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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Yan Entity + [G.N] Fastfood Worker Reader

Why the ice cream machine at your job doesn't work anymore. Aka a shitpost made with a little too much effort.

[Suggestive]

"Y/n! Machine's broke!"

"So-?"

"..Can you fix it?"

You shove your earpiece into the hands of your coworker. As the person who's been on board the longest aside from your manager, wherever they are, and just sane enough to tell the tale the recent hires often ran to you for help with the issue of the day. Or hour, if you're really unlucky- By now, this place has broken you down enough that you simply carry through the task at hand under the guide of ancient instruction manuals you found lying around. You were used to doing things about your pay grade, but this one was personal.

The ice cream was what kept you pushing. Arguably the only thing edible on the menu, with enough taste to back that claim up. Rich, creamy, and a hundred percent free for members of the staff. At the start of your break or during the end of your shift you'd grab a cone to relish in the fruit of your hard labor with frozen goodness.

You walk over the kitchen side of the room. The evening rush was dying down and it was just you and your coworker today so that only left you and whoever was sitting atop the machine you were sent to fix in the area.

"Hellooo there~"

Maybe it's time you go check on the drive in window. Gets lonely this time of night.

The intruder kicks their feet against the side of the machine, humming along happily to the beat. You recognize them as the coworker who quit just the other day, but something's off. Their head bends at an odd angle to get a better look at you from their position; eyes milky white rather than the baby blues remember and their skin ghostly pale, lines of foam frothed in the corner of their lips. Their uniform seemed dated with the outfit painted white as apposed to the typical burnt red and the patch on their shirt depicting the pair of horns floating over an ice cream cone. You can see something roll back on their ashen tongue as they speak again.

"Missed you today."

"You quit four days ago."

"This...." They look at their badge. "Teri individual certainly did. I on the other hand have been here for quite a while and probably the first to see what's so great about you. Nice warm hands and willing to take it straight from the nozzle."

You knew that twenty wasn't worth taking that bet. "That was one time."

"Seven, actually. Believe me I kept track.

"Whatever. Can you move so I can fix the machine?"

"That's a nice looking cone right there."

You follow their eyes. There's an ice cream cone on the counter within arm's reach - topped with the perfect swirl that put your attempts to a murky grave. "What about it?"

"Go on- Taste it. You deserve a little something special after all your effort."

"I really have to fix the machine..."

"Do this and it'll run good as new. I promise."

You pick up the cone. Your "coworker" straights up like a post and place their hands between their legs as they lean in, dipping so far it looked like they were ready to pounce. Tossing them a sideeye, you course your tongue upside the peaked curves of the treat. Probably not the best course of action as you catch the moment their soul figuratively leaves their body. Still, their stare held no weight compared to the fluffy mount of heaven melting on your tongue. The best soft serve you've had by far. You nurse the tip, wanting to savor the treat-

"Keeping going."

But you haven't the time for such pleasantries. Sweeping the cream to the back of your mouth with your tongue, the cone's quickly disappears pass your lips. The ice cream drips and dribbles down your chin, creating suction between the pause you take between licks. Your coworker focuses intensely on the sneaks of the pink muscle lapping at the dessert, practically crushing their hands with their thighs. That foam hanging from their maw bubblish vigorously and glows a haunting blue as they hiss through their teeth. The machine begins to shake.

"Stick it out...."

You stick your tongue out, padding a little too hard against the cone. What's left of the scoop breaks off and runs down the back of your hand, caught by your mouth before it could hit the floor. You shutter as some misses and goes down your shirt. Your coworker doesn't have the dignity to try hiding the moan rippling through their worn throat. Their head rolls back as does their eyes, fog trailing into the air as they claw at their neck. The machine's lights flicker rapidly between red and green, melted ice cream overflowing the edge of the table and onto the floor disbursing through the pipes in thick, fluid streams.

"Yes- you absolute tease. I've waited to see this for so long. Always leaving right when things get good. You don't know how happy I get seeing you every during your breaks. You always look so upset, but then- you come to me..."

You force swallow the ice cream in your mouth, fighting the the ache traveling from jaw to your brain. You briefly tongue the crater left in the cone forgetting about your company momentarily. Realization snapping back, you bite around the shell and shovel it in your mouth once it able. Everything was sticky. Your face, hands, upper chest and mostly uniform.

Your coworker hops off the machine, making quick work of shoving your fingers in their mouth. The cavity and their tongue was wet and slick, but in a way it felt like putting your hand in a cooler with some kind of frozen serpant lying in wait. They clean your fingers in earnest, getting through each nook and even beneath your nails. Doing the same with your opposite, they finally suckle on the collar of your shirt as if to clean it just the same. Their teeth ghost a mark over your skin. You shove them off you.

"That's enough."

"For now." Your coworker surprises you with one more lick scoring the sticky mess staining your cheek. The tip of their tongue manages to hit your lips. With that same domestic flare, they grab the tail end of your apron and use it to wipe up the remaining slick, smiling as if they'd be waiting for you to come home from your busy life all day.

"I hope we see each other again soon. I mean we will, but maybe next time I'll put on something more... comfort. Take care, gorgeous."

Your coworker winks - wandering off towards the back with one lingering smile. They blow a kiss as their body dips behind the door.

"Hey, Y/n did you get the machine fixed?"

Your pants legs sag turning in the flood below. "When you think about it do we really need ice cream?"

#Fast food reader #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere ghost #yandere teratophilia

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dxstopiaa · 1 year

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Close Confinement

Synopsis: Party games were a great way to pass the time, but seven whole minutes with the scribe himself? [Request]

Characters: Al Haitham x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: NSFW content, interact at your own risk. [Includes: Soft sex, Virginity loss, semi-public sex, praise, pet names] [it took me a while to write this, but i hope you like it! <3]

Boring, tiresome and irrelevant.

The trinity of words which circulated the young post-graduate’s mind, all to describe the topic of socialising and parties. If it was up to his own decision, Al Haitham would’ve rejected the offer in less than a second. However, it was not.

Duties and desideratum of the Akademiya’s students, he was told. According to many of the matra, there was a high demand of past students requesting a sort of reunion— a celebration, as illustrated on the infamous community message board.

In short, the Acting Grand Sage had no choice but to cater to their desires, hence the situation he found himself in. Snapping back from his thoughts, he glanced back at the venue he had organised, half proudly, half nonchalantly. Not too bad for the first try.

Of course, with the help of his rather irritating roommate, who wasn’t as insufferable when he had something to occupy himself with. Kaveh stood expectantly beside the Scribe, tapping his pen on his pale lips, surveying the checklist he had prepared. The quiet hum which left him already told he was satisfied enough.

One topic that Al Haitham didn’t see on aforementioned list was guest entertainment, something that he ignored in hopes of not having to deal with it. Spoiler from his future self— that approach did not go to plan.

Instead, the Acting Grand Sage found himself musing over you, who currently sat opposite from him. That sweet, soft-hearted girl who always greeted him so kindly, always keen to listen to his theses and reports with such attention. Even now, you just looked too cute for the most stoic of men to ignore. The Scribe would gladly play any silly game to amuse you.

“Al Haitham, just spin the bottle already!” Cyno groaned, wanting nothing more than to get this stress-inducing situation over with. A series of agreements from the other two graduates followed. You merely stared at him with anticipation.

He’s changed a lot, you thought. Appearance wise, his silver tresses were more the shade of oxidised metal, not to mention his muscular physique, just how much has he undergone in recent years? Still as nerdy as ever though, another book resting on his lap.

The ashen-haired scholar scoffed—smoothing his fingers over the virescent glass, pushing it into a spinning motion. Friction worked its magic, slowing down till the neck of the bottle faced directly towards you.

The group immediately began snickering, observing your cheeks redden, putting the ripest of berries to shame. You looked up again, witnessing the smug expression of success on their faces. The tension between you both was overpowering, about time they did something about it.

“That settles it then! Go on..” Kaveh coerced, pushing the both of you into a poorly-furnished conference room to the left of the lounge and locking the door from the outside.

Cliché. Was this a punishment or rather a reward from the gods?

Al Haitham didn’t know what to do with himself. This wasn’t like him at all to be thinking in such ways but— Archons, your dress barely covered your thighs from him.

You were biting the insides of your cheek, averting your eyes to anywhere but him, despite only being a few inches away. You’d understand his actions soon enough, hopefully.

He cupped your face with his palm, brushing away stray strands of hair that obstructed the view of your precious eyes. Your breath hitched, leaning into his gentle touch. He pulled you in closer, intending to wordlessly claim you as his own.

“May I?” Al Haitham pleaded, his piercing, turquoise irises tainted with affection. His voice was quiet— almost strained, like he was afraid of rejection, something you’d never do to him.

You hastily nodded your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. He kissed you delicately, a faint taste of sweet wine still left on his lips. The Scribe trapped your body against the wall, pulling away just to kiss you again at the sight of your smudged lipstick. His mouth trailed down to your neck as his hands did to your waist.

His touch was hypnotic— your mind was hazy and overcast with him, countless dreams of this years ago now enacted in-front of you. His hands travelled further, grasping onto the underside of your thighs and wrapping your legs around him to stand comfortably imbetween them.

Al Haitham was curious as to how you’d react. Would you be quiet and anxious, rarely moaning and instead gasping? Or would you be vocal, crying his name out at any given moment? He traced a slender finger over the front of your panties, observing you squirm into his touch.

“Haitham…” You muttered, a flutter of butterflies swarming deep within, each flickering motion of a wing seeming to spur a different emotion. Desperation, apprehension and lust.

“Yes, darling?” He continued to skim over your clit underneath the fabric, clouding your thought process over. You reached to cover your mouth, whimpering into your own hand.

“I haven’t done this before—” You whined upon feeling his clothed erection press up against you, needily rolling your hips against him. Your face flushed from the confession and the sinful noise you let out.

“I’ll be gentle, angel.” The Scribe comforted, which felt strange for him to utter such words. Anyone who knew the scholar would be aware of his abrasive, arrogant nature— but his heart followed no limits when it came to you.

