For a moment, your gaze lingered on his face. For goodness sake couldn’t he have gotten wrinkles or something, anything to make him a little less appealing? Sonofabitch - he had eye crinkles, looking dignified as he flashed a smile at the bartender. Lusciously thick brown hair, twinkly blue eyes and pouty pink lips that were sinful with a sweet smile. Until he either smirked or opened his mouth... then you wanted to smack him. “Fuck me”. Shit, you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Gladly. My room or yours?” Lance smirked, popping a toothpick into his mouth. Your hand twitched as his lips curled. “Seriously though. What brings you here?”

Leaning back, you took a sip of your drink and watched as he leaned toward you. “Here on business. I go where I’m needed”. He nodded, remembering that you never stayed in one place too long due to your job. “What about you? Last I’d heard you ditched Amherst and flew to sunny LA with Maggie to keep rolling in those gold medals but then your star pupil became your baby mama”.

Lance's smirk faded and he leaned back into his seat, reaching for one of his tequila shots. “The baby wasn’t mine”. He eyed the golden liquid before knocking it back. “She’d been seeing someone before we flew out to LA. She only screwed me to try and claim the kid was mine. Her guy wasn’t too happy about that and told me everything. I reported that she was pregnant, she got kicked off the team and I had to deal with the fallout”.

Your stomach swooped in sympathy. Lance was a Grade A prick and the cockiest asshole you’d ever met - called himself the God of Gymnastics, poached his rivals gold winning protégé and slept with said rival to sabotage her relationship - all in the name of revenge for her bronze medal overshadowing his silver and gold performances years prior. But no one deserved to be lied to like that, especially about a child he believed was his. “I’m sorry, Lance”. 

Lance chuckled mirthlessly, reaching for his second shot. “Bet Greggory will laugh her ass off when you tell her ‘Fucker Tucker’ got fucked himself”.

You shook your head. “I haven’t seen Hope since you two hooked up a year ago. My family were the ones who told me what you were up to these days”.

Lance cocked his head. “A year ago? Wait, that’s when we hooked up as well”. You nodded, not expanding further. Frowning, he turned to face you. “Hey, you’re not mad about that are you? We didn’t have an arrangement-“

Sighing heavily, you took a bigger swig of your drink before fully facing him. “No, I’m not mad that you hooked up with Hope the night after me”. You were telling the truth, you weren’t mad about that. Lance was right - the two of you had no relationship, that last hook up was your first time sleeping together. You had slept with him the first night, but work had prevented you meeting up the next night. You had been on your way to ask Lance if he wanted to hook up again on the third day, but instead you overheard him complaining that Hope had been a bad lay and gone on in vivid detail to describe what had happened between them the night prior which had sounded very similar to your night with him. Though apparently the increased number of positions Hope used hadn’t impressed Lance in the slightest. Shaking your head, you saw Lance had leaned closer and placed his hand over yours. “Seriously Lance, I’m not mad about it”.

Gently, Lance caught your chin and looked at you. Not knowing what he was looking for, you kept his gaze until the smirk teased his mouth again.  “Good. I’m glad”. His thumb brushed your lip, eyes darkening when it popped open. “So… back to my question… your room or mine?”

A big part of you knew this was a mistake. Though it was clear no strings attached was what Lance was offering, no good could come of it. But on the other hand, part of you wanted to see if it would be like your last hook up.

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

It was. Exactly the same. Within seconds of entering his room, both of you were naked. You weren’t a gymnast let alone an athlete, barely managing to squeeze a basic fitness routine in your schedule but that didn’t matter to Lance. Just like before he was contorting into various positions, more focused on Olympic gymnastics rather than mattress gymnastics. He’d been at it for a while, changing positions every time you started to settle into a rhythm. Neither of you had cum yet. “Yeah. Yeah. Fuck” he groaned, now shifting to press you against the wall. “Fuckin… God of Gymnastics”. His thrusts began to speed up.

Something inside you snapped. There was no way you’d let him use the same routine with you now that he’d used on you AND Hope last year. And there was not a snowball's chance in Hell you were being left high and dry like before. You were going to make this God pray to you. Shifting, you moved so his cock slipped out when he pulled back. Lance moved on instinct, trying to sink back into you. He froze when your hand gripped his cock tightly. Panting heavily, his eyes never left yours as you began to stroke him. “Last time, we agreed on hot marathon sex. You’ve got stamina, Tucker”. His smirk vanished at your next words. “But you and I have very different opinions about marathon sex. You’re more focused on the positions than the pleasure. So now… I’m gonna coach you”.

You led him, literally by the balls, to the bathroom and started up the walk in shower. Once the water was warm you grabbed the body wash and began to work him over, petting and caressing every line, curve and hollow. A pleased sound escaped you when he reciprocated. He was trying to urge you along by focusing specifically on your breasts, but since he’d skipped the foreplay both times you decided a little retribution was in order. Your hands slid down and he grinned lazily as you slowly began to stroke his cock, giving him a soapy slippery handjob. Once the suds had been rinsed and you saw Lance was close to the edge, you gripped the base of him. His blue eyes burned with lust and confusion. You carefully sank to your knees. Licking your lips, you offered a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Lance whined softly, hips jutting for more attention. Smiling, you placed wet kisses and licks up and down his shaft watching as the thick flesh seemed to follow your mouth, almost enchanting him like a snake charmer. Eyes locked with his, you slowly began to suck him into your mouth. “Oh fuck!” Lance threw his head back, one arm splaying on the wall to keep his balance while the other tangled into your hair. You slowly continued to suck him in, almost with your nose to the base when his grip tightened and he tried to tug. Your nails dug into his thick thighs and when his gaze landed on you he could see the warning flash in your eyes. His whines cut off when you resumed the tortuous pace, bringing him to the edge twice before stopping. “Fuck… gorgeous… please…” Lance moaned loudly, the noises echoing off the wall and giving you a high that you were making him react this way. Looking up, you gently pushed him back against the chilled wall at the same time you sucked firmly. “FUCK!” Lance cried out, gripping your hair tightly but not pulling as he came in your mouth. Swallowing his spend, you stood and walked out of the shower, grabbing a towel to briskly rub down. Dazedly, Lance followed your example. 

It took him a few seconds but he then moved, caging you against the wall of the shower. The cold was a sharp contrast to your heated body but it felt amazing when Lance pressed his body to yours. His fingers glided over your nipples, down your belly and to the heat between your legs. He teased your entrance before sliding one thick finger in, cursing softly. “So damn snug. God…” He hissed when he slipped in another finger. As he rubbed deep within you he felt your walls begin to tremble. “C’mon gorgeous. Give it to me”. With a moan you tipped into your orgasm, not noticing that Lance dropped to his knees and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. He stared at your dripping heat, licking his lips. “S’pretty” he murmured, tongue darting out when you clenched around nothing. “I can’t… I gotta” he mumbled before his tongue made a thick long stripe into your folds. “God… you’re liquid gold, gorgeous”. He dove back in with an enthusiasm that surprised you, sounds of satisfaction spilling from him. His nose nudged your clit as he eagerly lapped away. You whimpered when his tongue speared into you. Grabbing his hair you pulled him closer and cried out at his happy moan, the vibrations almost pushing you over the edge. Lance gave a few soft licks to your clit before suckling gently. A long whine echoed in the bathroom as you peaked again.

Looking down, you saw a tiny smirk grace Lance's glistening lips and the ache to take him down a peg resurfaced. Once he stood, you pressed up against him and kissed fiercely. Both of you moaned at the taste of the other’s juices. Jumping up, you wrapped your legs around his waist, one of his arms underneath to support you while the other pulled you tight against him. “Window” you murmured. His brows shot up to his hairline but he carried you through before carefully setting you down. Turning you pressed away from the glass, arching your back as Lance slowly thrust himself inside you. One hand held you close while the other roamed your body - squeezed your boobs, brushed your clit. A few more circuits had you nearly seeing stars and Lance was also heaven bound before you pulled him tight against you to stop him moving. 

”No! Please gorgeous… ” he pleaded, desperately trying to somehow find that delicious friction. “No… beautiful… please baby”.

“Look, Tucker. Look at yourself”. Glancing up, Lance saw himself in the window reflection. His blue eyes glistened with tears at being denied, his face flushed with desire and his lips swollen from being nibbled and kissed. He whined, wanting so desperately to find his release. “You wanna cum?” 

”Yes. Please gorgeous… baby. Please” he whispered.

”Show me what you got”. 

Bracing his hand against the glass, Lance encouraged you to arch your back more and began to thrust slowly and deeply within you. Feeling his heavy balls start to tighten, he sped up slightly. “No… c’mon gorgeous… need to feel you… please… please baby”. Desperately he sucked at your neck at the same time he tweaked your nipple. Your walls began to quake and his cock jerked within you. Lance whined. “Fuck… feels so good. You feel so good…”

As he continued to thrust, you noticed that his whines were growing higher. Mind whirring, you encouraged him to gently pull out. His movements halted and you glanced down to see his cock was still hard. “Feel good, baby?” Almost shyly, he nodded. “Think you can do one more?” Head cocked, Lance looked adorably innocent for a moment. He nodded again. “Then lay down on the bed”.

Without hesitating Lance laid down, eyes sparkling as you followed. Carefully, you sat on top of him and slowly guided his length into you. You moaned loudly but still heard his whine. “Shit… s’too much baby… I can’t…” 

”Yeah you can”. You gently ran your hands all over his body, kissing and sucking his neck, jaw and lips. “C’mon… c’mon Coach”. At your soft coo, Lance began to buck up into you, hands gripping your waist tightly and keeping you attached to him. “Yes… oh God… Lance!” You cried out as stars exploded in front of you.

Lance silently screamed as you milked him again, the pleasure almost painful. Once both your highs had ended, he held you close. Chest heaving, he saw you tracing figures on his skin. “So… how’d I do in marathon sex Coach?” he murmured.

”Silver”. Shocked, his eyes darted to you. “Your initial efforts were half assed at best though your performance did improve”. Lance's lip trembled. “But then again you know practice makes perfect…”. As you smirked, you felt a gentle nudge against your inner thigh. “Ready to go for gold?”

[holylulusworld]

Jeannie in a bottle (1)

Summary: Jackpot. Dean found a genie bottle.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x genie!Reader

Warnings: magic, mentions of entrapment, genie!reader, mentions of stalking (very implied)

Jeannie in a bottle masterlist

“Don’t rub the bottle,” the owner of the antique shop warns. “It’s a dangerous object! Stop!”

Sam looks up from the book just in time as his brother is about to rub the Arabian-styled genie bottle he found on one of the dusty shelves.

“Look at this Sammy,” the hunter grins. “They sell genie bottles here. Do you think I’ll get a pretty little Jeannie just for myself when I rub it?”

“DON’T!!!” the owner screams at Dean. The hunter almost drops the bottle. He catches it mid-fall and presses it to his chest.

“Dude! It almost broke because of you,” Dean grunts. He carefully lifts the bottle to his face, humming as he reads the encryption. “Love me to find heaven. Forsake me to find hell. Nice.”

“Nice?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean just put it back. We don’t need decoration but these.” He points at the pile of books he placed on the counter. 

“I want this,” his brother insists. “It’s…shiny…” 

Sam frowns as his brother’s eyes look glassy. “Dean. Put the bottle back. I don’t think it’s decoration.”

“He needs to put it away, Sir. Please,” the owner freaks out. He runs toward Dean, almost tackling the hunter. Dean moves out of the way, huffing as the man trips over his feet.

“I want it. How much?” Dean gets his wallet out. “I think it belongs to me. I’ll give you fifty bucks.”

“It’s irreplaceable,” the man cries. “Please give it back!”

“Dean. He’s going to lose his mind if you don’t give it back.”

“Yeah. Not going to happen.”

Dean looks at the golden bottle, as he carefully runs his hand over it. “Dean!”

“Shiny, and beautiful. All mine,” Dean purrs as the bottle begins to glow. “Look, Sammy. So pretty…”

“DEAN!!!!”

Sam drops the book in his hands to run toward his brother. 

It’s too late. 

The bottle drops to the ground. It bursts open and pink smoke covers his brother seconds later. “DEAN!”

“Sammy, I—oh hello there,” Dean purrs. “I got myself a genie, Sammy! A genie!”

Sam can’t see anything but the smoke enveloping his brother. He calls for Dean and tries to cut through the smoke with the demon killing knife. “DEAN!”

“I won’t harm him,” a soft voice whispers in Sam’s ear. “I wasn’t out of the bottle for so long. I need time to put myself back together.”

“What? I-“ Sam watches the smoke form a figure. His eyes grow wide, as the smoke turns into a woman. “How?”