And gentle he was, softly pleasuring you with skilled fingers, coaxing angelic sounds from your pretty, hesitant lips. Al Haitham wanted nothing more than to see them swollen and wet from kisses. A few seconds later you were essentially begging for his cock, palming his crotch with your inexperienced hand.

Your pleads were just adorable, who was he to deny you of what you wanted? With his fingers wet with your slick, he slid them over his flushed tip. It was quite the confidence boost for you to exclusively see the Acting Grand Sage deteriorated to this mindless state.

He prodded at your pussy, barely even managing to hilt himself with you clenching so tightly, hearing your timid sobs from the stretch, tears forming in your eyes.

“I know, darling, try to relax for me…” Al Haitham amorously whispered, planting short-lived pecks on your forehead whilst he massaged your thighs softly, giving you a few moments to adjust before beginning to move.

The feeling of his girth dragging against your insides was a simultaneous sensation of pain and pleasure. You struggled to restrain yourself, opting to bury your face against the scholar’s chest. With each prolonged thrust, your brain struggled to comprehend anything else.

“You’re doing so well, angel.” Al Haitham could feel you squeezing around his cock at his words, murmuring how it was all too much for you, phrases adjourned by blissful moans. You were close, those erotic grunts from his ajar mouth did nothing but worsen the tingling in your lower abdomen.

A final firm thrust and you finished around his cock, gripping onto him so much that he came inside of you. Your sublime expression so innocent, eyes half-lidded in euphoria. The Scribe pulled out, letting you stumble against him for support.

“So good for me, let me clean you up, sweetheart.”

The long-forgotten graduates were still at the very same table, entertaining themselves with numerous glasses of alcohol and a card game of the General’s choice. It’d be a complete lie if they were to say they hadn’t had a clue about your prior predicament.

The lipstick stains over Al Haitham’s face and neck, his dishevelled hair accompanied with your dress creased and legs still trembling from implied events— all telltale signs of something more explicit.

“It’s called seven minutes in heaven, not thirty minutes making your neighbour’s ears hell!” An embarrassed complaint from an even more ashamed blonde, flicking a card at his chuckling roommate.

#we’re zhongli and xiao lovers here #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #alhaitham #genshin alhaitham #genshin impact alhaitham #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x fem!reader #al haitham x reader #kaveh #cyno #genshin kaveh #genshin cyno #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #please i hope my attention hasn’t decreased #repost yes

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K], Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: Rather than telling Joel you’re thankful for him saving your life, you show him.

Word Count: 4k

CW: A bit artsy 👀 mentions of physical assault, descriptions of wounds, detailed gore. Quickie vibes. Dirty (literally) sex. Slight exhibitionism. Gagging. Possible Ep. (4) spoilers, BASED ON THE GAME.

Tease: “Good… That should keep you quiet,” he mumbles.

Squeezing the veins in your wrists, the blanched zip ties that locked your hands tightly had cut off the circulation to your fingers. You hadn’t been able to feel them when the door burst open.

He’d stormed into the ‘abattoir’, as the Pittsburgh hunters called it, with a bull-like rage. Blood from the gaping wound on your forehead seeped into your eyes, yet you could see the heaving of his chest as he descended upon the butchers with a callous ferocity.

It all felt dream-like, the sequence of his fatal dance. The dingy room was lit only by the slithers of sunlight that peeked through the boarded windows, illuminating the dripping crimson on the blade he plunged into the hunter's throat. He offers them little solace in death, moving swiftly to the next and discarding the shiv in favour of his fists.

He tears through him, knuckles devastating the face of the man who had dragged you into the room by your hair. Discarded in the corner of the death chamber, you’d been promised a skinning, to be carved up until you painted the ashen tiles rosey. Instead, the bull-man brutalises your aggressor with military precision, slamming his head into the marble catafalque with such force that fractions of his skull fly through the room, ricocheting off the ceramic-grid walls.

You considered, at the time, that it gave the same effect as firecrackers. Though, you hadn’t felt like celebrating.

“You bit?” He’d asked, detecting you on his final sweep of the room. In turn, you offered an almost comically meek shake of your head, daunted by the cruor that dripped across his face. You were inclined to remember Carrie, the pigs' blood painting her prom dress and staining her blonde hair. Likening your captor to a pig felt cruel to the swine.

Your saviour hovered, his eyes drifting over your exposed skin in search of teeth marks.

“Jesus Christ, Joel!” A loud, alarmed cry of a young girl had shocked you from your trepid-haze. She lingered in the doorway, staring slack-jawed at the blood that soaks the aggressive animal she calls ‘Joel’. Her youthful face is round, dotted with freckles and her mousy brown hair is pulled up in a ponytail. Strands of her fringe frame her face, and scrapes cover her cheekbones and chin.

“Ellie,” Joel had answered with a firm tone, ordering her attention, “We gotta go; they ain’t gonna take long to fi-“

“You can’t just leave her here,” The young girl, Ellie, squeaked in utter dismay, the frantic wave of her index finger at your bindings indicating her urgency.

Joel’s expression showed his irritation, opening his mouth to argue before letting out a strangled growl. His blood-wet hands white-knuckled the shiv in the body he had discarded, pulling the weapon from its throat with a sickening squelch.

Stepping over to you, he’d slipped the shiv between your hands, slicing through the zip-ties with a single heave. The blade's flat edge painted the insides of your wrists with sticky gore.

That was six hours ago if the moon's location was anything to judge. Joel had led both you and Ellie through the savage streets of Pittsburgh, narrowly evading the Humvee that cruised the roads. With the machine gun trained on the shadows in the alleyways, the hunters implored ‘the man and the girl’ to reveal themselves; their voices tinged callously. The decaying corpse strapped to the hood of the armoured vehicle hadn’t gone unnoticed by you, and you doubt Joel, eagle-eyed as he was, had overlooked the wordless threat either.

The environment was challenging, flooded hotels with rusted elevators that were out of use and crumbling buildings that were dangerous to scale. Despite the risk, Joel remained calm and led you and Ellie through it with barely a fault.

By evening, as the lowering sun painted the bloodied streets with an ichor glow, your impromptu group had discovered more survivors- Sam and Henry. The brothers had offered shelter in exchange for company and aid crossing town. Once again, Joel had begrudgingly obliged.

Henry had opened the door to his safe house, situated within a rundown apartment building. He and Sam shared out blueberries, the kids toying around and taking turns throwing the fruits into each other's mouths before sleeping for the night, Joel insisting the two needed rest for the final frontier tomorrow.

With the children asleep, Joel and Henry set about their plan to leave the city. The uncertainty you felt about Joel’s appreciation for your presence kept you from adding to the proposal. Regardless, both men appeared confident without your input — natural leaders born from protecting their respective children.

It’s sometime past midnight. Joel sits at the window, a mixture of the silver moonlight and the golden lampposts just beyond the glass pane illuminating his face. Henry had given up his post an hour ago, retreating to a mattress in the corner of the room to recoup. Joel has taken over, lost in deep thought. His eyes scan the streets below in search of a threat, be it the homicidal Humvee or clickers crawling around in the shadows.

Unspoken gratitude sticks to your oesophagus, causing a lump in your throat. Despite his hesitation, Joel had saved you from those hunters and led you through the city until freedom was within touching distance. Something told you he was deserving of thanks for at least gifting you this golden opportunity.

Joel’s silver hair glows in the moonlight, strands of platinum against the bronze. The scar stretching across the bridge of his nose appears ruddy in the low light, drawing attention to the age-old wound and causing you to contemplate how he got it.

You know practically nothing about this man beside the obvious; His name, that he’s guardian to the young kid called Ellie, who you’re not even sure is his child. Your only other observation was that he was a brilliant battle strategist and executioner. Joel’s weapon skill is undeniable, his hands brutal and deadly with a handle or a trigger.

Regardless of this limited information which ensures he remains more of an enigma than a friend, your heart thrums wildly in your chest as you watch him, bathed in the glow of the night while protecting his new-found group of survivors.

If you weren’t so fucking hot, you’d put it down to a fever-chill, delirious with flu. Sadly, you could only put your crush-like symptoms down to years of solitude. The little kindness the gruff, staunch man had shown you had kicked your heart into overdrive, millennia of evolution and human nature begging you to search for further comfort in him. All this within six hours.

Pathetic.

Suppression of the ridiculous notion simply isn’t enough. Your body yearns for Joel’s touch. Despite the feral and frankly terrifying way he dismantled his foes, your brain has somehow managed to convince you of his suitability as a partner, a protector.

At the very least, you manage to steer your lovesick brain towards at least thanking him for rescuing you from your bindings. However, it’s as though your lips are frozen. Situated in the corner of the room, you cannot will yourself to speak, can’t urge yourself to articulate your appreciation.

Instead, you stand. Joel’s eyes snap towards you, the fingers that had been scratching at his beard stilling at the motion he detected in the corner of his eye. He seems to settle at the sight of you, though, muscles melting back into their semi-relaxed posture as you approach slowly, careful to avoid knocking anything that could wake those around you.

“Trouble sleepin’?” He broaches conversation delicately, as though he’s uncertain you’re strong enough to face communication. It’s not as though you’re surprised; you probably reminded him of a kicked puppy when he discovered you shivering and whimpering in the disgusting corner of the abattoir.

You offer a nod, which Joel returns with a slow bob of his head. His eyes flicker to the window, hawk-eyes scanning the area before turning his attention back to you. “Can’ta been easy for you.”

Swallowing thickly, you urge the words forwards from your throat. When your thanks breach your lips, to your embarrassment, your voice cracks. No sound comes out.

Joel’s eyebrow arches, the crinkles on his forehead deepening as he watches you struggle to articulate.

“You feelin’ okay?” He asks you, pupils once again dragging across your exposed skin in search of bites. The simple action has your cheeks burning in the darkness, and it’s as though he’s hypnotised you with this minute act of kindness. “You’ve been quiet since we got back.”