“I told you I got myself a genie,” Dean lies on the ground, grinning dopily. He watches you run your hands over your body and licks his lips. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

You crouch down to pat Dean’s cheek. “It will fade soon, Dean. Sorry for this. The smoke turns the one rubbing the bottle into a love-sick puppy.”

“You don’t look like a genie,” Sam clears his throat. He looks you up and down, drinking your appearance in. “I mean…you’re wearing jeans and a tee.”

“I’m not a genie, you genius,” you sass back. “I’m a huntress…or was.” You sigh deeply as you look down at your body. “What year do we have?”

“Okay, don’t panic but it’s 2022,” Sam says.

“Fuck! I was in that bottle for ten fucking years?” you exclaim loudly and put your hands on your hips. “YOU FUCKING FREAK!”

You storm toward the owner of the antique shop. He crawls away, mumbling another spell under his breath. “Stop that!”

Dean suddenly stands right next to you. He aims a gun at the man’s head, unlocking it. “I said, stop. I got witch-killing bullets in my gun. If you don’t stop. You will die!”

“Well go ahead,” the man grins. “But then my genie will go back and live in the bottle for eternity. She’s only mine…only mine.”

“Shoot him,” you grunt. “I don’t care if I go back in there. He stalked me for a year, and right when I got hold of him, he used a spell and entrapped me.”

“Sonofabitch! Sammy. We need the handcuffs,” Dean smirks darkly. “We will take that bastard with us and put him in the dungeon.”

“I said, kill him,” you grunt.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to follow my orders and fulfill all of my wishes?” Dean cocks his head to glance at you. 

“I’m not that kind of genie,” you retort. “He banned me inside the bottle because I refused to become his girlfriend. That sick bastard is a little creep.”

“No magical powers then?” Dean sighs deeply. “There I was, believing I found my private genie.”

“Fine. I will grant you three wishes, Dean,” you snap your fingers to change clothing. You’re wearing the costume from I Dream of Jeannie, smirking at the hunter. “Better?”

“Much better,” he purrs while drinking your new outfit in.

“So…what do you want, Dean? But remember, you only go three wishes. And don’t come up with the crap that you wish for more wishes...”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Five Years [The Snap Trope]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Snap event 1. Characters are put in the situation surrounding Thanos' Snap. "Matt disappeared five years ago, much like half the world. Frank took over his lease, just to have a place to stay. What happens when Matt and the rest of the world return?"

Warnings: Can be read as either platonic or romantic Fratt.

WC: 1,099

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

The consistent hum of Hell’s Kitchen reverberated in Matt’s ears, a white noise symphony he’d learned to love over the years. The electric buzz of the billboard across the street, the steady flow of traffic from surrounding blocks, the occasional punctuation of dogs barking or taxi’s honking.

He shuffled around his kitchen, making himself a cup of midday coffee in preparation for looking over some rather tedious case files that afternoon.

But in an instant something was different. The flow of the city changed below, overwhelming Matt’s senses. There was screaming, it seemed like the number of heartbeats dropped in an instant, and the distinct sound of tires screeching and cars hitting things echoed throughout the city.

He dropped his mug, not even sure if he heard it crash amongst the dramatic shift in sensory input of Hell’s Kitchen. But he could tell something else was off.  His skin was clammy, head spinning. He thought maybe he was going to pass out.

Just as suddenly as the sensation came over him, it was gone.

“I have to clean that up.” Matt thought, remembering the dropped mug at his feet

But when he shifted his focus to the floor, the coffee wasn’t there. No warmth hit his skin from heated liquid radiating upward, no broken shards of ceramic sliced his hands as he reached down. The hardwood was clean beneath him.

He tilted his head curiously, listening to hone in on whatever the hell was happening. Sure, he could hear the usual sounds of his apartment, but it felt different. 

He couldn’t smell the leather of his sofa. In fact, all the furniture seemed to be different, based on the way the air rushed around the room and bounced off of the various frames and fibers. There were many things unfamiliar about the room; a throw blanket draped across the back of the different couch, the taste in the air of cheaper coffee than he’d ever buy coming from the canister on the counter, and he could smell the mud on a pair of boots by the door that were definitely not his.

Another heartbeat suddenly appeared before him.

“Red! Sonofabitch!” he shouted

How had Frank suddenly appeared in the middle of his apartment without him noticing?

In a flash, Frank was across the room, drawing Matt into his arms. His heart was racing, thundering in his rib cage as he pressed Matt into it. He smelled as he usually did; gunpowder and metal mixed with earthy cologne.

Frank Castle was not a hugger.

What in the hell?

“Jesus Frank. Why are you in my apartment? And what the hell has gotten into you?” Matt asked

“S’ kinda been my apartment for a while now.”

“What?!”

“Matt, you’ve been gone. Shit, it’s been over five years now.”

“Frank, what the hell are you talking about? This is my apartment, I was just making a cup of coffee and gonna review some files for a case I have going to trial this week.” 

Frank let out a sigh, guiding Matt to the sofa and sitting beside him.

He did his best to explain Thanos and how the world fell into chaos. How Matt and half the population disappeared in an instant, and now it seemed since he was back, so was everyone else. 

Frank’s heartbeat didn’t waver, his bizarre story of The Avengers losing to a magic gem wielding alien true.

Matt was unsure what to say, where to start with the number of questions he had.

“And you’re here because?” he finally asked

Frank chuckled.

“Like I said, I live here now.”

Matt’s eyebrows flew up, curious as to how that happened.

“Things got chaotic, someone had to keep the kitchen safe.” Frank nodded toward the window

“So you moved into my place?”

“Eh– I started just crashing here to help Karen out. She was convinced you were comin back soon so she paid your rent for a while. Figured it wouldn't hurt to stay here. Then when Fisk got out and she had to run, well I’d kinda gotten used to it here.”

“Fisk is out? Where is Karen, is she okay?!”

“She’s fine. It was a bitch getting her out of New York once Fisk figured out you were gone. He went after her but Foggy and I got her safe. She’s got a new identity, livin somewhere none of us know, just in case. She’s got a husband and a kid and everything. She checks in every once in a while just to let me know she’s still safe.”

“Foggy!” Matt jumped up, hearing his best friend’s name

Frank put an arm on Matt’s shoulder, sitting him back down beside him.

“Nelson’ll be here soon enough.” Frank reassured, knowing this would be the first place Foggy would rush when he heard the news

Matt rubbed the fabric on the furniture beneath him. It was soft, like a suede or velvet, and it smelled distinctly like Frank. 

“So what, did you not like how I had it decorated before?” Matt joked

“Nah, it was all fine. Little much for my taste. But I kinda got blood on a lot of stuff and had to replace it.”

“Did you keep anything of mine?”

“After a few years, I convinced Karen you weren’t coming back. Guess I’m gonna get an earful from her soon.” Frank stood and walked across the apartment, stopping in front of the closet under the stairs. “I donated most of your fancy lawyer suits, but I did keep this.” 

He opened the doors and Matt heard the all too familiar sound of the old trunk squeaking open. Frank ambled back over and handed something to Matt.

The crimson mask felt just like Matt remembered it, the latex and fiber composite textured and abrasive under his fingers.

“Mighta missed you, Red.”

The corners of Matt’s mouth tugged upward at Frank’s sentimentality. Oh how these last five years had softened him.

“Well, I’m gonna get going.” Frank commented “Let you and Nelson have your reunion.”

He began walking toward the doors.

“Frank, no. It’s your home too now, I can’t kick you out.” Matt said, standing and reaching out his hand to stop him.

“Nah, I was just keeping it waitin’ for ya”

“Frank, I mean if half the world just came back, rent’s gonna fly up and it’ll be a bitch to get a new place.”

“You askin’ me to stay?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Frank nodded his head, walking back over and placing his large hand on Matt’s, both of them now holding the Daredevil mask.

“Okay.”

[mahiiimahiiii]

fuck it, guess we both aint' shit

a/n: sorry this fic took so long y'all i am so slow when i write. for context, i solely write before i go to bed and pass out with my phone attached to my head this was a request a while back when i was still active in bg3 circles lol so its been going for MONTHS at this point. i dunno how folks crank this shit out that's like a super power. anyways im playing skyrim now!!!!! im working on two fics, one skyrim and the other f:nv, because i love love loveeeee beatrix russell and also want my ttrpg character to have several enjoyable moments in her sad life. stay tuned! it may be a while for those to come out, so i appreciate y'all being patient. coops accent in this story is based on my own, im from the Appalachian region of virgina!! just to note we tend not to say the first letter of words. at least that was my accent and my experience each southern person will be different :)) please enjoy and let me know if you have any ideas, i'm always grateful for those.

ps. sorry for the long a/n lmao

(my doc says this is 19 pages!! my longest to date lmaooooo.)

general notes: named insert (fo1 character!!), doc is brown :))), i tried to stay pretty neutral with gendered language but doc has a pussy and boobs (sorry for being vulgar. it helps to specify their parts so you know what you're getting into) as always its a smut, and ooc cooper, i'm getting my feel for him, drugged sex, cannibalisim as a metaphor, barely disguised breeding fetish, restraints and rope play.

During the warmest months of a farming season you often asked yourself, why. 

Why did you decide to choose NCR sharecropping in the first place, and what made you so god damn lucky to leave Nevada alive. 

You had started off a trek from the high walled dunes of the new republic’s deserts for a more opportunistic place in Colorado. High walled mountains kept off raiders, but kept in heat and snow. So you worked tirelessly on the outskirts of a small settlement, modeled after a historic town out of a western film. 

Recently you received Brahmin from a trade deal which made planting significantly easier to do.

Brahmin dung was also good for another thing as well. 

Jet. 

Your tidy lab always stunk of fertilizer and smoked out herbs, this was a small production thing so the allowance to vary was there. You sun-dried the patties first, stacking the briquettes between bushels of dry and wild herbs, this would be burnt out and condensed into pressurized containers, if not mixed with a bit of water for easier spray abilities. 

This is where your actual money came from; compared to that farming was a hobby. You had a regular client coming in for a shipment. This one-a favorite of yours for a bit. Perhaps not for his “aesthetic appeal” though his sallow and gaunt skin holds echoes of the handsome man he was previously. 

No.. 

You liked his voice (though faux it was), and his bright teeth(stained with a yellow, making them seem more manilla if anything), the way his hat held over his brow (you could never see his eyes), the perch of his thumbs tucked into his belt (an odd position at that.), and the corners of his smile lines. With each step you took towards him, the professional in you took five steps back. You had half a shock at one point to care for him when he randomly appeared piss drunk at your step. The way he curled into you as his speech slurred, or the odd way he made himself comfortable on the couch. 

He told you you smelt nice that day. You sent him along with a packet of sober up pills and hangover meds.

You pressed down on the seed bed with a glove tugging at the carrot rooted in the Rocky soil. 

“Sonofabitch!” You cussed out as you tugged. You took a couple more stabs at the dirt again, loosening the ground around it. 

Your breathed in the deep blue sky surrounded by miles of mountains, the plains you resided in like the bottom of a welded goblet. 

You wiped the sweat off your brow, the chunky glove absorbing most of it. You tugged up the loosened carrot and tossed it into a small bin filled with produce. You stood up brushing off your overalls of excess soil. 

You carried the bin off, jumped by a hoarse whistle from the pasture. 

“There you are sweetheart!” He held a hand over his head, in greeting. 

“Hey you!” the ghoul gave you no name, so you referred to him in vague suggestions.

 “You certainly arrived early! What's the occasion? Could you help me with one of the baskets, Hun’?” 

He trotted over, the click and jingle of his spurs followed behind him. He hoisted one over his shoulder with ease. “Am I not allowed to see my favorite doctor? I found myself wandering about the area, supposed I'd drop by…I do know when I'm not welcome though.” 

“It would be awful rude of me to not accept your company.” You teased in return. He rolled his eyes, lugging the bins of produce to be sorted and sold up your porch steps. 

“Need a place to stay?” You didn't look up, as this generally came as a routine question. 

“Same as always.” He confirmed, stomping off the dirt from his boots. 

“Mind me changing then, hun?” your words didn't reflect affection, but showed shallow familiarity in them. 

He shrugged, “‘pose not, m’ gonna have a smoke on the porch.” 

“Take your time” you nod, trudging up the creaking and faded wood stairs. 

You weren't sure how to approach him, he had shown signs of interest previously, walking in on your out of the way showers, leaving things for him to come back and collect them, paying more caps for his shipment than usual. To be fair, you definitely indulged him- at one point you had complained about your water resource being devoid of warmed water. As you padded around with soaking skin and a fluffy towel, and a grumpy expression cemented on your lips. 

All this teasing didn't help those dreams, they started when he left an extra shirt from his pack. This one was dark and ragged, a change from his gray stained cowboy shirt with tassels. It smelt like him, and deeply so. You were ashamed to admit that you used it to pleasure yourself for a period of time. Eventually your breath stained the shirt and it no longer smelt like him; that was a depressing day indeed. 

You had handed the item back to him, he took it with a thin smile. I'm glad you took care of it. 

Weeks after an item of yours went missing, then returned in odd places. Socks, a camisole or two, most egregious was from your hamper, two pairs of bloomers you intended to clean. It was an unspoken agreement, an item exchange of sorts, perhaps he sought companionship on the heat stained road. 

To admit your affections weren't returned was a vague understatement, he had propositioned you on several occasions often asking to meet late at the barn, he was quick to release offering a thank you by allowing you to squeeze and grind down on his fingers as he cleaned the spent cum with a tossed aside shirt. It was always one of yours. 

Those moments were short, maybe if you offered a comfortable environment he'd be willing to play pretend. 

You tugged off the flannel that stuck to your sides, unclipping the overalls and tugging them over your shins. Your bones popped as you stretched, peeling off the soaked undergarments in exchange for one less distracting. The air was cool against your skin, you took a wetted rag from your ceramic basin and cleaned down your sweaty skin. You tossed the dirt stained clothes into your hamper: sucking in air between your teeth. The outfit you decided on was a loose button down, soft cotton slacks with a silver button, and some leather sandals. 

It wasn't your most dashing look, but it was an easy one, something to throw on as the sun began its track down.

+

You ate in silence, spoons clicking against cracked porcelain bowls. The stew was filling as per usual, but you kept your head down. 

He looked much more red with the checkered table cloth in front of him, his jaw working as he pulverized the food in front of him. 

The ghoul in front of you quirked a brow “you ain't becoming feral are ya? The rate you're scoffing supper down. I'm fraid to be your next meal!” 

“No m' just thinkin’. Tend to eat fast when I have lots to ponder.” you held the spoon to your lips tilting it and passing the savory broth over your tongue. 

The older man set down his spoon, a bit of confusion racking his brow. “yaint got much to think about. What a chemist n all. You're just plugged into all them formulas ,ain't you sweet pea?”

You grunt in somewhat acknowledgement “I guess”

The lower rooms in the evening became sticky hot without the curtains drawn, bright sun flames the sides of the buildings and glinted off the tarnished metal buckles and beads on the cowboys outfit. 

“Well.” You rose holding your empty bowl, the click of metal under porcelain still droning on at the other side of the table. “I'm pooped, I think it's time to retire to my room. Do some unwinding, the works. Goodnight, sir. “

You turned to leave, setting your bowl in the open kitchen sink, the ghouls voice interrupting your thoughts.

“Hey doc- I got an odd request.” The cowboy began. “Have you ever tried  jet?”

Cooper hesitated for once, feeling your warm skin beneath his palm, the way your pulse sang when he touched you. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah.”

His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, lips parted delicately to taste. He had you pinned as you sunk into his figure, one hand flattened on his breast the other hanging limply at your side. You cupped it around the side of him, allowing him to move in close. 

He watched your eyes wide and dilate, your already oh so large pupils eclipsing your iris’s. 

This must've felt like light years away for someone not as attuned. 

Your breath washed against him, his nasal cavity picking the strong sickly scent of jet on your tongue, he could taste you in the back of his throat. 

“Tell me if anything is too much, as much as I seem gruff, I do desire the lady folk having an equal amount of fun.” 

You hiccup and nod, “yeah I understand - yessir.” 

“You don't try your own stock, doc?” He tilted his head, carefully leading your jelly body to the bed. 

“Jet ain't my choice- I usually go for day tripper. Slows you down a lot more, so I do it during sunny days. Things change and you can enjoy a lot more “ you talked with your hands he often noticed, but here they flew without meaning, like a puppet with cut strings. 

“Mmm.” He mused, a sound of recognition. He shut the bedroom door, the low light of the sun spilling in dappled puddles through your window. He kicked off his boots, placed them in a corner and set his heavy overcoat and hat on a chair. 

“Once again, are you sure? Is this what you want?” 

He was hesitant to approach, leaning over you with one knee on the soft mattress. The springs creaked under the shift in weight. 

“You certainly know how to make a girl beg for it.” You joke, cracking a half grin. 

“Being a tease comes with the territory, sugar.” he tucked a curl behind your ear, cupping your cheek with the rough palm of his hand. He listened to your breath flutter; that hit of jet has fucked you up. 

The rusted iron bed frame creaked under his shifting weight, mindful of your soft limbs as he coaxed your legs apart to hang on his hips- Your hair bloomed outward on the pile of cotton and straw pillows. eyes laden with a hazy glow that reflected the golden light. 

Your breath fanned over his face- sweet, tangy and rich. Your tongue swiped in-between your cracked lips coating them with a coating of spit, they glistened in the low golden sun. 

Your hand, weathered from soil, caressed his cheek with all the gentleness of a rose petal. He crooned and leaned into you, you were much more inviting of his touch, a satisfied “hmph” as what remained if his lips landed on yours. 

Your hands found the back of his neck pulling I'm into you. 

You felt soft, curling around his jagged edges like water droplets on a sky light. His fingertips tingle with electricity.

 You huffed tilting your head slightly, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. Your skin pooled with heat, his thumbs finding the underside of your breast. He cradled your tap dancing heart between two palms. Your lips found a clumsy rhythm; one that he found nostalgic. It was easy to imagine being young with you, you made it look effortless. 

You pushed him away- cheeks stained a bright rosy pink as you gulped down air like an odd looking fish. Curls laid on your cheeks sticking up on odd and random places, if he was a much kinder man he would've tucked a strand behind your ear, issuing kisses that traced to your nose. You cracked a warm, half-smile; your hand finding a place under his cheekbone. 

You wheeze out quickly, coughing up fumes of jet; sputtering like a broken down car. “Your name-” you finally got out, “I never got your name.” 

There was sincerity in your eyes, innocence even- perhaps a hope that this wouldn't be another one-night stand. 

Perhaps today… he would allow himself to fly too close to the sun. For once- to bathe in the bright warm of comfort, the wholeness of companionship; the milk of human kindness. 

“Cooper.” 

“Cooper.” The sound rang off your cherry pink lips held by ivory teeth and a fleshy velvet tongue. “Cooper.” 

“And yours?” He asked quietly. 

“Just doc is fine.” You purse your lips, the joy that rang off your tongue snapped close like a heavy lid of a jewelry box - hiding the treasures from sight. You formed a slight business-like manner to your tone. 

He nodded curtly, shifting on his elbows to drape himself over you once more. 

He worked the buttons of your shirt off. helping you out of the loose cotton shirt- he licked his lips intently. It was truly an oasis of flesh to his gaze. 

He whistled low, his fingers twitching and buzzing- aching even, just to get a feel of the soft warm skin beneath him. “Arnt you the prettiest thing I ever did see” his voice was a lowered rasp.

The warm sun pooled below your sternum and held your face dearly. The lace frame around your pillow held up your portrait. 

The bounty hunter listened to your heart beat away in its cage. He then sat back on his haunches and dragged his fingers down your sternum. 

“Such pretty, soft skin “  he cooed. The nail in his finger digging into the surface leaving a trail of raised skin behind it. You wiggle at the prickling sensation on your skin. What game was he playing? 

He took an inhale as his palms cupped your shoulders and scooted down your sides, repeating in an almost massage like motion. He repeated the same kneading motion with your chest, a low sigh coming from his lips. 

He was used to an exchange or dance of sorts when it came to these circumstances. A relief of hand, or the jingle of caps in some woman's back pocket. The road has taken a toll on his aspect of companionship, for once he found himself slightly stupefied except for the notion to touch you. 

You melted into his warm palms; your eyes fluttering shut into relaxation. 

“Are you comfortable Cooper?” You broached the awkward silence of sighs with unease. 

“Doing just fine sweetheart, you relax now.” the vaquero chides; flicking your nipple as a slight retort. You tense at the sensation though unpleasant as it is enjoyable. 

The ghoul unbuttoned his vest, tossing it aside and leaving him in that faded vault tec cowboy shirt and pinstripe trousers. He loosened the top few buttons of his shirt, a bit self conscious of his form without all these layers. You blink slowly, re-assembling to settle your thighs around his hips. His kisses smudged your lipstick, cupping your jaw in one hand- the other cradling the pillow behind your head. you lean into his egging, lifting your neck for his teeth to graze. 

His tongue was the first sensation. licking a stripe up your collar broke you out into simple goosebumps. You close your eyes against the sensation of him latching onto your skin. One of his hands caressed your chest, the other held your hip- squeezing it gently. He left indents and bruises to litter your skin, a mauve flush of patchwork on your neck. As His bites ran below the collar- he shifted position. He kissed down your chest, marking a spot right above a mole. Dipping his head lower His tongue swirled around a nipple taking it into his mouth. 

The other was treated to the same palming while his other hand busied itself by burying into his boxers. 

A bittersweet image flooded his mind. As a younger man himself, he would take many lovers. Holed up in some trailer room on a daybed, lips puffed and tight pencil skirt tossed to the wayside, it left you cloaked in a mussed bone white blouse with a bow at the neck. Dark black heels dug into the velvet beneath your ass. The tight stifled moans- the ferocity of your grip- the way you offered to not ruin his set costume. 

Your glasses would slide down your nose as he coos would split you wide open like a piece of log. 

These dalliances were savory before married life, a taste he'd like to try again. 

He found himself switching, adjusting hands, welcome to an exasperated sigh of frustration from your lips. 

“Cooper” sounded off like a prayer, the rock of an ocean wave as he navigated down your sternum. 

He hooked a finger under your waistband- you burned brighter than any field of irradiated waste. “Now's your chance miss.” he hummed, stroking the sides of the scrunched fabric. 

Much to his chagrin, you nodded. A warm sickly sweet feeling of familiar warmth crept up the walls of his stomach. Was it pride? Longing? 

Whatever it was, he stared down the barrel of his would be nose. He wet his lips like a wolf about to blow down a stick building- and certainly, most certainly, he would make a meal of the javelina inside. 

Carefully he unwrapped you, laid bare before him your skin bristled underneath the heat of his hand. He sighed again for emphasis, the flashes of you in that scenario warmed the back of his mind. 

Another indulgent idea as his fingers skimmed against your hip line. His brow furrowed as he watched your eyes flutter shut again. 

Chaps pushed to under his knee, boxers and Levi's still clung to his thigh. In this he was a bit older, the sleepy dream holding an air of youth from the way you bit down on his hand and hesitated to fully sheath yourself onto him. In quick staccato motions that angled for just the right spot sent your teeth sinking into his hand. Your legs shook slightly as the tip of your heel curved around his calf. A careful balancing act 

His hands traced patterns onto your clit absentmindedly- bowing down to steal a slow kiss every once in a while. He was careful, he wanted something decadent. 

He kneeled at the altar between your hips, for he was but a man. 

He bit down on the flesh of your thigh, prodding your entrance with a finger- he sucked at the indented wound. Lifting up your thigh he left marks underneath the skin of your butt. He worked on opening you up- sliding a finger into you easily. You held eye contact, rolling your hips against his thumb and hand, figured in a pinching motion. Just one tug of the thread and he had you spiraled out. 

The air was laden with the heavy silence that wasn't the crackle of an obscure motown album. He added a second, your body rippling out like a Newton's cradle at the sensation.

“Coop’ shit-” were the first words you said in a bit. 

“Talk to me babygirl, can only do so much while my hands are busy.” He curled his fingers massaging the spongy tissue beneath their tips. 

“Coop-!” you whine again, leaning into the hand that cupped your face. 

Your brow was furrowed in concentration- moving your toes to avoid the muscles of your leg locking in place. 

“Are we just fond of sayin’ my name, hm? C'mon pretty girl, tell me whatcha like me to do.'' He growled, kissing the corner of your mouth, the side of your nose, up to your furrowed brow.

He kissed back down your chest, kissing the flesh of your thighs. 

He began his game of chicken- cupping your back one thumb drawing circles into your sides. 

“Tell me.” He urged.

his lips drew near your throbbing clit heat pulsing in waves from your legs. 

“God, you're really having me do this?”  you puff up a bit, embarrassment settling into your skin. 

“Ain't no shame in being polite, sweetheart.” He chides “your parents teach you manners? Now am I gonna spell it out for you or what?” His tongue dipped between your folds; tracing light circles around the bundle of nerves. 

You hissed like a tea kettle, bending the knee for better access. “Please sir.” Your tone was condensed as you struggled to keep composure, or lest you break in your bed partner's nose a bit more. 

“Please what, be specific sweetheart.”  

 your warm palm squeezing the back of his head felt just right 

You swore under your breath, mustering the courage from the depths of your stomach, sacrificing your bruised pride in return. “please I'd like to- like you to eat me out.” 