How pitiful that is; simply asking you if you felt okay being enough to make you fall head over heels for a stranger.

Joel shifts towards you in his seat, palm settling against the rotten wood of the window sill to steady himself. His muscles ripple beneath the fabric of his flannel, and you can’t help how your heart surges against your sternum. It’s screaming out how you want him so bad it’s almost dizzying. You want him.

“Haulin’ ass across the city like that must’a been difficult after that close call,” he continues the one-sided, hushed conversation. Clearly, this was unlike Joel’s brusque persona, but he was delicate with you, and you find it all the more endearing. “M’Sorry if it was too much, we couldn’t risk bein’ caught aga-“

You lunge forward, capturing Joel’s slightly chapped lips against your own. The sudden movement appears to have shocked the poor man, his hands hovering in the air on either side of your head and balling into fists on instinct. It’s ridiculous, but you’re trembling as you kiss him, overwhelmed with nerves at his body's rigid stance. You hear him release a haggard gasp of surprise through his nose, but he does nothing to pull you from him.

Anxiety has your body frozen in place until you feel the rough, survival-calloused touch of his palms against the skin of your arms. It urges you to search for your own anchor, your hand settling on the thick chords of his neck and your fingertips scraped by the rough texture of his beard. You’re startled by the frantic thumping of his pulse there.

It’s like you both spark into action at once. Joel’s tongue slips past your lips and traces across your tastebuds clumsily, losing all composure as you pull him closer. His fingertips are digging into the muscles of your biceps while you grasp frantically at the collar of his dirtied flannel.

It felt dream-like. Touch and affection after countless days and nights of solitude have you almost delirious when you wrap your forearms around his neck. You wonder how long he’s been on his own, his own hands frenzied as they settle on the globes of your ass. Embarrassingly, you’re whimpering at the sensation of his tongue swirling around your own and Joel’s hushing you when he pulls back.

“C’mere,” his baritone voice vibrates through you head to toe as he hooks his hands under the backs of your thighs, lifting your body for you to cling to him. His equanimity long forgotten, Joel appears to clutch at this opportunity for intimacy as desperately as you do, carrying you across the floor of the room. He’s careful not to rush, quiet as he passes the sleeping children to approach one of the doors to another room.

You’re a menace, dragging your tongue across the vein protruding through the veil of skin across his neck. He tastes salty, sweat clinging to him from the efforts of escaping the hunters and a twinge of iron from the blood that had washed off in the flooded hotel. You’re already addicted to his musky scent, moaning softly against his throat. It earns you a yank of your hair in warning, his body pushing through a doorway and clicking the lock behind you before you yelp out in surprise.

“Told you to be quiet,” he mumbles hoarsely, lacking any sense of admonishment.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his skin, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt in an attempt to strip him and gain further access. Joel carries you in the almost pitch blackness, using the moon's low light dripping through the far window to locate a sofa. He lowers you down onto the dusty fabric, but neither of you seems bothered by the less-than-ideal location - the likelihood of surviving tomorrow to get another chance at this was slim.

The wall between you and the rest of the group seems to settle Joel, his actions a little less restrained. He sinks his hips between your thighs, knees resting on the cushions as his hands drag up the peaks and troughs of your ribcage and a squeeeze at the flesh of your breasts. It causes your hips to lift from the sofa, grinding against his own blindly. The whines that leak from your lips are obscene, erect nipples brushing his rough palms as he grips at your boobs.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel moans mindlessly, leaning down quickly to press his lips to yours and mute your filthy noises. Your knees hook over his hip bones, the heels of your feet pushing against his ass to pull him harder against you in a desperate attempt to feel closer to him.

Somewhere between groping in the darkness and kissing him breathlessly, you hear Joel let out a ragged gasp of his own, your clothed crotch rubbing just right at his growing erection.

Fervently, you’re grabbing at his belt and battling the darkness to unhook the prong from the leather. Joel’s palms are pushing under the hem of your t-shirt, raising it over the curve of your breasts so that the bunched-up material settles just under your throat. This way, he has unfettered access to the naked swell of your boobs. He envelopes your nipple with his mouth, tongue swirling over the nub and dragging a needy whimper of his name from your throat.

Somehow, between the mess of limbs and bundled-up fabric, you manage to unhook his belt. Slipping it from the loops in his jeans, you throw it to the floor recklessly. The metal of the discarded buckle clatters against the wooden floor, and you can’t help the bubbling complaints in your chest when Joel pauses his ministrations at the loud noise.

He’s listening out for the group waking, you know this, but you’re so desperate that you’re frantically shoving your hand underneath the seam of his trousers and gripping at the velvety shaft of his cock. Joel groans against the supple flesh in his mouth, holding your other breasts in a bruising, punishing grip.

“Fuck-“ he mumbles illegibly against your skin, releasing it from his mouth with an audible pop. “So fuckin’ desperate. You like havin’ your tits out for me like this?” There’s a flutter of amusement in his voice, feverish at how your body responds to his touch.

You nod quickly, chest heaving as you agitatedly grab at him with a soft whimper. Joel lets out a pleased hum as you flick the button of his jeans, pulling the fly down to hurry him up. A thatch of curls peaks from behind the bottom of the zipper, exposing his nakedness beneath his trousers. Your eyes flicker up to Joel in shock, skin burning.

Joel doesn’t offer you a moment to address his commando-ness, instead hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your jeans. He doesn’t bother to unbutton them, instead opting to wrench them over the width of your hips with a strong heave. Your underwear goes with them, the tightness of the unforgiving fabric of your jeans dragging them down your thighs and bruising your hip bones.

You’re grasping blindly at the armrest above your head as Joel spreads your legs wide, his hands settled on the backs of your thighs. He hasn’t even bothered to remove his jeans entirely; the waistband dropped just above his knees.

“Fuck-“ He grits out between his teeth, sweeping the tip of his cock through the weeping mess between your folds. You’re soaked. You can hear it, the glossy wetness loud in the quiet of the room as he lubricates the head of his dick with your cum.

He nudges against your neglected clit, and the barely there friction is enough to rip a choked sob from you. Your knuckles strain at how hard you grip the corduroy fabric of the sofa. Joel’s hold on you is equally strained, grabbing handfuls of flesh from your thighs and pulling until it aches.

Your pussy clenches as he drags himself back through your folds, settling the head of his dick against your entrance. His chest is heaving, steadying himself against the arousal humming in his bones. It had been years of loneliness, no doubt for the two of you, and you weren’t confident it would last longer than a few moments.

Slowwwwly, he’s sheathing himself inside you with a steady roll forward of his hips. Your toes curl into the small of his back as he stretches you open with his length, pressure building deep in your abdomen already. Joel lets out a strained growl as he slams his fist into the cushion beneath your head.

“F-uck-“ he chokes out, watching your head tilt back into the sofa, your jaw slack. It’s like he’s pushing the oxygen out of your body to make room for him, your lungs burning white hot.

Joel’s forehead braces against your collarbone, rattling breaths indicating the strain your heat has on his concentration. “Christ- I just- fuck, gimmie a minute.”

His cock is throbbing inside you, nudging against your walls as you spread your thighs wider. His breath is hot against your skin, fanning across your sternum and grounding you from the intense strain against his width.

Joel manages to collect himself eventually, nodding weakly and steadying his palm against the sofa’s armrest. He uses his other hand to tilt your hips upwards, testing the waters by slowly pulling himself from your sopping heat and inching inside you again slowly.

It’s as though he’s punched you in the gut, dispelling what little oxygen you had left and winding you. A high-pitched wail falls from your mouth, and he’s quick to cover your lips with his palm, groaning out as he pushes himself flush inside you. You swear you can see his lashes flutter as his eyes roll back, your tight walls driving him insane.

“Shut up,” he somewhat begs you, nose pushed into the soft flesh of your cheek as he whispers into your ear. Then he’s grinnddding up against something utterly devastating inside you, heaving gasps of his name leaving you from behind his hand.

“JoelJoelJoelJoel,” you sob, tears welling as his cock splits you open again. Your cunt is loud too, creaming around his dick as you cry loudly. Joel’s laughing weakly, finding your almost devastating arousal amusing if a little nerve-wracking considering you’re definitely being too loud.

“This ain’t gonna work,” Joel mumbled softly, slipping out from you again. It causes you both to gasp at the loss of friction, your hips pushing back against your will in search of his touch.

“N-No wait-“ you beg with a whisper, scared he’s giving up on this, “I can be good, I’ll be quiet, I promise-“

Joel cuts off your rambling suddenly, looping his arm underneath your hips and heaving you over until you lay flat on your stomach. You feel his abdomen resting against your back, arching over you as he reaches over your body.

“Joe-“ you attempt to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t make it that far. Joel’s fingers slide into your mouth, pushing down on the flat of your tongue and sinking down your throat. You gag around them at first, surprised by the intrusion.

A rumble sounds beside your ear, Joel humming in appreciation as you grow accustomed to the feeling and begin to suck on his digits. “Good… That should keep you quiet,” he mumbles, nose pressing into your hair as his free hand angles your hips upwards again.

You feel him notch against your entrance again before slowly grinding himself back into you. He stretches you nicely this time, sinking inside to the hilt until his hips meet the curve of your ass. Whimpers leaking from your lips are smothered by the blockage of his fingers in your mouth.

“Perfect.”

With that, Joel pulls his hips back before slamming back inside of you to the point it jolts your body up the sofa. You sob out; the sound blocked in your throat as Joel sets a brutal pace, pounding into you so hard that your ears start ringing. The slapping of his skin meeting yours and quiet curses dripping from his mouth is all that sounds through the room.

Your stifled cries rise in pitch despite their muted volume, the head of Joel’s dick pushing up against something utterly ruinous inside you. His hand on your hip uses your body as a counterweight, pulling you back onto his cock to meet his thrusts, and it’s like your vision is swimming.

“Oh god-“ you choke out around his fingers, but it comes out all slurred and incoherent, your body trembling at the rising pressure building inside it.