“What a sweet girl, perhaps I'll reward her for being so polite, hm? What do you think doc.” He grinned, flashing the aged and manilla teeth in his maw. 

You deflate, nodding your head in almost defeat. 

The ghoul hummed in approval- his fingers once stilled began to tap dance happily against your inner walls. He wove himself into you, mouth latched firmly onto your clit- his dark blown eyes flashing up to your reddened face every once in a while. 

Your thighs framed his head. He had lifted one over his shoulder for better access to your core. Your legs hooked around his neck, trapping him closer. 

The sound of slurps made your stomach twist into hard knots. Contented and pleasured groans fell around you- sending small vibrations to your clit. You held onto his bicep, after a while he offered his other hand. 

To be eaten alive by another man was only discussed in the late hours of the evening. Cigarette smoke drawn from his teeth hissing away like a steam engine as you talked. You felt consented like one humming giant beast.

The cartilage of his nose bumped against your clit as he went to taste you. Squeezing the delicate fingers of yours pink, he pressed his hips into the mattress trying to relieve some pressure. 

“Coop’! holy shit-!” He felt your walls contract around his hand, clamping down in them. He was quick to remove himself leaving you sullen and empty 

Partially to stave off an orgasm from how nimble his fingers could be. Years worth of repairs means one getting good at tasks like sewing.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Can't have my baby spoiled yet.” Cooper tutted stealing a peck from your lips.

Your lips formed a whine as he sat back licking his fingers clean. “Ain't right if I can't have some fun too, hm? Ain't that right, sugar.” His lips twitched into a smirk as he unclasped his unruly belt wiggling down the rough denim over his ass and thighs. He splayed his legs and sat back on his haunches, eyes flicking back up. He wasn't bigger than average, but he was certainly thicker. A pert and red head with pulsing green veins that ran down the side. his legs and hips were surprisingly less marred than the rest of his body, resulting in just a light texture on his cock. 

“You're awfully quiet now sweetheart, see something you like?” He teased, prowling his way back up your form, his lips mapping the thin and light scars on your smooth skin. 

He slid his member along your folds bumping his head against your clit. “Ain't you just hot n’ bothered, hm sweetheart?” 

He could feel you trying to squeeze down around nothing desperately looking for something to work on your arousal with. 

“Roll over for me, pup.” This came out as a snarl, a harsh command from the sweetness he usually treated you with. He spat into his hand. Rubbing it along his shaft as a makeshift lube. 

You laid there ass exposed to the warm light. Your knees pressed into the mattress below.

The cowboy readied his condition to be that of a sour patch kid, enticed to show vulnerability but apprehensive enough to snap. A high emotional state for him.

He watched your ass bounce as you turned, your head cushioned by your pillows. You stared at him from behind. Those big eyes of yours would be the inevitable death of him. He filled a palm with your flesh squeezing it gently before quickly smacking it. 

The force made it jiggle again, the sounds of the slaps sounding sharp and sour. His warm hands palmed the fullness of your reddened ass rutting himself between your cheeks. 

“God I could just cum just like this, all over this gorgeous ass of yours.” Cooper sighed, bending forward for a better angle. 

“‘s your choice” your voice slurred- giving away the concentrated effort not to beg like a bitch in heat. 

His hand was quick, the slap left your skin tingling. “I don't take backtalk well miss. If there's something you want, we ask for it- politely. The ncr hadn't brought back the old worlds manners with it as well I see. I’ll make a respectable woman out of you yet.” 

You snorted, “ain't no manners when you were raised with a gun in your hand. I'm not a common whore from the strip. I'm an educated whore.”

“Damn right.” He growled with a swift serving of pain to your ass. He pinched it and jiggled it slightly. He stopped for a moment in a split decision, bowing his head and kissing the skin under his hand, “sorry.” heaving a sigh from the bottom of his chest. “ It's a shame this gotta end so soon.” 

“You don't have to go just yet coop’” you attempted to reassure the older man “you can stay at my place if you'd like. Didn't know you were having this much fun tossin’ the sack. Seemed…casual to me.” 

“I'm only human, ain't we supposed to be social creatures doc?”  his hands smoothed over your back. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, a peace offering beforehand. 

“ ‘pose so. Alright then, I don't get how this relates to you fucking me raw soon.” you teased, turning your head to the side of a pillow to gaze back at him, a slight coyness to your lowered lashes. 

“It ain't.”  his mouth fused mostly together into a wide and glistening smile, seemed a bit wider- cheeky almost. “Since you asked so nicely…” he trailed off, the head of his member rubbing against the folds of your entrance. “What was it you wanted? Gee I don't remember- maybe the radiation is getting to me after all- you're gonna have to remind me.” 

You shoved your hips back in a retort- trying to capture all of him just from the sensation of his members head prodding your entrance. 

“Oho!” He chuckled softly “getting feisty aren't we.”  You felt the warmth behind you fade. You looked back in confusion. The vaquero bowed, kissing a splotch of red on your ass. “Eyes forward, doc.” He commanded, and so his will, will be.  Behind you he rustled, searching for something, he hummed quietly once he found it, his lasso.  The ghoul fastened a hangman's knot at the end of the rope tying it between your ankles and knees. Another loop and knot at your hip then over a shoulder and under an arm. So when he pulled back he would pull all of you. He went back to rummaging, pulling a pair of stockings out of your sock drawer, loosely tying them around your wrists, an odd touch of care considering that the rope already bit at your skin. “Now are you gonna behave? Or must I do this the hard way. 

“I'll certainly try my best” you tilted your hips up, popping your back. “Can't promise much from one so ornery as myself.”

“Well then if you act up I'll just cum on your ass. Fair deal?” he spread your lips apart, broaching your entrance. His other hand dipped in front of you pressing down on your stomach to avoid initial cramping. 

You gasped and grit your teeth. “fair deal.” 

“Ain't you a gentleman then coop, your hands quite a nice temperature” 

“Thank you” he purred, adjusting his hips as he sank into you, “just the polite thing to do when you don't have lube.” 

His hand shifted to your clit, pinching gently at the sensitive nub. Heat bloomed like hot house poinsettias at your core. He grunted at your walls clasping down and memorizing everything about him. 

“Ain't you nice and tight.” The cowboy hummed, wiping at his brow. “This is gonna take forever if you don't relax.”

And oh God did you feel wonderful. Tight to the center with just a bit of friction enough to cling onto him. 

“Ain't much relaxing to do when you're pumped up on jet.” You lowered the floor of your stomach trying to accommodate his length.

“Ain't that so? Just looks like we’ll have to do some forcin’ huh?” He shifted his hips out ever so slightly and eased his way back in. Slow and comfortably, he manually stretches you out. You moaned out into the pillow beneath you, leisurely thrusts scraping against your walls. You clung to him like a glove, his balls merely tapped against your vulva. A warm soreness hit the back of your core as he tugged the rope down onto him.the fibers bit your sides, neck, and hips, searing their marks of claim onto you. He leaned forward, the sink slow but hitting the back of your cervix, your sex made a soft squishy sound as he hit hilt, panting like a feral mongrel dog. 

“God I hope this is what heaven feels like-” he sighed, rolling his hips. 

The cowboys sunburnt peach skin flushed a blotchy red around his cheeks. “m gonna come to visit more often- just to cum in this pretty hole of yours.” 

“You've got an awfully dirty mouth coop’” you teased, sneaking a smile behind the round of your ass. This wasn't the first time the older ghoul had asked for favors, but always always always he cried like it had. 

“not true, I followed my momma's instructions to brush my teeth every night” his grin peaked to the side. Hand quick as a flash landing itself on your rump, you let out a little oof. 

“your momma did a piss poor job then..”  You retort, lowering your chest to hit a more connected angle. 

His knees settled down in-between your thighs. Spread apart with the rough indented and textured skin of his bare skin. 

  He settled back in his calves, his hand lazily finding its way back to your clit massaging it in small pulses, pinched beneath his thumb and forefinger. 

With his hips settled back, the top of his head slid against one of your sweet spots, sending pulses like a fiddle string down your spine.

You burrowed deeper into the pillow, stifling the moans that threatened to spill from your lips. 

He held a hand to your side that was surprisingly gentle. He bowed his head and curled inward- kissing the small on your back. 

“This ok with you? May I get a little faster?” the ghoul has asked. 

You let out a grunt of approval, backing your hips fully on his member. At this pace you became playful lifting your hips at the last second, eeking soft whines of content through his teeth. He tipped his head back, coopers warm hands snuck under the rope to brace your hip.

“Agh, fuck.” The rasps he made ached in your throat. “Darlin I can't do this, flip over.” 

and so you did. 

Between his ribs there settles a faint green glow, like some sort of demented lightning bug. 

Cooper worked at getting the lower ropes off your legs allowing some freedom, but kept the ones that framed your chest. Your hand tied up to the bedpost like a malfunctioning bungee cord.

“There you are.” The ghoul cupped your cheek, his thumb drew small circles into its hollow. You laced your legs behind his calves as he entered again, precoating your walls with pre-come.the cowboys eyes became half lidded and fluttered, he was going insane just being inside you.  His hips were an attempt at a measured pace, speeding up every once in a while to keep you on your toes. 

The older man leaned down to kiss you, his lips and hands clung to you with a sense of rushed intimacy. The smell of your sweat clung to his rope and to his skin promising domesticated life of sorts, if he just stayed. 

You hitched your knees up above his hips, the edge of the bed thumping into the wall behind you. Cooper leveraged himself a bit more sinking in quickly making your thighs sting. 

 He quickly rutted his hips, the ghouls hands cupping your contorted face as clicks of irradiated sweat fizzed around you. 

You felt light headed, a dull throbbing pulsed through your mind. You could barely keep your eyes open to hold contact without them shutting or rolling back in their sockets. 

“Coop-” you whispered, “holy shit I'm close- you're gonna break me sweetheart -”

“Ain't that so? That's a shame hm? That you have to wait?” 

“No-” you whined, clenching your jaw “no please- coop- don't-” your mind ran like a panicked rabbit instinctively rocking your hips back down. Sticky sweat clung to you, droplets sidling down your hips like a rain shower. You sounded exhausted, covering up your eyes with an arm as you continued to mindlessly back into him

 His hand drew circles on your hip, moving up to your lower belly and pressing down. Cooper raised his arm up to wipe the sweat off his brow. 

“Want you to feel every little sensation.” His tone was staccato and clipped. “God you're so tight- enjoying yourself huh?” his smile grew as he watched you melt into a puddle before him.

“Coop-” something ripped out of the bottom of your chest, vicious and animalistic, you barred your teeth, squeezing around him taut as wire. 

The cowboy was relentless, teeth sinking down into the alcove of your neck monitoring the fogginess of your pupils 

The light flooding the windows with gold sunk down to a murky violet, a bright orange sun sitting center on the smoky horizon like an unfried egg.

“I'm so close, baby.” he pleaded in a soft tone “just a bit more.” 

Your grip tightens on him. “Coop I can't-” your sentences slur, your mind cramping from a quick release. Your walls pulse repeatedly. Your lips pull back, framing yellowed gritted teeth. 

He leans back, Pawing at your chest on his haunches. His hips patterned like a bumpy ride on a caravan, a two tap system as he stretched through the tighter ring near your cervix. Everything in his mind screamed to knock you up, a sham of the biological drive to have children and settle down. He would hope the call of domesticism would be satisfied by orgasm. A measly offering at best

He leans down, licking up the side of your chin and gathering a drop of sweat. He groaned softly, his hips jutting and staying there for a second. Your walls cramped down around him begging for another release. His hips slowed to an easy trot, keeping the pace steady and easy on your walls. His head curled into your neck, wheezing quietly like a ghoul on the verge of ferality. Cooper throbbed and pulsed, knotting his limbs into yours. You could feel every ridge and crease of him inside you, memorizing it like a map.the sides of your walls stung with arousal and numbness from overstimulation, it was a very fantastic and overwhelming sensation.The older man groaned into your ear as you squeezed down again on him. Completely entranced by the way you felt around him. His lower lip jutted out as he chewed at the side of it. His eyes were soft round and watery, bright white sclera seeped with yellow and red in their inner corners. The bed creaked softly underneath the relatively gentle rocking. The ghoul kissed up your neck, keening out into the crest of your ear. “God I think I may come sooner than expected” he grunted nibbling on the outer shell of your ear. He felt like he left orbit, and his skin set aflame. He set his body flush against yours, the lower half of his belly pressed against your clit. You flinched at the sensation, shooting lightning bolts down your thighs and heating up the already soggy air around you. Your legs peddled and extended down intending the sheets, flexing around his hips to tugging at the mix of stockings that held your arms back. Cooper's movements became a lot more quick and erratic, slamming himself down to sheathe his length fully, crying into the alcove of your neck, he shook as he wheezed our breaths of submission to the will of domesticity. He pushed his hips forward, the ropes of cum painted your walls. He pinched his lower base and jerked off into you, pressing everything into your folds. The ghoul then lowered his head and kissed you, the hiccuping sensation of rocking his hips back into yours due to a stimulant that was so salivating to him. 

“God, doc. What a trip, and what a treat you are.” 

“Have I made you a changed man, cooper?” you could barely keep your eyes open a fucked out sort of exhaustion taking hold 

The older man shrugged, “I'll sleep on it and consider.” 

He sighed, reaching over for a towel that lay on the ground and pulling out, and cleaning you up. He tossed the towel again, and landed himself next to you. “c'mere’ I'm not evil enough to leave you short handed.” He curled around you, his hand fitting in the crease of your hip. And that's where he stayed until dawn.

[meme-streets]

dollars event day 7. prompt: justice (content warning: implied law enforcement violence) ---

The first thing Blondie sees when he rides into town is that they’re building a real gallows.  That changes his plans.

He keeps on slow, trying to keep up a facade of detached innocence as he discreetly surveys his surroundings.  Past a wide, squat jail with an alley round the side. The sheriff saunters out on the porch.  He's a big brutal kind of a man, yellow-headed.  Behind him like lean hungry dogs slink two mean-looking deputies with glinting eyes and bruises on their knuckles.  Like a reflection of someone knew once. “Howdy, stranger,” says the sheriff over-amiably. Blondie stops the horse.  “Howdy.” “Coming along right nicely, ain’t it?” Takes him a second to realize what that’s about; he follows the man’s gaze to the scaffold.  “Mm.  Looks like it.” “Not long now till it’s ready.”  That’s self-evident. “She’s a beaut,” says one of the deputies. Not a word Blondie would ever use for it, but all he says, with a touch of irony just for him, is: “Sure.”  He tips his hat, and before any of them can make any further attempt at conversation, he starts back on.  There’s work to be done.

~•~

Tuco’s cooling his heels in a cold, stinking jail cell trying to figure on a way out when he hears the first inklings of a commotion.  It’s a distant shout at first, but sure as the sun rises it grows steadily, becomes a clamor of voices out there in the night, some commanding, some frantic.  “Aw, hell,” mutters one of the deputies, “I’d better see what that’s about.”  He and the other converse mutedly, and then he leaves.  The remaining man eyes the jail cell nastily and then settles back down at the desk.

Not long after comes the low, muffled boom of a far-off explosion, prompting the other deputy up sharply from the desk.  Tuco wonders if the war’s found this place so soon.  

The clamor multiplies quickly; it sounds like half the town.  New light comes faintly through the high, barred window, wavering and orange.  The deputy paces and curses and paces and looks at the window and paces some more.  Tuco feigns sleep.  He swears he can feel the man’s eyes on him. “Shit,” the man says, and leaves.

A beat.  Two.  Three.  Tuco waits till he’s certain, then rises quickly with a low grunt of pain.  This is his break.  He scans the desk, picks out the keyring, then scans his cell for something to try and grab at it with.

A face appears in the window and startles him backwards.  A familiar face, when he looks, and stunned, he opens his mouth. Blondie holds a finger to his lips.  Tuco mouths at him wordlessly, trying to make some kind of sense of what he’s seeing, but he doesn’t speak.  Maybe he’s dreaming.  Or, hell, maybe that two-faced sonofabitch has just come to gloat one last time.  Yeah, that sounds right. Then Blondie’s wedging a kind of a metal hook round the bars of the window, and just before he drops back down, he winks.  Alright.  So it is a dream.

There’s a clatter of hooves, of wheels, a thunderous groan of straining rock and metal.  A crash, and open air.

~•~

The cell wall collapses into the alley exactly as he’d planned, the horses clattering onwards still trying to drag the thing behind their hitched cart; hurriedly he frees the chain attaching the hook and lets them go off into the street. Tuco stumbles out into the alley, his eyes wide.  He moves stiffly.  Blondie thinks of the deputies’ bruised knuckles and bites down hard on his cigar.  There’s no time for getting mad now.  He’s got a second horse waiting and he jerks his head for Tuco to mount, half-wondering if he’ll have to pull him up in his own saddle.  But with a wince, Tuco manages it. They ride.  Rounding a corner, they catch a glimpse of the buildings he’d set ablaze, crowds watching and crying out, the fire squadron trying to douse the inferno.  They plunge onwards into the dark, and no one sees them leave and no one follows.

Tuco, mercifully, waits until they’re well out of town before he starts yelling.  Less mercifully, they’ve dropped to a pace slow enough he can hear it in full. “Blondie, what the hell are you doing here?” “Oh, just saving your neck.  Again.” “Saving my neck.  Yeah, after what you did–” he stops.  “What the hell?” he says again. Blondie doesn’t answer.  Not much of a question anyway. “Why–how come you were in the right place at just the right time?” “Just lucky, I guess,” he says, and deigns not to mention newspapers and wanted posters skimmed in every town, ear pressed to the rumor mill.  It’s still not untrue. Tuco huffs.  After a minute he says, without malice, “You really are a two-faced sonofabitch.” Maybe so. It strikes him, then, the realization: Tuco hasn’t yet broken off to go their separate ways.

They make camp in a low scrubby wood and sit round a low fire with the night huddled very dense and very black around them and they look at each other sometimes across the flames or just stare into the fire.  Blondie’s doing a lot of the latter, biting down too hard on his cigar, trying not to fidget.  He thinks Tuco’s eyes are on him.  He hasn’t checked in a while and he hasn’t got the nerve now.  Beneath the crack of wood he hears the occasional shuffle of movement, adjusting and readjusting.  Antsy.

The line in the territory between justice and murder is thin. They both know. Wanted dead or alive is dead sooner or later, and the lawmen don’t take their time. The old rope-cutting con had relied on that: any bastard trying to make a buck could be judge, jury, and executioner, and if not him then someone else the next morning if he drug his bounty in alive like Blondie had. In and out of town in a flash. Judge, jury, and executioner.  Blondie’s killed half a dozen men for Tuco now and he’s not sorry for a single one.  

“What are you thinking about?” Tuco says at length. He wants to go back and kill those three sons of bitches.  Which is plain foolish because he can’t. “Nothing worthwhile,” he says, which is true, and Tuco scoffs but lets it go. They lapse into silence.  The night presses thicker and thicker at their backs.

“I’ve never been busted out of jail before.” That does make him look up.  Of all Tuco’s bullshit stories there’s a scant few he figures might be true; one was of a judge’s wife who’d been so enamored with him that she’d broke him out of his cell in the night.  He had mostly believed that because it sounded believable, because Tuco’s dodged death more than any man ought and he can charm his way out of just about anything.  Blondie’s loathe to admit it but it’s sure worked on him. He opens his mouth before he can think better and then stops, wonders if asking would just salt the wound. “What,” Tuco says tiredly. His eyes narrow, cautious.  “You said something once about a judge’s wife...” He barks out a laugh, harsh and sudden.  “And you believed that?” Blondie looks down.  Maybe it’s the fire but his face burns. “You of all people oughta know,” Tuco mumbles after a minute.  His voice is almost gentle. “Yeah.”  He doesn’t try to explain himself.  No point.  After a long minute he says, very quiet and half-strangled and for no good reason, “I don’t like lawmen much.” He can feel eyes on him, piercing, for a long beat. “You used to be a bounty hunter.” Now it’s him who laughs, almost sheepish.  “And you believed that, huh?” “Weren’t you?” He shrugs.  “A little.  Here and there.”  He sucks in a breath, lets it out in a slow sigh.  “Heart wasn’t in it.” Judge, jury, and executioner.  Sometimes he wishes it bothered him more.

A long minute passes.  Across the fire, Tuco stands, and Blondie stiffens.  He’s not sure what he expects.  Maybe for him to saddle and mount and ride off into the night.  Maybe just for him to bunk down for the night.  Not for him to walk round the fire and stop in front of him, wavering in the orange gloom.  Blondie stares at his boots. “Blondie?” He looks up at last, one of the few times he’s ever been able to do that given their heights.  The look on Tuco’s face is raw and indecipherable.  It seems like a question but Blondie doesn’t know what he’s trying to ask.  Then he toes cautiously at the dirt by his side, and Blondie nods slowly, shuffles over to let him sit.

A long time passes before he starts to lean.  Slow as the moon scraping cross the night sky; it feels half an eternity before their shoulders first touch. Blondie lets him.  Doesn’t move with it, stays firm against the pressure growing against his side.  At long, long length, he slips an arm around Tuco and leaves it there.

[sweetwhispersofchaos]

Eject Chapter 3

Story Summary: Ejecting from your plane in the face of danger? Expected. Forbidden love amongst pilots? Not so much. Will they bond or will this break them for good?

Chapter Summary: a special picture, an aircraft carrier, and pre-mission discussion

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace All the Daggers, Mav x Penny, Amelia, OC’s

Warnings: Language, Assault (not by a major character), Injury, Eventual smut, Alcohol consumption, smoking, discussions of mental health. (It’s a rollercoaster. You’ve been warned.)

Chapter Word Count: 5183

Eject Masterlist

I do not own anything except the original characters.

This was bullshit. He may not have been a Mav fan for personal reasons, but pulling him off the mission now? With so little time left to prepare for what lay ahead? And these new mission parameters were bogus. Rooster knew he wasn’t going on the run, but his heart leapt into his throat, knowing that Nat would be, and she wouldn’t be a Phoenix, she would be a sitting duck.

The classroom was ready to erupt at Cyclones latest developments when the radar screen in front of them began to beep. A tiny plane appeared on the screen and the beginnings of widespread hysteria ebbed into confusion for all in the room. Then the voice of Maverick rang over the intercom, asking for a green range. Comms confirmed green range but stated they didn’t see him on the schedule today. When Mav told the comms operator he was going anyways, Rooster heard Phoenix mutter “nice”. He had to agree, although he would never admit it. This was bold of the old man.

The air was thick. Never mind that it was hot to begin with but the anticipation for the next 2 minutes and 15 seconds as Maverick navigated the range made the tension in the small classroom palpable. Everyone waited with bated breath to see if the legend himself could do the impossible.

With seconds to spare, he did it. The sonofabitch did it. Some cheered, some sat back in awe, and a few high fives rang out across the room. Rooster just stared at the completed flight path and time on the screen. So, it could be done after all. This made him slightly relieved to know that Phoenix had a fighting chance.

Cyclone did not look pleased, however. He turned on his heel to face the room and everyone sat in their chairs hastily.

“The carrier pulls out at 0500 tomorrow. Report 0400. Go pack your shit. Dismissed.” He barked and then marched through the center aisle and out the door. That was a very angry man on a mission. Rooster knew Mav was in deep shit. This guy just seriously has a death wish, he thought. But what a way to spur the troops. He found himself feeling some serious respect for the man.

The rest of the squad began filing out of the room. He grabbed his shades from his pocket and began to stand before he realized that there was a small, dark head of hair pulled into a tight and neat bun still sitting in the seat in front of him. As everyone else filed out he took two steps into the aisle and came to a stop next to her. She was just staring at the screen, clutching a pen in her hand just under her chin, a look of intensity he recognized all too well resting on her brow.

“You coming?” he asked, but she didn’t move.

Without taking her eyes off the screen, she spoke in a very hushed voice “I prepared myself to die this week.”

That explained the concentrated look on her face, he thought. Phoenix was a realist at heart. Face the world head on, no bullshit kind of gal. So, this comment didn’t exactly shock him.

She continued. “I called my dad to tell him I love him. I triple checked my will. Wrote a letter for my nephews. You know, the just in case kind. I knew I wasn’t coming back from this. If I was selected. But now. Now I feel hope. And that scares me even more.” Her eyes lowered to the desktop in front of her as she spoke that last part. She took a ragged breath. “I know you have a sordid history with that man, but what he just did. Stealing a very expensive government owned plane and giving hope to the people in this room. It was fucking ballsy. But now all my preparation has gone to shit, and I don’t know what to do. There’s no time to process. This seems to change so much, and nothing, all at the same time.”

Rooster continued to stand, staring down at her. For all the fortitude she carried, he was always taken aback when her insecurities slithered through. He knew she hated to appear weak, but he also knew that he was the only person, aside from her older sister, who she felt comfortable revealing her discomforts to.

He held out his hand to her and she looked over, first at his hand then his face, with a quizzical expression. “How about a cup of coffee to help you process before we pack.”

She smiled a tiny smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and reached out to take his hand as she stood. Looking up into his face she smugly muttered “I already packed. Two days ago.” And released his hand to stroll to the door.

Of course you did, he thought. He just shook his head and followed her out of the room.