“Mhmm f-fuck,” Joel hums into your ear, beginning to lose composure already. “God— ‘m gonna cum, fuckin’— so tight. ”

Joel reached around your waist, feeling blindly through his thrusts for your clit. It doesn’t take long, and a single, delicate brush against the sensitive nerves has your eyes rolling back in your skull while everything below your hips clamps down suddenly.

You go rigid, squeezing his cock tightly through your mind-melting orgasm. The muscles of your thighs are trembling, and you let out a hoarse shout that Joel only just manages to suppress by shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, to the point your teeth press into the back of his palm hard.

Pathetic whimpers are all you can manage as he suddenly slows down, his grip on you almost bruising as you bear down on him. “Ngh— Fuckin’ shit-! I’m—“

Joel’s fumbling to get out of the confines of your greedy cunt, grabbing ahold of his cock with his palm and barely managing to pump it more than once before he’s cumming, the warm yet feeling of his cum spurting across your back causing your sore muscles to contract in shock. You hear him growl quietly, and it sounds like he’s biting his lip to hold in the sinful noises.

When the ringing dissipates, you hear the panting from both of your lungs, Joel’s ragged as he removes his fingers from your mouth, strings of saliva trailing from your lips. He leans back against the sofa, groaning softly. You glance over your shoulder, unable to find the strength to lift your body yet. He’s rubbing at his face with his hands, looking utterly exhausted.

“Christ,” his accent seems thicker like this, slurred with bliss and fatigue. “That your way’a sayin’ thank you?” His question hangs in the air before his eyes glance at you.

Nodding slowly, you offer a wordless answer which causes him to let out a single, short exhale—something like a laugh.

“Mhm. It’s a pretty interestin’ way of showin’ gratitude.”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” you whisper to him shyly, your voice hoarse from his fingers shoved down your throat.

He tilts his head back slowly, arms resting against the back of the sofa, and shakes his head slowly. No, he didn’t. Chances are the group wouldn’t make it past the Humvee tomorrow, and if the armoured vehicle didn’t get them, the guards on the bridge just might.

“Get some rest,” he whispers to you, standing up from the sofa on unsteady legs and pulling his jeans up. “Gotta go back on watch, and you gotta be ready for the shit storm comin’ tomorrow.”

A smile plays on your lips, watching him redress. Sounds like you’re invited to join in on his little escape plan after all. You remember how he dismantled the hunters when he saved you, the brutal nature of ripping him down each threat with frightening skill.

Somehow you felt you’d be just fine.

“Got it.”

END

Taglist 🏷️: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

#Joel miller #Joel miller x reader #Joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller fic #Joel miller imagine #joel the last of us #joel tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #tlou #1k+ club

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good-wizard · 8 months

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OKAY OKAY GUYS I TRIED TO GET A PHOTO OF US ALL, I KNOW I MISSED A FEW OF YOU BUT ITS THE BEST I COULD DO PLUMMETING FROM 100,000 FEET WITH TEA, CAKE, PIE, AND WEED BROWNIES ALL FLYING AROUND ME

Thankyou all for showing up now let's get our tea on!!

[I drew everyone's profile pictures, if they didn't have something I could draw I looked at their headers and if those didn't have anything I looked for ocs, I hope you all like it!!!]

[and if you didn't make it just draw yourself in somewhere! I don't mind! We are all invited!!]

Here's a list of everyone I got in the picture:

@the-gnomish-bastard (3rd picture in the center)

@slutty-wizard-council (second picture in the center)

@the-gnomish-bastards-dad (3rd picture upper left)

@combustion-wizard (first picture, upper middle, your teas exploding)

@yourlocalbreadenthusiast (3rd picture behind large beige creature, top right)

@the-better-goblin-union (2nd picture middle right)

@siley-the-wizard (1st picture just off from the center to the left)

@dalob (3rd picture bottom left, next to me)

@circuslemon (your lime is bottom middle, you are off middle top right)

@well-dressed-sewer-rat (3rd picture between the gnomes)

@username-not-registered (3rd picture top middle)

@saul-moleman (3rd picture, middle, to the left, over my arm)

@the-kobold-bastard (next to mole, 3rd picture)

@funny-short-man (3rd picture, right of center Gnomie)

@sluttyambiguouswizard (3rd picture falling right of Gnomie)

@ashen-the-tiefling (2nd picture middle far right, your cat is with you)

@randomfaeriedragon (3rd picture middle right)

@mug-of-shark (3rd picture bottom right corner)

@chaos-familiar (3rd picture top left)

@monsterfucker-research-wizard (top left with clip board that says MFR {Monsterfucker research})

@wizardcrow (1st image middle, I drew you in human form, ig?)

@boxell (2nd image, Misha Collins, middle far left)

@evil-apprentice-wizard (2nd image, very top right corner)

@just-a-cool-wizard (big one eyed apple, 2nd image you can't miss it)

@ayoungfather (2nd image, bottom right, your shirt says something about fatherhood)

@terrencetheshark14 (2nd image bottom right, next to a clown)

@succufaerie (1st image, middle right, next to mirror, I did my best to draw you)

@bowl-of-moss (1st image, bottom middle, slightly to the right)

@barely-living-wizard-apprentice (first image, bottom left, towards middle!)

@wayworm (1st image bottom left, with Snoopy and a corn snake)

@jhomikle (1st image, middle left, with succubus, look closely in the mirror, you're holding tea!)

@aileaxthevoidien (1st image bottom left, you're drinking coffee)

@ima-snekk (1st image, with wayworm, bottom left)

@8ball-wizard (you are falling from the sky in the first image, your tea is spilling but you've just received an amazing prophecy)

@fearlessjones (1st image, center bottom)

@bugwizard4lyfe (1st image, bottom left, I think I accidentally combined your persona with someone else, whoops!)

@kobold-sanctuary-buss-island (1st image, center to the left, drinking tea with verylegalwizard)

@profoundmiscasting (2nd image, middle, sitting in chair, next to sluttywizardcouncil representative)

@reiki-tsubetai (second image, far right, top middle on side, you are falling)

@broccoli-bitching (2nd image, middle far left, under my arm)

@evil-wild-lesbian-wizard (1st image, far left, almost very top)

@gavamont (2nd image very center, behind slutty wizard council representative)

@bladlauf (2nd image, top right, beneath the evil apprentice wizard)

@fyriefairy (1st image, super bottom left!!)

@ablasphemyofpoets (2nd image bottom middle, slightly to the left, I didn't do a very good job)

@inkwell-god (2nd image, top middle)

@chaoticz8 (2nd image center, behind purple hooded lady

@slymewizard (2nd image, upper left, behind slutty wizard

@verdan-the-druid (2nd image, middle, In front of slutty wizard)

@vsgroundnet (2nd image top right, your super small but you're there!)

Okay guys my hand is dead, there are so many more of you and I don't have the time to @ you all. So I've devised an idea, @ whoever you reblogged from so they can see the picture,

Don't see yourself in the picture? I give you permission to draw yourself in anywhere you like!

Go crazy go wild, I love you guys this is a great sky tea party!!

Good wizard out! I think it's time for me to enjoy some weed brownies from just-a-cool-wizard

#wizard posting #wizard tea party #this went out of control fast #wizart #wizard spell #all my friends!!!!#love you guys

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inky-duchess · 5 months

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Locations in The Lost Prince - Kuzgrad

When we pass the tall iron gates of Kuzgrad, I am filled with that once familiar feeling of foreboding. It is the old chill that had always awaited me at the Imperial Palace, a reminder of the ghosts that once inhabited this place. I stifle a shiver as I step from the car, looking up at the old, craggy grey face of the ancient building, unable to throw off the sense of being surveyed from the empty windows. But this place is not the Imperial Palace, a sprawl of Vasily might, no this place is darker and far more ancient, the very stones embedded with their blood, their dead, their essence. This place is older than all of the places I have ever or could ever known put together.

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

But there is no name for the little palace at sits in his shadow. It has had a hundred in the last thousand years but none of them have last the course. Veins of crumbling cobbled walls betray its ancient roots against the smooth skin of modern, smoothed facades. Turrets rise straight as lances, onion-capped and bearded with ivy. Blind gargoyles and fanciful beasts preside overhead, spotted with lichen and webbed with frost. The windows are still in their frames, the diamond panes yellowed with age.

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

Less a palace and more a house. Grandpapa always gently corrected me when I called this place a palace. Father would gruffly remind me that palaces were our vast homes in Bevulsk, Corzberg, Kosken, Derm, the Imperial Palace and Tamolasyn. Kuzgrad was merely a large manor estate compared to them.

A pair of stone wolves flank the door, watchful and blind. The door is ajar, cracked open a span of mere inches.

The shriek of the hinges sends a judder up my arm. Light brushes across the dust-coated floor, falling on the indents of fresh footprints made hours ago. The windows have been clumsily boarded up, the light fixtures and frames on the wall draped with ragged sheets. Nothing has been removed, only hidden from prying eyes.

(images made with AI)

TLP Taglist

@reignnyx @writinglyra @pressedpapyrus @serpentarii @thevintagelover @seas-dubh @dameschnee123 @donutwithinadonut @mikaelsona @giuliawritesanddoeskpop @sunaora @mayawritesbooks @veneritia @trapped-inadystopianovel @hysteriwah @mothertaemresa @rise-again-2001 @underwoodinc @seamaiden @writer-somewhat @lord-fallen @writingoflarka @ashen-crest @pen-and-inks @strawstories @nerdygoblin @ortolon @chigyowastaken @residentofthedisc @elysianluv @lividdreamz @ladywithoringes @imawriternotamathematician @writeblrfantasy @ginghampearlsnsweettea @spicysequoia @ethereal-puppet @carmensapientia @snapdragoncrown @thats-my-type-writer @intellectualintelligent @ezra-ezra-ezra @rosemarys-for-remembrance @looking-for-the-stories @asingledropofwinter @queengiuliettafirstlady @gwensparlour @miladydreams @iespeciallyme @princess-summershine

#I wanted to try see if I could bring you all there for just a moment #It's not quite right but it's close enough #The lost prince #The lost prince taglist #Tlp taglist #Tlp wip #Wip: tlp #The lost prince locations #Locations of TLP #My wip #writing #writeblr #writer #spilled words #ask answered questions #writers #WorldBuilding #Tlp WorldBuilding

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calicoquiltedtranshag · 6 months

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I wanna spend a moment on Ivanovich, head of the crime family Goncharov, Katya, and Andrey are all a part of.