Two empty cups of coffee were discarded on the table by Roosters chair. Nat sat cross legged on his bed, flipping through a car magazine he had laying around. Bradley was busy loading his duffel. The radio was on low, the only noise in the room other than his stuffing of things into the large bag.

“You know, if you stayed a little more organized this wouldn’t be such a chore every time you ship out?” she tossed sarcastically in his direction without looking up from the article she was reading.

“Ha!” he barked sarcastically back at her, a grin growing across his face. “We can’t all be Anal Annies like you, Nat.” He joked as he tossed a t-shirt at her. It landed on her lap, covering the magazine. She looked up, cocking an eyebrow at him, before tossing it back in his direction. He caught it and crammed it into the ruck with a huge grin on his face.

“I’d say being an Anal Annie has worked well for me.” She spit back, shaking her head and smiling at him.

“What did your dad say when you called?” He asked, hoping the lighthearted moment would soften the transition to what he felt needed to be talked about.

“Nothing much. He never says much. Of course, I didn’t give him any details, just told him I was shipping out, I wasn’t sure when I’d be back, and to take care of himself.” He knew the history with her dad was a rocky one, but she always tried to be mindful of Rooster when she discussed her father. He appreciated her thoughtfulness on the subject, she was always thinking of others.

Rooster just nodded his head as he closed and cinched the flap on his overstuffed ruck. Rolling it across the floor towards the door, he then stood and moved to sit on the end of his bed. As he flopped down hastily, he watched her close the magazine and place it back on the bedside table.

She huffed then looked back at him, almost exasperated. “I’m not close to the guy. You know that. But I didn’t want to die without being the bigger person. Clear my conscious.”

“You’re not going to die.” He said, staring at her.

“You don’t know that. No one does. Hazard of the trade.”

He rolled to his back, his legs hanging off one side of the bed, his head hanging off the other.

“It’s going to absolutely suck sitting on that carrier waiting for you to get back. I’m the helpless one over here. I can’t do anything but sit back and wait. You’re going to go be a badass and win the day, and I’ll just be stuck. Waiting.”

“I’m just hoping we hit the target. That’s the only W I can hope for.” She huffed and then stated, “You could go on the mission, ya know?”

“Nat. We know who is going on that mission. And it aint me.” He spit towards the ceiling, staring up in an effort to conceal his irritation at this fact.

“Bradley Bradshaw, sit up and look at me.” She snapped.

He tilted his head in her direction, the serious expression she wore demanding he do as she said, and he didn’t delay. He sat up, crossing his legs to match hers, afraid of what was coming next.

“Damnit, why do you do this? Self-sabotage? You’re a better pilot than the rest of those guys combined, and you can’t tell me the brass doesn’t recognize that, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Every pilot has a vice, even me. Hangman is too confident, you’re not confident enough, I’m too focused sometimes and miss things, like birds. All of us have something. So quit selling yourself short. You have just as good a shot as anyone else to fly this mission and I’m hoping like hell that we do this together.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to do it without you. I don’t want to leave you to worry. So. Stop being an ass.” And she grabbed his pillow from behind her and tossed it at his head with a grin.

He grabbed it, smiling back, and while holding one end swung and connected with the side of her head.

She began to laugh as she leaned over his bedside table, her hand rubbing the side of her face where he connected. He chuckled as the pillow went to the floor. While they laughed, he didn’t notice Phoenix look down on to the night stand she was leaning over. Her laughing abruptly stopped, and he opened his eyes, still smiling, to see that she had discovered a small secret he had kept in plain sight.

“You still have this?” she asked, sliding a picture from between the pages of another magazine.

He shrugged a shoulder “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

She held the photograph in her hands, studying it intently. The photo was older, crumpled and bent around the edges from all the moving it had done. It was slightly blurry, but it was a picture the night before they graduated Top Gun. The class had gone out to celebrate and in her drunken state, Phoenix had flopped down without grace into Roosters lap to clink beer bottles. Her arm slung around his neck and his around her back to stop her from falling over and they both started laughing. Someone snapped a picture as they were holding each other and smiling in each other’s eyes.

It was Roosters most prized possession aside from a few items he held on to of his parents. That photo was his momentum, his reason to fight, what kept him going. In the moment that photo was snapped he held his world in his arms and nothing else mattered. For just a few seconds, he was genuinely happy without care. She had seen it a couple of times amongst his stuff over the years, but she always thought it was an embarrassing look for her, sloppy drunk and falling. She couldn’t see how beautiful she looked in that moment to him. Loose hair, tight jeans and a pale-yellow top, and that gorgeous smile.

She stared at the photo silently for a few more moments, then placed it back on the nightstand. Without looking at him she rose and headed for the door.

“I’ll see you bright and early” She tossed quickly over her shoulder, and she ghosted out of his room without anything else to go on.

He sat staring after her, wondering why she kept running from him like this and would she run off that carrier in just a few days and leave him forever?

******

Their quarters on an aircraft carrier were not luxurious by any stretch. Four beds in a tiny space with a couple of cabinets. Rooster was bunking with Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. This was his least favorite part of the gig. Too much testosterone in a very tiny space. Luckily, his bunkmates all tended to either be quiet in quarters or not hang out there at all. That was what the pilot’s ready room was for. The ready room had a couple of couches and chairs, some lockers, a comms radio and a few other odds and ends tossed around. That’s where he currently sat, reading one of his car magazines and ignoring the banter of Bob and Fanboy discussing some Star Trek something or other.

After two days at sea, it was getting close to time. The class had been stunned when Maverick called them over before boarding early on embarkation day to let them know that he had been named team leader. Rooster knew for sure that meant he wasn’t going. There were two spots for single seaters, and one went to Mav. That dick Hangman would be the obvious choice for the second. He guessed Mavericks ballsy maneuver put him to the task.

The door to the ready room swung open and Phoenix walked in, carrying her helmet and flight bag. She read the room as she closed the door, a light but tense grin on her lips, and moved to sit in a chair near the back wall of the room, behind Roosters perch on the small love seat. They hadn’t really seen each other since boarding. She was rooming with Halo down the hall from his quarters but didn’t seem to be in the mood for social consumption.

“Phoenix, question. Which character would you want on this mission with you: Pickard or Kirk?” Fanboy asked.

Rooster snorted, knowing good and well she had never seen an episode of Star Trek in her life. He placed an arm on the back of the couch and turned to look at her, amused at the thought of what her answer might be. She was wiping her helmet with a small towel and stopped to look up at the three sets of eyes waiting intently for her answer.

She seemed to contemplate for a moment then said “Pickard. Kirks a loose cannon. No time for that shit.” Then she went back to wiping down her helmet, ignoring the shocked look coming from Rooster.

Rooster blurted out “I’m sorry, what the fuck? Since when would you know something like that!?” She cocked an eyebrow but never looked up from her task.

“I didn’t take you to be a sexist pig, cock boy.” She looked up over her eyebrows with an expression of annoyance at the slacked jaw in front of her.

“Oh, come on! I know you’ve never watched Star Trek.” He stated, sounding more of an asshole than he meant to.

“You don’t know everything about me you know.” She spit back, a little more infuriation in her tone than he expected. It seemed like her mood wasn’t as playful as he first thought.

“Apparently.” He mumbled as Fanboy cut in.

“I knew she would have an answer. That’s why I asked her. Bob and I got her to watch some with us over the last week.” Fanboy stated matter of fact.

Rooster looked over at Fanboy as if he were going to chew him a new one then looked back at Phoenix, who was putting away the cloth in her flight bag. She looked up to meet his eyes and a sense of awkwardness seemed to settle over the room. Was it just him or did she seem, edgy, pissed even? Phoenix stood, placing her items in her locker on the opposite wall, then made for the door. Just as she went to step through, she turned to Bradley and started to say something but as their eyes met, she stopped then turned and walked out of the room.

Rooster just sat staring at the closed ship door, wondering what the hell that was all about.

“Rooster. I think someone needs to talk to her. She’s struggling man. I think it’s the mission.” Bob barely whispered.

“I think that’s putting it mildly.” He said, looking over at the two Trekkies. “I’m not sure that little display had much to do with Star Trek.”

“No, I don’t think it did. I’ll go talk to her.” Bob said as he started to rise.

“NO!” Rooster shouted as he got to his feet. “I’ll go. Ya’ll carry on.” And he made a quick exit.

The problem with an aircraft carrier is, its big. He had no idea which direction she went so he decided to start with her quarters. The girls were lucky, since there were only two, they had a room to themselves. More space. He knocked and Halo answered. Phoenix wasn’t there but Halo said Nat had mentioned something about going to the gym. He thanked her and made for the lower decks where the workout rooms were located.

He found her there, running on an elliptical machine on the outside portion of the exercise space. She had her air pods in and was staring intently at the ocean, a scary look on her face. He couldn’t decide if it was determination or fear, or both. She was practically running a full speed marathon. He had never seen her look so unnerved like this. He didn’t want to startle her, so he slipped behind her across the space and leaned against a railing, the sea breeze lapping at his skin. He crossed his arms and decided to wait her out. If for no other reason because it was quiet down here.

20 minutes later, as he shifted his weight to the opposite leg for the 4th time, her pace began to slow. As she came to a stop, Phoenix reached for her water bottle, and began to step off the machine, her back to Rooster. She took a few swigs of her water, panting heavily between swallows. He watched her closely, almost intrusively. She was wearing a basic black tank top and shorts, her black running shoes, and her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail on top of her head. She was a sweaty mess, but what a gorgeous sweaty mess she was. He wondered if she realized just how gorgeous she was?

He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice her start to turn around. Suddenly, a loud “Holy shit” broke him from his trance of staring at her ass and his eyes snapped up to meet hers.

“What the fuck Bradshaw? Stalker much?” she spat, obviously pissed off. He didn’t move his body or eyes, but he started to think leaning on the railing may be dangerous in this moment. One quick push and she could probably send him overboard.

“Ok, that’s it. What’s with the attitude? What did I do now? Huh? You’re obviously upset about something, so out with it!” He threw at her, more aggressive than he meant to.

She stared at him, eyes narrowing. She was still panting.

“Why do you still have that picture?” she spat.

He became confused. “The pic of us?” he asked. She nodded, still seething in his direction.

He wasn’t sure what to say. She made her stance perfectly clear on the beach about where they stood. This close to go time wasn’t the time to throw down hard truths, or was it?

He stuttered for a moment, not sure what to say. He was wrestling internally. She took several steps towards him, tossing her water bottle onto a bench nearby. “I asked you a question, Bradley. This isn’t hard. Why do you still have that picture?”

He couldn’t let her go on this mission mad at him or concerned about a damn picture. He dropped his head, let out a ragged breath, and decided it wasn’t worth it to fight his feelings to lie to her, to attempt some half assed effort to spare her feelings.

He looked up at her, his resolve completely lost. Arms still crossed, leaning against the carrier railing he decided now was as good a time as any. “Because I love you. There, is that what you wanted to hear? I love you damnit. Not some lust filled thing or as an act of convenience as you put it. I love you Nat, and that picture makes me happy. It reminds me of a moment in time where I was really and truly happy. And I cling like hell to that moment because I never know how many more happy moments I’m going to get in this life, especially with you. Is that such a crime?”

Her eyes went wide. They were both breathing heavily now, staring at each other. The only noise was the crashing of waves against the side of the ship. Minutes felt like hours in that moment. He needed her to say something. Anything. But she just stood there. Then she walked the five feet across the deck to stand in front of him. He stood up from the railing and looked down at her. She was staring at his chest, then she wrapped her arms around his waist. He stood frozen for a few seconds, then wrapped his arms around her.

She spoke so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her over the crashing of the waves. “I’m selfish. I can’t help it. You don’t understand because you’re a man. Women went decades without this ability, just because we have a vagina between our legs.” He let out a light chuckle into her damp hair.

“ I was one of the first women to graduate from Top Gun. That’s HUGE!” she emphasized. “I have a responsibility as a woman to do this job to the absolute best of my abilities. To stay the course and not become distracted. I can’t let things like relationships or the sexist comments of my coworkers…” he felt her right-hand pinch at his waist, and he felt a twinge of guilt. That remark was for him. “…Get in the way of what I feel is my true calling in life. I worked too damn hard to get here.” She paused. Neither of them said anything, he just kept holding her and listening to the rough water behind him.

“We love being pilots. But I wish like hell we lived a different life sometimes. So I’m selfish, and I hate myself for it.” She picked her head up off his chest and her eyes met his, searching. “I love you too. But you know we can’t do this. That picture scared me. What it truly means scared me. The thought of leaving you alone scares the shit out of me. Everything about this scares me. And I want nothing more than to be what you want me to be. But I can’t be this scared and do my job. I must be able to focus. This is too important to me. I’m so fucking pissed and frustrated and…”

She trailed off as he pulled her back into his chest and leaned back into the railing. “Hey, hey, hey. Calm down woman” he whispered, “You’re supposed to be the strong one here.” He felt her body tremor from a small giggle and she slightly relaxed.