First off, Willem Dafoe. Brilliantly cast. There’s a light in Ivan’s eyes that I don’t think you could get from anyone else, and his delivery is always just...spot on.

But about the man now.

Ivan is a monarch without a kingdom. A patriarch evicted from his home. Throughout his screen time on film, he tries to portray it as otherwise, describing the family's move as a "tactical choice", a "financially driven decision" - it's all a front. He hasn't been able to go from being the USSR's biggest and meanest arms smuggler to a cafe owner humbly.

For some members of his group, this is a chance at a new life. Even has Ivan schemes and plans to angle himself to power in Venice, people like Katya, Goncharov, and Andrey are all living their own lives for a bit. Goncharov works the bar. Katya is a journalist. Andrey is picking up being a Gondolier. For Ivan, the idea that any of them have a genuine desire to leave this game of power never crosses his mind. He's always looking for the next job, the next domino to topple.

He treats Goncharov like a son, frequently outright stating so as well. This behavior, of course, only lasts as long as Goncharov obeys his orders and agrees to carry out his plans without question - and at the start of this extremely long film, that's what he does. Although Goncharov enjoys his life as a barista, he has no illusions about it being a way of life - there are jobs to be done. Pieces to take off the board - and Ivan knows the game.

At least, Ivan thinks he does.

After our introduction to our main tragic heroes, Gonch, Katya, Sofia and Andrey, we are led to Ivan's office. The level of faux power here is...palpable. A delicately carved wooden chair and desk set in a room with peeling wallpaper and cracked windows. A bookshelves filled with a handful of titles - all charred from the burning of the Family's manor. It's the same with everything else around the room. Paintings with blackened frames and shattered glass, ornate chests spattered with dried blood from the firefight as they left.

For all intents and purposes, their lives ended that day - but Ivan refuses to let go of the past.

His original speech is an impassioned rally to his most loyal inner circle - asking them to begin slipping into the local government and people. See what is needed, what is wanted, and who can supply -

And as he raises his arms, proclaiming the Family's rebirth from fire...

He's shot through the gut. More blood across the ashen chests and books.

He survives this unfortunately - but I think the fact that he still doesn't back down, even wounded, speaks volumes about the man. He's going into shock and he's still giving orders, telling Goncharov to tighten security, tasking Andrey with gathering info about possible enemies, and asking Katya to interrogate the family for moles.

That stubbornness, that need for control - it ends up being the death of him. When Gonch eventually defies him, leaving Icepick Joe alive, Ivan completely loses it. Sofia and Andrey both lose their lives by his hand - *and he frames Gonch before tossing him into the fucking ocean.* When both he and Katya come to confront him, leaving a trail of blood and bullets in their wake...we see what Ivan looks like without all of his bravado.

So much of Ivan's pomp and cruelty is driven by the idea that *he is on top*. Even someone as dangerous, as efficient, and unstoppable as GONCHAROV follows his every order - he MUST be powerful. Unconquerable.

And then....he isn't. When they find him, he is rummaging through his desk looking for a gun - we've seen it a couple times. Ivan's had a couple moments of "weakness" as he calls it. Where the memories of losing his wife, his home - his legacy - overwhelm him and he considers taking himself out - and it's another one of those moments.

He has no one in his corner to catch him. No one to keep him safe. No one who trusts him.

It was...cathartic, almost, watching him crawl on his hands and knees, begging his former bodyguards for mercy. Making empty promises, crying, wailing - Gonch has none of it.

Without a word, Goncharov picks him up. Grabs him by his wounded side and sits him on his makeshift throne. Tidies Ivan's suit with a gun to his head and puts his hat on - and then Gonch goes back to join Katya.

We don't know who eventually fires. There's not a word said for a whole five minutes. Our last moments with Ivan...we see the fires through his eyes. Reliving his worst moments, watching everything he cared about being ripped away from him, over and over again - mirroring what he's done to Katya and Gonch.

And then a gun is fired, and the story of Ivan ends.

The man, ultimately, is a monster who chose to inflict his suffering upon those around him. He HAD family still, people he trusted, people who cared about him - and though his words were always honeyed, he was never afraid to put those who loved him in his line of fire.

#Ivanovich #Goncharov #Goncharov x andrey #goncharov x katya #Katya x sofia #Unreality #tw unreality #cw unreality #martin scorsese #willem dafoe

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aurumacadicus · 1 year

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Hi I'm sorry I dunno if this counts I just think seeing Tony get actually flustered by this wud be awesome, but bucky giving Tony the worse, WORST, pick up lines like "have you got a map I got lost in you're eyes" kinda bad, off bucky just cos he knows it works even tho Tony doesn't want it too, whether they know eachother before hand or not

Oh no this has awakened something in me.

"Do you have a map?" Bucky asks. Tony slants him a look over his coffee, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What?" "Do you have a map?" Bucky repeats, and then, before he can answer, continues, "Because I got lost in your eyes." Tony's mouth drops open in shock. He hasn't heard a line like that in decades years. He's pretty sure he was just out of college the last time, and the guy had been a total sleeze-bag. Bucky, though, he'd somehow managed to sound sincere? Which is weird. Bucky hasn't talked to him since one halting, awkward, "Sorry for killing your parents," that Tony had brushed off with, "Hydra had my parents killed. You were just a tool." He'd meant it to assuage Bucky's guilt, but he wasn't entirely certain how well it had worked, considering Bucky had sort of... blushed, then gone ashen, then sort of looked ill, and then Steve had grabbed him and whisked him away before he threw up. So he's not entirely sure why Bucky has decided the second thing he wanted to say to him was a cheesy pickup line. "...Anyway," Bucky coughs, then picks up his bowl of cereal and leaves. Tony stares after him, still too stunned to speak. By the time he decides he's just going to take another sip of his coffee, it's gone cold.

Tony thinks it's just a weird fluke. Obviously, something in Bucky's brain just... fizzled weird. Sometimes things like that happened, probably. It was easier than trying to puzzle it. So he thinks nothing of it when Bucky sits down beside him on the couch at three in the morning. Tony knows it was just a matter of time--everyone on the team is haunted by their pasts in some way, and nightmares weren't uncommon. Bucky is silent for a while, just considering the infomercial about Snuggies Tony is watching. Tony lets him be, instead focusing on whether or not it would help to have weights along the robe's hems, or even combining the idea of a Snuggie with a weighted blanket. "Aren't you tired?" Bucky asks suddenly. Tony swivels to face him, stunned. Obviously he is tired. It is three in the morning. Bucky waits another beat, then adds, "Because you've been running through my mind all day." It takes a moment for Tony to realize it was another pickup line. By that time, Bucky has made it halfway into the elevator.

Tony arrives back from a board meeting just in time for movie night. "Tell the others I'll be out as soon as I change into something more comfortable, yeah?" he tells Bucky, already wrestling with his cuff links. "Sure," Bucky says, watching the numbers on the elevator tick up slowly, then turns his gaze on Tony. Tony endures the slow up-and-down with aplomb. Steve gives him the same look sometimes--the 'this suit is obviously worth more than I made in my previous lifetime' look. He doesn't mind it. "You know what you'd look really beautiful in?" Bucky asks. Tony tilts his head skeptically. He looks beautiful in everything. It feels like a trick question. "My arms," Bucky finishes. As soon as the line registers, and Tony realizes Bucky can't escape, he squawks and kicks him in the chest. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!" Bucky bellows once he gets his breath back. "WAS THAT THE SORT OF LINE THAT GOT YOU DATES IN THE FORTIES?!" Tony bellows back. The elevator door opens, and Clint starts to step in, sees Bucky on the floor, and turns on his heel to walk back out. Bucky scrambles after him, clinging to his leg, and Tony closes the doors on Clint screaming that he didn't see anything while Bucky snaps at him to serve as a witness if Tony kills him.

Bucky gets cleared for battle. Tony thinks nothing of it. It's what Bucky's wanted, they don't have to worry about Hydra saying rock-scissors-spoon and getting control of him, and it's always nice to have another sniper (who can also function as a tank). Still. It's his first battle. He isn't used to working as part of a team. Isn't used to having backup. Isn't used to depending on anyone. He doesn't even think to call for help when he's overwhelmed by Doom bots. Luckily, Thor spots him before things go irreversibly wrong, and he only gets a concussion. Unluckily, as it turns out, there is a patient worse than Steve, and it is Bucky. Tony decides to be the bigger person and lead by example. He approaches the medical tent to have a cut on his forehead tended to. It's not a big cut, probably only needs a butterfly bandage, but he's going to be a good teammate and show Bucky that he is an idiot for not letting a medic shine a flashlight in his eyes even if his injury is already starting to heal. He flips his face plate up. "Whoa," Bucky says immediately, and then, "Tony, do you have a band-aid?" Tony narrows his eyes suspiciously. "...No. I came over here to get one." "Oh, that's too bad," Bucky replies, not looking worried about it at all. "It's just that I scraped my knee falling for you." There are witnesses this time, and Tony is vindicated by the fact that everyone is gaping at Bucky in disbelief. "ABSOLUTELY NOT," Steve shouts when Tony lifts his gauntlet, repulsor whirring, and Tony regrets trying to be the bigger person at all.

"If you and I were socks, we'd be a great pair," Bucky says, and Tony leaps over the couch to tackle him with a screech. Steve begins to stand, meaning to pull Tony off of him, then decides against it, flopping back into his seat. "...Should we do something? Natasha asks after a moment, because Tony has shown no indication of stopping trying to strangle him. "I told Bucky that Tony reacts to being wrong-footed with violence," Steve answers flatly. On the bright side, he has control of the remote now. He wants to watch CSI. Bruce peeks over the back of the couch. "Are you sure we shouldn't do something?" "Eh," Steve says, shrugging. "Either they'll kiss or they won't." "I hope they kiss. Tony will be so fucking miserable to live with if he can be smug about killing a super soldier with his bare hands," Natasha sighs, shaking her head.

Bonus: "I'm not going to date you if you keep feeding me corny lines," Tony says sternly. Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Okay, so you want me to be sincere then." "...No," Tony answers sourly. "That would be worse." "So the lesser of two evils," Bucky decides, firm, and Tony grumbles to himself at the fact that Bucky might possibly be right just this once. "Just don't call me a sock again," he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. "Obviously," Bucky agrees, scowling.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #5 headcanons meme #winteriron

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aestheticalgardens · 6 months

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C!FOOLISH | DSMP

[ Artist: areki97334689 ]

#ashen's boards #aesthetic board #dsmp #dsmp aesthetic #dsmp aesthetic board #requests #foolish gamers #foolishgamers #c!foolish #dsmp foolish #gold aesthetic

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matchadobo · 1 year

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BENN; billiards séx

summary: you've read it folks. wc: 3714 tw: p0rn w/o plot, actual seggs read at your own discretion, cunnilingus, bj, fluff at the end, fem reader 🔞

“join you?”

“aye, in billiards. it’s quite lonely on my own.” he cordially requested, extending a hand to you and offering you a stick. “come on. accompany an old man here, aye?” an inviting smile on his lips, voice so deep you feel more drawn, glowing silver eyes under the poorly lit room as it mirrored things more than kindness. you couldn’t help but agree, such a tempting demeanor and you’re somewhat cursing yourself to give in.

you nodded with a smile, accepting the stick he’s offering. your fingers brushing against his sent your heart galloping. “ever played them before?”

“a little, but i forgot now.” you chuckled lightly, standing beside him.

“you’ve been staring at me long enough to remember, i believe.” he positioned himself before giving you a side eye; bending down, his bulging arms extended at one end and the other firmly holding the other end, watching the white ball carefully. seeing you blush tugged a smirk on his lips as he finally struck the ball and scored multiple holes. “don’t think for a second that i don’t catch your glances, sweet girl.”

he’s right. and right now you’re burning. you squirmed under his gaze as you squeeze the stick in your hands. looking down to regulate your temperature, you mustered a reply. “well, what’s a woman to do when someone so brilliant is playing before her. of course she’d muse at him, don’t you think?”

you met his piercing eyes once more, a faint smile on your lips. “brilliant, huh?” he shifted his weight, leaning by the edge of the board with crossed arms. his sinewy biceps protruded out of his fitted shirt, veiny forearms with fading scars never failing to distract you. “i assure you. i am mediocre at most.”

“please don’t humble yourself, vice captain.” you dismissed, walking closer and positioning yourself to hit. “wouldn’t hurt to say thank you to a woman’s compliments.”

“ah, you’re too kind, name.” he rubbed the back of his neck, muscles bulging out once more. you couldn’t help but swallow a lump in your throat, otherwise you’d be drooling. “i’m sure you’re better than me, though. it’s your turn, go ahead.”

he watched you closely as you bent down, stick beside your hips, arms stretched on both ends of the stick, vision narrowed at the white ball before you, you inhaled a deep breath before striking. and you score a couple of balls as well.

“mediocre for a gunman of your caliber? with an aim so precise, i find it hard to believe you.” you retorted as sharpened your pool stick, waiting for him to finish.

“you’re full of praises today, aren’t you?” he replied, striking and scoring a ball. he looked at you afterwards, stolen glances that lingered and meant something more than fondness.

“oh this is rare, vice-cap. cherish it.” you replied with a smirk, sparing him an impish look as you hit for your turn again.

“if there’s one thing i’ll cherish, it’s time with you.” he made his way towards you and leaned his bottom by the board, hands scooping his silver case of cigs in his jeans and putting it between his lips. “you’re good company.” he flicked the ashen lighter open and lit his cig, inhaling the nicotine and blowing smoke away from you.

“am i?” you chuckled lightly, bending down to hit again. “don’t i bore you, though? i’m quite… mediocre.” you side eyed him, seeing a smile form in his lips as he looked down chuckling.

“quite the opposite, love.” he blew smoke once more. “you’re the most intriguing woman i’ve ever met.” his tone was forward, eyes fixed on you as he scanned your movements and your form.

you met his eyes, “should i take that as a compliment coming from a notorious womanizer?” crossing your arms, you leaned your hip by the edge of the board.

“ouch, that’s pretty harsh.” he put a hand on his chest, a little twinge of a jocular pout in his face.

“only the truth.” you dismissed, rolling your eyes.

clearing your throat, you stepped a bit forward. turning to lean your bottom by the board as both of your hands clutch the edge of the board. “so, intriguing, huh? humor me about it, benn.” you nudged him, looking up at the silver-haired. the touch sending electricity across both your bodies, both ignoring the fact that it aroused something primal in the both of you.

“ah cheeky, aren’t you?” he looked at you over his shoulder, a low chuckle elicited from him.

“curious.” you scrunch your nose, chuckling to yourself. “the famed benn beckman find me intriguing?”

“now you’re just teasing, darling.” he rubbed his temples, sounding bashful. “i hope you’re aware that you’re treading on thin ice, young lady. you’re getting a bit… bold.” his tone was dark. in the dimly lit room, the only light being the lampshade and the little window by the far end of the room. you could see his steel eyes illuminate and burn with unspoken yet evident inclination. the smoke translucently traversing between the two of you, the scent of nicotine choking your lungs, his pink lips with a cig in between glossed in ruby from the booze, his pinky and yours precarious against each other—it was all too suffocating but you love the chase.

you replied, “you’re not so innocent yourself, mister.” shifting your weight, you leaned closer to get a good look at his smoky eyes. “your gazes mean something else, don’t they?” you accused, smirk evident on your eyes and tone.

“mean what? tell me?” he turned to the side, facing you. shifting his weight so he could lean closer to your face.

“like you fucking want me.” you returned, looking directly at him. gaze not faltering despite your rabbiting chest and dangerous proximity. “practically undressing me with those fucking glances, yeah?” you leaned a bit closer, tone sharp at each word you uttered. you carefully watch how his eyes trailed down your lips then back to your eyes. as if testing waters. “am i wrong, vice-captain?” you tilted your head in an attempt to taunt.

“it’s painful to keep saying that women are always right.” he sighed heavily before continuing, inhaling and blowing smoke on your face after.

“how about once and for all,” he stood up straight, walking before you. he stood between the space between your legs, alarmingly close. he then caged you in your place, both brawny arms by your side. he raised your chin with one finger to steady your gaze and attention at him and said, “we settle this, aye?”

you reached over and took the cig between his lips with your forefinger and middle finger, he lets you do it without protest. “this is in the way.”

in the blink of an eye, you inhaled a sharp breath before jumping into his arms and smothering his face. your arms and legs wrapped around him as you two soundly made out, he carried you by your bottom as he settled you down by the board.

your hands delicately trail up from his rugged, callous hands that later pressed your waist closer to his hips, to his veiny, scarred arms that soon engulfed you in an embrace, to his thick neck that you later peppered with wet, hot kisses, to his chiseled face that you soon traced his scars in, and to his gainsboro locks that you later persistently pulled on as the kiss got deeper.

his massive hand traversing across the small of your back from down to your bottom up to the back of your head. the taste of tobacco and liquor interspersing in your mouths, a bitter yet delectable taste. wrapping your arms around his neck as you deepened the kiss, pulling on his snowy locks ever so often and eliciting a smirk from him through the kiss.

he pulled away from your lips, strings or saliva connecting from his lips to yours. his kisses then started from your cheek. down to the juncture between your jaw and neck as he nibbled on the skin, eliciting a stifled whimper from you. he smirked against your skin before traversing down to the column of your neck, placing light and soft kisses before stopping at one part and sucking on it. his other hand holding the conflux of your nape and head, holding it in place or pulling it all according to his will. his other hand firm on your waist, squeezing it ever so often.

he let go of the skin with a pop, satisfied with the large patch of purple on your neck. “that’s the most visible part isn’t it?” you sardonically remarked.

he replied with a smile before pulling you into a kiss again, maneuvering his tongue to explore each nook and cranny of your mouth. your hands trail down his belt, pulling him closer by it as you rubbed your core into his hips; getting more needy.

“impatient, huh?” he bit his lip, smirking as he took his hands off you to undo his belt. “we’ll get there, angel.” he caressed your jaw before discarding the belt someplace.

you then slid your shirt over your head and he did too. you traced each edge, scar, and crevice of his rough torso. musing at each badge of victories and defeats and each mark of resolute battles. you felt his goosebumps spread from your touch, burning fire across his toned body.

“allow me, darling.” his callous hands ran through the smoothness of your skin down to the hem of your shorts. he hooked a couple of his fingers by the belt loops, teasing your shorts off your hips. he fumbled between the buttons and the zipper between his index and middle finger, unbuttoning and unzipping slowly as he held your gaze and you two exchanged precarious kisses. he adored how you looked up at him, half-lidded eyes filled with desire, flushed cheeks, glossy lips, and mouth agape slightly as the thrill of his deliberate and unhurried pace of discarding your clothes left you wanting him more than you already do.

finally, he took it off you along with your last piece of clothing. he slid his hand below the curve of your ass and pulled your hips closer to the edge. “ready?” he scanned for any hint of hesitation and restraint from your eyes, but was glad that it was all amor. you nodded, watching him kneel without breaking eye contact from you. he first started peppering your stomach with licks and hot kisses, sucking on the sensitive spot near your core.

his coarse hands then spread your thighs apart as his mouth watered at what lies between. he planted small kisses on your inner thighs, his stubble poking you a bit and jolting you whenever he gets close to your sensitive core. he chuckled a little when you hid your face, growing embarrassed. “don’t cover your face, sunshine. i’d like to see you while i eat you out.” he smirked, combing through his ashen locks with one hand and the other pulling you closer to his face.

you threw your head back when he licked a long trail along your wet crevice, nails scratching the worn out board. he sucked harshly at each lip, prying your cunt open with his tongue as he rummaged through it up and down. you choked in a moan, hands reaching for his head as you pushed him further by your core. he moaned violently at your gesture, sending vibrations coursing through your body. you fisted his locks as he buried his face deeper in your cunt, sucking soundly while he slithered a finger inside. you could feel your insides churning as you felt your climax approaching.