She spoke muffled into his chest “Why does everything have to be so hard?”

He placed his lips on the top of her sweaty head, not caring, and mumbled into her hair “You can’t worry about me with what you’re going to be up against. I would worry if you weren’t scared, but I’m sorry for putting some of that fear into you. I didn’t mean to. You’re right, I love being a pilot, but I love being your friend just as much. That is more important to me than the thought of what we could be past friends. So as your friend, “

“BEST friend” she interjected.

“Yes. As your BEST friend” he chuckled “I need to tell you to pull yourself together. Feelings are hard in situations like this, but your head has got to be in the game for tomorrow. Don’t let whatever battle you’re fighting inside get in the way of the kick ass win you are about to accomplish tomorrow. Relationships are a dime a dozen, but what we do, what you are about to do, is once in a lifetime. You’re a badass, that’s what draws me to you. I need you to not worry about me, not worry about us, and focus on the task at hand. Please?”

She nodded her head in affirmative but didn’t remove it from his chest. They stood there for a long time, just holding each other. Not speaking all the things they wanted to say. Not adding to the silence. Just creating another core memory, like the one in the picture, to cling to when shit hit the fan in 24 hours. He placed another light kiss on the top of her head then began to push her back as he stood. She took a small step back and looked up at him as he held her shoulders in his strong hands.

“As much as I’m enjoying this moment, you sort of stink” he said with a wink. Her jaw dropped in shock and then his stomach caught her right hook. He grunted, dropping his hands to the spot she slugged him.

“I swear. You sure know how to kill a moment.” She scoffed as she rolled her eyes. Then her face softened. “Thank you for being honest with me. I know this isn’t easy, trust me. It’s not for me either. But I’m glad to know I have you on my side, no matter what happens tomorrow.”

He just stared at her face memorizing it for posterity. She stepped back, walked over to the bench to grab her water bottle, then turned back to look at him. “I’m sorry I was so short with you. I’ll see you at dinner, yeah?” He nodded and watched her rush through the entry way and disappear back into the ship.

Tomorrow was going to absolutely suck.

He must have missed her at dinner because he never saw her in the mess. He really wasn’t hungry anyways. Rooster picked at some potatoes and steak on his plate while some of the others talked around him. The afternoons events were weighing so heavily on his mind. They had declared love to each other. It seemed to come so casually, so easy, and yet heartbreaking all at the same time. Of course he wanted nothing more than to be with her, in some compacity more than best friends, but her words hit him hard. He had never thought much about her unique position. Phoenix had always been just one of the guys, so the fact that she felt this incredible obligation to her gender was remarkable to him. Just when he thought he couldn’t be more in awe of her, she staked her life and career on the ability to be a role model to the future of women in aviation and he was blown away. She never acted the martyr, so her revelations really hit him differently. He also felt like shit for demeaning her over something so dumb as a Star Trek question. Real smooth dumbass.

Rooster was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear Bob calling his name at first. He didn’t hear it at all until a couple of green peas flew into his chest. He looked up to see several sets of eyes staring at him and a fork in Hangman’s hands facing his direction, a shit eating grin across his face.

“Dude. I think that cow is already dead. No need to keep torturing it like that.” Hangman laughed as he returned his fork to his plate.

“You alright man?” Payback asked and Rooster realized that aside from Hangman, the other guys he was sitting with all looked concerned.

“Nah yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about tomorrow.”

“I don’t know why, I’m sure the comms guys wont mind you keeping them company while the rest of us go take care of business.” Serasin tossed at him then high fived Coyote.

Payback just looked at Hangman with abhorrence, while Fanboy shook his head and Bob rolled his eyes. Rooster decided to do what he did best and ignore the shitbag.

“Time for some shut eye. See yall in the morning.” He said as he stood and made way to the trash can to dispose of his barely touched dinner. Rooster couldn’t get out of there fast enough and sleep sounded like a great idea right about now.

As he rounded the corner to his quarters, he heard steps coming up behind him. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Bob and stopped, turning to face the WSO.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Bob stammered.

“Nah man, its all good. You headed to bed too?”

“Um in a while. I was going to go to the head for a shower. But, uh, I wanted to talk to you first.” He looked around as if someone might be listening in on them. Rooster was confused.

“Ok yeah, what’s up?”

Bob hesitated again; he looked like a man warring with himself. He glanced around one more time as if he was waiting to be caught in the act of something mischievous then he looked back at Roosters and he blurted out “You have to give her time. She must get through this tomorrow. But. I know the front she is putting up is just that, a front. Be patient man, there’s hope.”

Rooster wasn’t sure what he was expecting to come from the smaller man’s mouth, but that certainly wasn’t it. He stared bewildered at Bob as he squirmed from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable with the revelation he just spilled. A few uncomfortable moments passed as they just stood and stared, then Bob cleared his throat and mumbled “Yeah uh shower. See ya.” And ducked off quickly down the hall towards their quarters.

Rooster watched him go then leaned his back against the wall, completely dumfounded at what had just happened. This meant several things. The first being that Phoenix had confided something to Bob about this, whatever it was, between them. It also meant that her WSO possibly knew something more than what she had revealed to him. She must really be struggling with her feelings. He didn’t know whether to feel excited or downright awful that his heart was causing her this much of a struggle. It was never his intention, that was for sure.

The door to their room opened and Bob walked out, bathroom bag in hand. He looked down the hall at Rooster, looking very nervous. The men nodded to each other than Bob took off in the direction of the showers. Rooster decided that his crappy little bed was looking better and better at that moment. Tomorrow was going to be shitty enough without being completely exhausted. He ducked off to bed and began to doze while Bobs words swirled in his head, and he dreamed of holding her again one more time.

Chapter 4 ->

[toaarcan]

Okay, so I got linked a post questioning why people like to undo Fiona Fox's heel turn and make her into a protagonist again, stating that, from their perspective, her being evil and awful was what made her interesting, and insinuated that it's rather sexist to deny her agency in the turn she makes early in Ian Flynn's run.

I'm not gonna directly respond to that post or @ the person who made it, they probably won't even see this, but it made the cogs start turning and I want to go off.

Gonna get the sexism angle out of the way first. I don't buy it. This is a fictional character being written by a dude and her villainous incarnation exists almost entirely as an accessory to her male partner. Even when they're separated, all she's doing is building a team so she can get him back. She's a satellite to Scourge, and her own stated personality and morality are completely removed in order to get her there. She retains zero of the (admittedly thin and underutilised) traits she exhibited before her turn once she turns evil.

Onto the bigger things.

My problem with Fiona's heel turn is that it is an inherently broken story, and it is built on a prior inherently broken story. Ian Flynn's version of Fiona is built on Ken Penders' version of her from the Hell Run, whom is herself incompatible with Karl Bollers' version of her from around the same time.

Of all the characters in Archie, Fiona is the one who suffers the most from Bollers' plans being scrapped and the handover between three different writers. She was left in the lurch with nothing to do until Flynn showed up, and it means that a lot of people view her turn to villainy as a vast improvement over the previous white noise, and that's fair. In many ways, it's a microcosm of the Sonic fandom thinking that Ian Flynn is a writing genius, because their only frame of reference is Ken Penders or Pontaff, and he compares much less favourably to writers who are actually good.

Back on topic, none of those three writers were particularly interested in her as a character. They are far more interested in her as a love interest. For Sonic and kinda-sorta-Tails under Bollers and Penders' pens, and for Scourge under Flynn's, and her own traits are largely ignored in favour of making her a Sally Clone.

Don't believe me? Bollers outright stated in his plans that he brought her in to replace Sally as Sonic's mature and grounded love interest, whom he wanted to write out. Flynn writes her as straight-up the Sally to Scourge's Sonic, and her own traits barely come up. All the ones she had before her turn are gone. Her medical knowledge? Never referenced again. Her connections with the other members of the group? Non-existent. Her history as a treasure hunter? Irrelevant. Everything she has now is just a reflection of Sally.

Flynn's Fiona isn't driven by her anger at Sonic, she challenges him twice and little comes of it, because she's constantly hanging around one of Sonic's actual rivals, who gets the primary focus. Fiona trades barbs with Sally more often, and with more success, because she is framed as Sally's rival on account of dating the evil version of Sally's love interest.

Flynn's Fiona spends the vast majority of her existence glued to Scourge's arm and acting smug. And that's kinda it.

And it doesn't work out well for the other characters involved either.

Scourge absolutely comes off the worst, just because... well, it's rooted in Issue 150. That Flynn based so much of Scourge's early appearances on Issue 150 baffles me to this day, I'd have thought any sane person would distance themselves from that trashfire as much as possible, but nope, Flynn decided to make that sonofabitch load-bearing.

Because the Scourge/Fiona pairing, and thus Fiona's turn, are rooted in Issue 150, there's an inherently creepy aura to the whole thing. It started because Scourge was pretending to be the real Sonic in order to try and score, and she was just one of his potential victims.

The origins of their relationship were only ever told, and not shown, and I think that's because there's no way to write it in a way that doesn't come across as incredibly skeevy.

And going back to Fiona herself for a hot minute here, why does this work on her? Scourge is everything she accuses the real Sonic of being, and her first impression of him is dishonesty. That is a crimson flag, and a character with her specific trauma should be outright repulsed by this.

The heroes aren't looking too hot either. Getting Fiona to the point where she doesn't trust them anymore kinda requires them to act like dumb assholes for a hot minute.

Fiona's backstory not being revealed to the group until Flynn's run requires Sally to be titanically stupid about who gets to join the team that she leads. She is not only the leader of the most famous and effective Freedom Fighter unit on the planet, she is the de facto leader of the Freedom Fighter network as a whole, and the heir to the throne of the nation Eggman spends most of his time trying to conquer. And Flynn is asking us to believe that they don't do background checks. Eggman could hire/build an assassin and send them to "Join the Freedom Fighters", in order to get close to Sally and kill her, and it would actually have a chance of working.

The idea that Fiona could get on the team without Sally knowing who she is and where she came from is, frankly, intensely stupid. Especially when three of the four people who know her backstory already are already in the city and on the same team. Even if Fiona herself didn't spill, Sally should've been able to get at least some of that information from Sonic, Mighty, or Ray.

I honestly and firmly believe that Issue 130-159 were written under the assumption that the FF knew Fiona's deal already, and Flynn made Sally much stupider in order to break the heroes' trust in her.

Also, it's just never made any sense that "I was a small-time thief and I didn't tell you because I was afraid of not being trusted" is so horrible a secret when they have no issues at all trusting Rouge, who did all the same things (but was actually successful), did actually work with Eggman (which Fiona never did), and will eventually be willing to let Blaze's universe die rather than give up a Sol Emerald (Yes, that was also bad writing, but one shit story at a time please), and Shadow, who tried to destroy the world. Why is this a bridge too far for Sally? Oh, because Flynn needs Fiona to be on the rocks with the FF so she can turn evil.

And then there's Sonic himself. Sonic's already looking fairly dodgy before that point. He doesn't end Penders' run smelling of roses. But Flynn manages to make it worse.

We're told in Issue 172 that Fiona tried to find a spark with the real Sonic, but he was boring to her. And then in Issue 179, we find out why: He was never into her to begin with. On his end, their entire relationship, which lasted 17 issues IRL, was actually a harebrained scheme to try and force Tails to move on from his crush on her.

This is, in full honesty, the stupidest plan ever conceived by anyone in any Sonic story, ever. Plans concocted by Scratch and Grounder in AoStH are smarter than this idea. All of them. This is eight consecutive Natural 1s on an Intelligence check. He's making Scott Pilgrim look like a sensitive and mature person.

Hey, Sonic, have a look at your friend Amy and ask yourself whether "My crush is in a relationship with someone else" is actually an effective deterrent to crushing on that person.

Also, the person you are putting in this sham relationship has a history of not trusting you, and has unresolved trauma from the last time you (inadvertently) fucked her over. Maybe consider not using her affections for a harebrained scheme to help your friend, who neither asked for nor appreciated your 'help.'

Literally all Sonic manages to achieve from this plan is making two people angry at him instead of just one.

And that's a giant stumbling block for me, because I look at this story and I don't say "Sonic and Sally fucked up in how they treated Fiona and thus she turned on them," I say "But they wouldn't act like that."

The root cause of Fiona losing her faith in the FF is a "He would not fucking say that" for me, and if I can't retcon it, I'm gonna try and ignore it. It may have happened, but for the purposes of writing further, it does not exist.