“g-gonna co-come…!” you meekly declared, thighs twitching as he held it firm beside his head, his actions not slowing down despite your shivering body. if anything, he became merciless. sucking and slurping along your lips and nibbling by your clit, your moans got sloppier and needier. soon enough, you reached your high as you lay flat on the board, panting and looking at the ceiling with hazy eyes. he soon came into vision, both his sinewy arms placed beside your figure as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead. “want to rest for a while, angel? that seemed to tire you out.” he affectionately chuckled, brushing the hair sticking on your face and tucking it in your ear. he cupped your cheek with one hand while the other supported his weight.

you shook your head, “just catching my breath.” you mustered out, a smile on your face as you broke into a small laugh. your hands trail from his neck down to his chiseled chest, “plus, you’re not the only one doing the giving, old man.” you sat up, hands trudging down to where his boxers lied teasing the hem of it too. your touch spreading wildfires across his body as it slid beneath the fabric, grabbing a hold of his hard member. you looked up at him and held his gaze as you pump his damp shaft and played with the tip with your fingers. “how does that feel, hm?” you mumbled, pace quickening under the tight fabric.

“what a tease,” he smiled, combing through his locks. “it feels fucking amazing, sweetheart.” he whispered by your ear, a hot kiss planted on the side of your face afterwards. “why don’t you wrap your little lips around it, aye?” he proposed, tone husky.

“but i feel like teasing you a bit more.” you pouted mischievously, pressing the head of his shaft around your palms while the other hand repeatedly pumped the column of it. you saw how he sucked in a deep breath, throwing his head back, and pressing his eyes shut at the sensation. “but if you’d say please, i might reconsider.” you smiled villainously, your authority driving him more wild. a smirk tugged at his lips before surrendering.

“please, darling. choke on it. will you do it for me?” he requested, pleading eyes full of lust and hunger. “please, i’d love to see you bob on it.” his hands reached by your chin, holding it between his forefinger and thumb. despite the word coating his request with gentle kindness, his deep, husky, and sinful voice had managed to make it sexual to your ears.

“naughty old man.” you replied, giving in to his taunting. you jumped off the board and kneeled before him. the tent in his boxers was more prominent than before. you finally slid the last article of clothing down, his member springing up from being kept in tight boxers. you licked a long trail at the column of his shaft, kissing the head with soft pecks afterwards. it stood curved a bit to the right, pronounced veins adorning his shaft, the head had more of a more red tint, his sensitive part comparably paler than the rest of his body, and grey pubes wild around the base of his shaft up to the bottom of his navel.

not long after, you swallowed him whole, immediately choking when the tip touched the back of your throat. “that’s it, sunshine. keep it in there.” he held your jaw, fitting perfectly in his large hand as he grinded his hips forward. “pretty fucking face.” he uttered before letting you go, his shaft glistening in your saliva as strings of it connected from his member to your lips.

you choked a bit before sucking in his head back one more, holding his gaze again as he placed both of his hands for support at the edge of the board; letting you do your magic. you bobbed loudly, slurping sounds sinfully echoing across the room in chorus with his throaty moans and praises.

“i’m c-coming, love.” he groaned, holding your jaw once more as your face got sticky with precome and saliva. minutes later, your throat was filled with his hot release. a satisfied moan escaping his lips as he caressed your sticky cheeks. your fingernails dug at his hips at his overflowing release in your mouth.

your back was now facing him as he positioned himself behind you, teasing his thick member on your plush lips when he rubbed it between your crevice. the squelching juices stimulating both of you. he gave your bottom a loud smack before kissing it lightly, leaving a huge handprint immediately after. he grabbed a hold of one of your legs as he propped one up in the board while the other stood and supported your weight to open you up more before pushing himself inside slowly. both of you hitching a sharp breath at the first stretch.

one of his arms was placed beside you as he supported himself while the other fisted and squeezed your propped up leg, trying to move back and forth in your tight cunt.

“mind if i go a little rough, darling?” he whispered by your ear, sucking on the flesh a bit.

“by all means, destroy me.”

he laughed meekly, before pacing himself in an unholy speed that drove you beyond insanity. your nails scraped through the board as the friction of his member pacing in and out your core sent your stomach in a flurry. you propped both of your hands up in an attempt to support yourself and gather all reason within you that he painlessly took.

he leaned forward, stippling your shoulder with faint kisses. you threw your head back as you clenched around him. his tip touching your cervix and his girth fully stretching you out each time he moved, you whined at the combined pain and pleasure. “enjoying yourself, love?” he panted by your ear, biting it afterwards.

“f-fuck you’re deep.” you mumbled slurred words and your moans grew more sinful and louder, not caring jackshit if anybody hears you. he groans gutturally, squeezing and kneading the flesh on your bottom at each thrust, accompanied by his constant mumbling of slurred words about how good he feels.

his pace was brutal, yet the words he whispered were so delicate. do i go slower? am i hurting you? how does this feel? that’s it love, take it. i’ll make you feel good, alright? do you love it? i can go faster as long as you can take it, hm? that’s a good girl, taking me so well. you look so pretty like this, my love. am i a bit rough? this okay?

you felt him throb and rub against your sensitive cunt, friction and heat leaving your eyes rolling at the back of your head. you couldn’t muster out a proper sentence; your head was fuzzy and clouded with sex. your chest tightening from the amount of pleasure you were stimulated with. your stomach tickling as your climax approached with each thrust.

“can i come inside?” he said between pants and low curses, hips stuttering as he neared his high. you nodded looking over your shoulder, skin sweating and sticking against each other.

in mere seconds, you felt him pulsate inside as ropes of hot come filled you up along with his throaty moan of relief. pushing himself one last time until the last drop before finally pulling out as he watched it spill out of your wet lips.

he reached over to one of his clothes to wipe you clean off before carrying your limp body off the board and onto the wide sofa in the room. he placed you down by the couch, settling beside you as he draped his coat over your bare, sweaty bodies.

his scent is pungent with cigarettes, booze, and a little bit of sweat. you inhaled him deep and nuzzled closer to his chest. his arm wrapped around you, tracing circles on your shoulder down to your arms as settled by his neck.

“you afraid anyone’s going to see us here?” you spoke softly, drawing shapes in his broad, scarred chest.

“not quite, ‘s not like they can do anything about it.” he chuckled, chest thundering by his low laugh. his free hand reached over to tuck your hair by your ear, and rub your cheeks lightly. “besides, you were loud enough earlier to serve as a warning.” he teased, tickling your neck with his calloused fingers.

you hid your burning face deeper in his neck, hitting his chest lightly. “freaky old man.”

“oh but you love it so much, aye?” he nudged you a bit, tangling your legs tighter under his coat.

“but, i’d like to be serious with you for a bit.” he started, looking down at you. you anticipated his response, looking up at his smoky eyes. “what do you say we grab ourselves dinner and we go around town, yeah? buy you those clothes you’ve had your eye on lately, or some desserts maybe. give you a bouquet and a peck on the cheek. hand in hand as we hang by the beach and watch the stars or maybe get drunk by the pub and talk all night about some stuff. we can screw around those silly games at the carnival, win you a stuffy or two, hm? or maybe try every street food and stuff ourselves full after.” he went on, fitting your hand in his large ones as he traced your fingers with his. “and when we finally get tired, we’d do this again but… it’d be in my quarters with romantic candles, roses, a lingerie on you maybe, and more love this time, aye?” he narrated slowly with hand movements, as if picturing it out for you.

your heart swelled at the thought, you took a deep inhale to try and not suffocate at your hammering chest and smiled ear to ear. “what a sap.” you looked up at him, hugging him tighter. “except that lingerie part, i’ll kick your ass.” you nudged him playfully as he giggled like a bastard before you looked back again into his deep, gray eyes. “treating me like a princess, huh?”

“well darling, you deserve to be.” he booped your nose, placing a kiss at the top of your head. “it’d be a waste to lose that sunshine on your face.”

“tch, bore someone else with your old ass.”