The hand of the writer is blatantly fucking obvious in this particular story. Sonic is being an ass and Sally is being an idiot and Fiona's trauma applies only to her anger at Sonic and not to her reaction to Second, Even Shittier Sonic, and Scourge has appreciable qualities besides "Is a Sonic." None of these moving parts work, and said Hand of the Writer is looming so large that I have to fight every urge in me to not justify that Hand by actually making it a "Hand of This Villain with Something to Gain from the Outcome", who is somehow causing all of this OOC behaviour.

If I write a scene where Fiona goes off at Sonic about how he hurt her, then Sonic's response, his first response, is going to be to apologise to her, for all of it. Because yeah, it's really fucking weird that he hasn't already, so that's what he's gonna do.

And then what? If Fiona accepts it, she's not exactly a villain anymore. If she doesn't, then she's become fully one-dimensional. She got what she wanted and she's not accepting it because... reasons.

Furthermore, I have a hard time viewing Fiona's end-of-canon normal as an improvement on her situation from before. Yeah, Scourge accepts her shittier side. Great. He's also an egomaniacal nutbar with genocidal intentions bubbling under the surface, who has cheated on every partner he's ever had, and definitely verbally and probably physically abuses her. The best thing for her is to get the fuck out of there and find someone who won't decide to blow up the planet she's standing on just because he can. And yeah, she could go and live her best life as a villain, but... what is she going to do, what's she going to achieve, and how is that actually going to work? Flynn didn't give her any goals outside of being with Scourge, I don't have a lot to work with here!

If she decides she wants to get even with Sonic, she's going to win that immediately, as I said above. If she wants to beat him physically for it, that's only going to happen if he lets her, because he is much, much too fast for her to even land a hit.

The other thing is, to take an even more external perspective for a minute, I am never going to be in the position of writing for an ongoing comic that is designed to last forever. I will only ever be writing a story that is designed to end. Every villain in anything I write is going to eventually lose permanently, or at least, they'll be planned to do so. And I don't like leaving loose ends. So every last one of those villains is going to end up redeemed, imprisoned, or dead.

I'm a firm agreer with the "Banality of Evil" as a concept. Ain't nobody going to actually be able to live their best life by being a shit. Evil is unfulfilling, and villains do not prosper, because you can't build something great if all you do is destroy things.

And that's why I'm not going to write something where Fiona stays evil and still has a good time of things. It's just not happening. I can have her stay on the path Flynn put her on, which will only ever end badly, break away from that but stay antagonistic and fall because of it, or heal. And of those three, I find the latter the most interesting to explore with her. I already got a dozen villains who will fail and/or die because of the inherent self-destructiveness of their actions, I don't need another.

With characters like this, I'm more interested in healing than I am in stasis.

That's also not to say that Fiona can't be interesting as a hero. Someone with actual, legitimate grievances with the main protagonist, who has every reason to hate them, but finds a way not to? Fascinating stuff. I will loudly and proudly say that pre-evil Fiona is one of the most underutilised characters in Archie, in a way that post-evil Fiona just isn't. I want to know more about the character Bollers was writing after his original plan got scrapped, and before he got shoved out the door by Penders' bullshit. I can't say the same of Flynn's version, she's basic.

And heck, exploring a redemption arc for her can be fun too. Just because she's returned to the light, doesn't mean she's going to automatically get better. Especially if part of it involves seeing Scourge for what he really is, perhaps painfully so. There can still be a bitterness, an anger in her.

I didn't get particular far with it before the burnout hit, and I haven't done anything with my Sonic fic for like five years now, despite often saying that I want to go back to it, but my take on Fiona in that story was mending bridges with her old friends, finding common ground with Bunnie and Amy as former targets of Scourge, discovering a new connection with Sally through both of them escaping from abusive situations, albeit with deep scars in the process (because I had Sally finally acknowledge that her father was abusive), and most importantly, reconnecting with Nic, another character that Archie did dirty. She also has a building new friendship with Emerl, and is heavily involved in the efforts to resolve the mystery of the Gizoid's origin. I built that idea on an extrapolation from her backstory- my version of Fiona is kind of an amateur archaeology buff, she can read ancient languages, and she's familiar with the fall of the Fourth Great Civilisation, so she knows more about Emerl than most others.

And that's not to say that she's wholly good now. There's still a darkness in her, her amount of trauma has only increased and her first instinct is to lash out at the causes of it. Her newfound allies might be opposing that course of action, but that's only causing her to get sneaky about it. Sonic won't train her to fight someone with his abilities? That's fine, she can ask Emerl. And her less-heroic ideals aren't just lip-service either. The Mecha Sally saga changed things, and Sally's own recent heaped serving of trauma has pushed her in a less Lawful Good direction. Fiona's less-pure ideas have a seat at the table now, and I do plan to eventually address some of the bad writing that her villain stint was founded upon.

Of course, there's still a lot that I'd change about the parts I've already published, but that's old writing for you.

TL;DR: Fiona's heel turn and motivations are rooted in a giant case of "They would not fucking say/do that" on the part of Sonic and Sally, and are shaky at best when it comes to Fiona herself and Scourge. I cannot appreciate it as a result, and even Flynn's version is more of an accessory for Scourge than a character, so I don't feel remotely obliged to honour it. I'm also much more interested in healing and I do not tend to have villains prosper in general, because I view evil as inherently self-destructive, and I also write with an ending in mind and don't like leaving loose ends, so "Riding off into the sunset to be evil another day" is not on the table.

For a less serious answer, stapling a new personality onto Fiona is something everybody that ever touched on her in canon did, who am I to break the trend?

[lucasxholt]

Who: Luke x Open ( @vievecorcitystarters ) Where: Chissob Hills Forest When: After Midnight, First night of Festival

The past few days had been anything but normal for the lawyer as he fought to keep his sanity in check. It all started with that damn mark, appearing on his left inner wrist during one of his court hearings. He tried washing it in one of the courthouse sinks, scrubbing his wrist until it was damn near bleeding, but it didn't so much as smudge. Then came the visions. Randomly he saw flashing images of creatures as the people that stood around him before he would blink them away. He figured these were mere hallucinations and did his best to put them away, burying them deep along with his anger. Luke began to wonder if his latest hobby was the cause, figuring he'd finally lost control of what little sanity he possessed

Luke spent the better half of the festival with his children, desperately clinging to his humanity as he rode a few rides and scarfed down chili dogs with the twins. It wasn't until his ex-wife took them for the night that Luke got to work, keeping a close eye on his next victim. He'd been trailing him deep into the woods, keeping a close eye on him when he heard a branch snap not far away. It had spooked the murdering sonofabitch (not that Luke could talk) and he'd darted off into the woods. Irritated that he would have to wait to scratch that itch, Luke whirled towards the person who'd made the sound, a devilish smile on his lips as he lit a cigarette. "Little far off the trail, aren't we?... Lost?"

[taffydragonblog]

Ok... taking a break from Master King since my hands get tired before the rest of me does

Paused on starting Wyvern with 315-ish rings

Some notes:

Don't wait too late to use Quick Cyloop, if a Titan is already defeated while it's bound then you have to wait for it to unbind, which eats rings

If you fail a parry more than twice, just... start over XD srsly

For Wyvern, you can tell a missile's about to hit you when it's tip flashes black and white. When you see it, PARRY

When you bind Wyvern, sometimes it's homing target moves offscreen, and that's just a sonofabitch

Grand Slamming actually pauses the ring count for a second, so... feel free to keep doing that

Do not! Keep! Hitting the Knight's shield! Wait until it drops the shield, then wail on it! You do not want to get stuck riding the shield, that is a timewaster!!!

Spamming combos on Knight appear to keep it from moving around so damn much

[afarcry5fromstraight]

for the fruits and veggies ask game:

🍎🍒🍉🥭🍋🥑🥝🍇

<3 <3 <3

Oh man this has been far too long, I'm sorry <3 Wrapping up a move and this has been such a pleasant escape. Thank you!

🍎  Who does your OC value above all else? 

Her younger brother. He passed away when she was 15, he was 9.

🍒 Who is your OC’s perfect companion?

Osric! He’s a Red Fox kit given to Chloe in an attempt to coax her out of a suffocating depressive swing after her K9 was mauled to death. [this whole intro is actually almost done now and I’m very excited!].

🍉 What will your OC take to the grave?

She was the one who started the fire.. though she didn’t know he was in the house when she started it. 

🥭 What colors best represent them and why? Does this differ from their favorites?

Green stands largely for the logician side of Chloe's brain. Boredom is fucked- filling the space is sometimes considered a “morally grey area”, whatever that’s supposed to entail anymore.  

Green is actually her favorite color, but she’ll be damned if she ever admits that. It's because it's a great color- not because it reminds her of anyone's - anything-. She's always liked green. It's a coincidence, and people need to shutthefu- red. Her favorite color is red. 

🍋 What is their kryptonite / ultimate weakness? 

Chloe has never and probably will never actually trust herself with anything, most especially her own emotions.

🥑 What will they never back down about, even if it makes them seem bad? 

Bloody Mary’s ARE just alcoholic spaghetti sauce and she is NOT sorry she fought Mary over it. She will do it again.

��� How does their outside appearance differ from who they are?

Even when she first signed the damn paper she thought by the time the uniform was on, she’d be ready. Hooooly shit. She has no idea what she was doing, still doesn't. Everyone looks at her with this pillow of relief in their eyes, as if her presence brought security. She laughed at that, what a fraud she’d become. Wasn’t everyone? Deputy Felix; what bullshit. 

🍇 What's their circle of people / their species like? What dynamic would they be called?

Chloe’s best friends are Eli and Theo. Between avoiding John like the plague and needing to isolate for recharge; Holland Valley makes it impossible for Chloe to stay long term. In a different life, Grace and Mary could’ve been her favorite people. Whatever life this is, Chloe finds herself adopting the Hunter’s Pass cabin as her central haven. Eli insists she’d like it better at the Wolf’s Den- but he also knows she’ll never stay there. That’s something Eli and Tobias have in common. Disapprove of her nonsense all they like, they’ll respect her bullshit all the same. Can’t exactly argue with her results either. “Ain’t ever met a patriot who wasn't a sonofabitch”, or whatever that asshole said before. Chloe never hung out with them together anymore, not after Eli went off and built up his whitetails. She really couldn't blame him, though.

[terribletoonietuesday]

The Killing Tree (2022)

There are bad movies not worth talking about then there are bad movies that are almost good which makes me obsessed and fills me with a need to discuss it even that deep down I know it's shit. Killing Tree is a great example. Killing Tree on paper is hilarious. Seconds into the film a woman performs a seance to bring a serial killer back from the dead but his soul enters a Christmas tree. She eludes it was a mistake but it looks like that's exactly what she was planning to do. Basically the tree comes to life and hunts down the survivor of his last massacre who caused him to be caught and executed. Let's state that he can talk too. So a guy in a christmas tree costume walking around killing people and talking. BUT this movie is not funny. How the hell is this not funny? At least I don't think it was even supposed to be. Cause if it was wow did it fail. It's like the wrote this concept and then started to do silly things but everytime it almost gets funny you can sense the writer said to themselves "oh no that's silly lets stop that ''. Were they afraid to be too much like Jack Frost or did they really believe this should be serious. However there are some laughable points. When the tree killer turns to cgi he is huge and a monster but when he is on screen with other people he is just a man literally stuck in a christmas tree who can barely walk around. He does grumble alot to himself which I think was maybe supposed to be funny and again almost is.. but isn't. The cast has several eluded lesbian relationships but the only semi sex scene slash kill involves the only and totally unimportant straight couple, the girl did look good in a bikini though. However the kill during their scene ruins a legit quality gag. Before they are killed we meet a girl in a Christmas Cracker costume and we know that means the tree will appear large for a moment and tear her in half like a cracker. But second before he kills the straight couple by killing one of them tearing them apart like a cracker for no reason. Then seconds later find the cracker girl and do the exact same thing with the exact same cgi. It's like they were handed in only so much cgi and had to figure out how to fit in it with what they had already filled. Which is why every other kill is usually just cgi branch slash tentacles whipping out of the tree and stabbing people. You just know they directed them to run around and just act like they were shot and they said they would figure the rest out later. The scenes are shot very well, the cast is very attractive but extremely boring. It's like you get so close but then it falters to almost annoy you on purpose. So frustrating. Sure I could go on about how they could fix it but I'm no better so it's not my place, but, spoiler at the end there is almost a tree kaiju battle .. almost, but then they don't. So I think you get my drift. Hell at one point the evil tree lists ways he could kill someone but then never does any of those things. Sonofabitch. I would love to see a sequel where they just went ape shit insane. I'll send em a script later but this is made by the director of the still yet to be released Winnie the Pooh horror so Im sure he is busy. It is the best Uncorked movie i've seen.. but that means nothing , trust me. Merry X mas you filthy animals.