“ah, i know you love it. c’mere.”

just woke up one day, got thirsty for him, and fleshed this out

217 notes · View notes

whump-card · 6 months

Text

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 1

2507 words

CW: implied past noncon, derogatory language

Masterlist, Next

~~~

“My name is Lark.”

Joshua Tao studied their new captive carefully. The two of them sat opposite each other in the makeshift interrogation room – a back room in the abandoned house the Watch had set up in, the windows boarded closed. The prisoner had shackles on his ankles and wrists, and with his left arm in a cast from elbow to palm and resting in a sling he was forced to hold his right hand up awkwardly to avoid jostling it. Tao was deeply puzzled by him. The Watch had captured him purely by chance: they strayed too far into the ruins during a night patrol due to an over-enthusiastic new member, and spotted a Military transport van moving along an abandoned track. A split-second decision led to the van being stopped, boarded, and overpowered. When the fighting was over, the Watch headed home to their little rebel settlement with four prisoners – until the three captured soldiers cracked open their cyanide teeth and had to be left to rot in the ruins. That left them with one: silent, wide-eyed, with a broken arm, and clearly the transport’s primary passenger. The soldiers had fought wildly to protect him.

The prisoner was no soldier himself, of that Tao was certain. He had a slim build, hardly any muscle at all, clearly revealed by the sleeveless turtleneck he wore. He had pale skin and silky black hair that was too long and well cared for. Neither did he have the age or aura of an officer; the young man had put up no fight, and now stared down at the table between them, refusing to risk antagonizing his captors with eye contact. His face – which looked small penned in by the dark of mop of his hair and the high turtleneck – was ashen and slick with sweat, the result of the hours-long slog through the ruins on a hot summer night. He didn’t seem scared, though. Instead he seemed cold. Detached.

“Your name is Lark.” Tao echoed, drumming his fingers on the holster of his gun. Like the bird? “Okay, ‘Lark.’ What were you doing in a Military transport going through the ruins in the middle of the night?”

“We were returning from the Conservatorium to the Capital.”

Tao wasn’t expecting such a straightforward answer. The young man’s voice was quiet, with a smooth, controlled cadence.

“What were you doing at the Conservatorium?” Tao asked.

“I needed to see a doctor there.”

“For your arm? It doesn’t look bad enough to warrant a trip to the Con.”

“It was… Badly infected.”

Lark’s first hesitation. Tao made a mental note of that, and moved on.

“So you live in the Capital?”

“Yes, sir.”

‘Sir’? He really doesn’t want any trouble.

“What do you do there?”

Another pause. Lark’s eyes darted back and forth, searching the table for the best answer. Tao suppressed a smile.

“I don’t know anything useful to you,” Lark said carefully.

“That’s not what I asked.” Tao leaned forward. “You’re a scientist, aren’t you? Pumping out murder machines, getting top-notch medical treatment when an experiment goes wrong?”

Lark was shaking his head before Tao even finished talking.

“No, sir. I’m not a scientist. I don’t know anything.”

“Sounds like something a scientist would say.”

“I’m not. You shouldn’t keep me here.”

“Woah!” Tao laughed, “Giving orders already? And here I was, thinking you were a pushover.”

“No, sir, what I mean is, people will miss me, in the Capital. They will come looking.”

Emotion was starting to color Lark’s voice for the first time: a hint of desperation.

“They won’t find us,” Tao said.

“You think he doesn’t know you’re out here?” Defiance. And he.

“So you do know things.”

Lark finally looked up from the table, his eyes meeting Tao’s for the first time. They were dark bronze, like late-season honey.

“No, not anything useful, I swear.” Gone was his carefully measured tone and pace. His words flowed quickly and betrayed a slowly rising panic. “If you keep me here you’ll learn nothing from me and the Commander will destroy this place to get me back. You should trade or ransom me for something that’s actually valuable as soon as you can.”

“Aww,” Tao’s voice dripped with fake sympathy, “It almost sounds like you care about us.” He laughed, then grew serious again. “And it sounds like you’re pretty important to the big guy.”

Lark hesitated again before admitting it.

“Yes, sir. I am. In fact -” He gained a second wind of boldness, leaning forward slightly. “In fact, the Commander took a great risk in resources and political standing by sending me through the ruins to the Conservatory for emergency medical care. He has gone through great lengths to ensure my health and safety, and I know he’d be willing to offer you anything you wanted in exchange for my safe return. But… he’s not a patient man. You’d need to act quickly.”

“Well, what I want is my home, my country, and my brother back.” Tao stared Lark down. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, do you?”

Lark was left speechless, his open mouth trembling slightly. Tao stood.

“I’m going to give you some time to think. I’m sure you can come up with something interesting to tell me. If not… We’ll help you out.”

Tao started to leave, but heard chains rattling behind him.

“Um, please, wait!”

Lark’s tone was much different now. He was scared – clearly he hadn’t thought Tao would cut off their conversation so soon. Tao turned back.

“What is it, thought of something already?”

“No, sir, sorry, I – my arm,” Lark gestured weakly to his sling, “It’s not fully healed. I had antibiotics with me on the transport, I need them so that the infection doesn’t… come back. Please.”

Tao nodded slowly.

“We’ll see,” was all he said.

Tao left the room and found himself toe-to-toe with Becca and Vic, who had been listening just outside the door. They said nothing but made expressive faces as Tao mockingly waved them away and bolted the door – the lack of soundproofing went both ways. How Tao wished they had a real interrogation room, with an intercom and a slick one-way window. But buildings like that hardly existed anymore outside of the Commander's hold.

The three of them moved from the small hallway to what had once been someone’s living room, but was now the Watch’s meeting and strategy room. Vic, the Watch’s other leader along with Tao, practically exploded.

“This is crazy. Do you really think he’s a scientist?”

Tao let out a long breath, cracking his knuckles one by one. The whole thing had him more tense than he realized.

“He’s gotta be. I don’t know what else. If he was some kind of laborer or domestic servant, he could’ve just said.”

Becca, the rebel community’s de-facto “mayor,” snapped her fingers to get the two men’s attention.

“Hey. Did I mishear, or did you vaguely threaten him with torture? Because we’re not doing that. Ever.”

“Oh, jeez, no,” Tao put up his hands, “I was just trying to scare him.”

“Aww,” Vic complained, “Can’t we rough him up just a little? He’s part of a fascist regime!”

“No,” Becca insisted, “And Tao, you better track down that medicine he needs. We respect the Geneva Convention in this house.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Vic, how goes the data retrieval from the Military van?” Becca asked.

“It’s going,” Vic nodded, “We should know a lot more about who this guy is very soon.”

“Good. We’ll talk to ‘Lark’ again when we do. Until then,” she pointed to Tao, “Medicine, and,” she turned her finger toward Vic, “Guard him. No funny business.”

Vic gave a lazy salute. “Got it.”

~~~

Tao was going to get the medicine, he really was. But after being out all night and the skirmish over the transport van, he was exhausted, starving, and had a few bumps and scrapes that were begging for attention. Sustenance came first: he left the house that served as the Watch’s headquarters and walked down the cracked and weathered road to the cookhouse.

The little rebel “town” was modest. It was a ragtag collection of survivors that had set up in an abandoned semi-rural neighborhood, guarded and provided for by volunteer Watchmen who scavenged the nearby city ruins. The houses were spaced apart, and there was thick tree coverage that kept them visually shielded from any aerial eyes that didn’t know what they were looking for.

The cookhouse was a home that had been remodeled shortly before the war to sport a modern open floor plan. This made it the largest indoor space, and combined with its state-of-the-art kitchen it was the best mess hall they could manage.

Tao knocked back two cups of instant coffee and some watery eggs, fending off questions from other breakfast-goers about the Watch’s new prisoner. He only just got here. Yeah, yeah, we’ll make an announcement if he spills something juicy. Only the cook on duty cared to ask him how his food was, chuckling out a good-humored “Today is a disaster!” when he couldn’t fake a good enough smile.

Once he had some peace, he rolled the prisoner’s words around in his head. “Lark.” Yeah, right. But…

“You should trade me for something that’s actually valuable.”

The young man hadn’t sounded like he was lying.

~~~

Tao went to the infirmary next. Their doctor, Faye, was a bony old woman with an ornery personality, but she got the job done.

Once Tao had been patched up and downed some ibuprofen he asked her if his crew had dropped anything off for her. She unceremoniously shoved a shoe box of various supplies into his hands.

“I haven’t gone through it yet,” Faye said, “Looks like quality stuff.”

“Yeah, well…” Tao shuffled through the spare sling and packets of bandages to pull out a pill bottle – the antibiotics. “These were for the prisoner we took, and I think he still needs some of it.”

Faye scoffed.

“That’s good medicine, and we’re wasting it on some fash bastard? Tell me you’re not serious.”

Tao shrugged weakly in the face of her ire.

“Geneva convention?”

~~~

Tao escaped the infirmary without any new injuries and made his way back to the HQ with the shoebox tucked under his arm. Inside he found Vic, bouncing on his heels and practically glowing as he scrolled on a tablet.

“You’re never going to believe this!” Vic crowed.

“What is it? You retrieve the van data?” Tao grinned, certain his scientist theory would pay off.

“Yeah we did! And guess who our little friend in there is.”

“Just spit it out, Vic!”

“He’s the Commander’s whore. Listen to this.”

Tao found himself spinning between Vic’s infectious delight and a horrible sinking feeling. He opened his mouth but was cut off by a compressed, crackly recording emitting from Vic’s tablet.

“Home base, this is transport 562, we have departed Conservatory with the fucktoy, en route to home, ETA 07:00, over.

“Transport 562, this is home base, we read you, please be advised to keep your language clean on the coms, over.”

“Yes sir, revise to: we have departed with the… boytoy. Over.”

“…”

“The Commander’s main squeeze? Over.”

“Jeremy I swear to God-”

Vic stopped the recording with a cackle.

“Can you believe it? No wonder he didn’t want to tell us what his job was!”

Vic continued to laugh, slapping his knee, and Tao felt a hollow, automatic chuckle escape his own mouth. Because… it was funny… right?

“Can you imagine what kind of… literal ass-kisser this dude must be?” Vic wheezed, nearly tearing up, “Who in their right mind would fuck that Palpatine-lookin’ motherfucker-”

“Hey, let me see that.” Tao dropped the shoebox of medical supplies on the table and grabbed at the tablet. Vic handed it over, sinking into a chair.

“Oh shit, who fucks who? D’you think -” Vic’s words were consumed by his own laughter as Tao scrolled frantically through the info scraped from the van. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but he found the Conservatory’s visit summary.

“Lark.” No surname.

Based on his birthdate, he’s… 22. Shit.

“Arrived with compound fractures of both the radius and ulna, and severe infection. Patient reports arm was broken twice and set improperly the first time. Patient is unclear when the infection set in.” …Twice?

“Pain management disregarded upon request of the payee.”

Tao dropped the tablet to the table with a clatter and scrabbled at the shoe box, upturning the contents and spreading them out with shaking hands. Vic stared at him, finally coming down from his hysterics.

“What’re you doing?”

“There’s no pain meds!”

“What?”

Tao grabbed the antibiotics and rushed past Vic towards the back room.

“Woah!” Vic jumped up to follow him, “Shouldn’t we wait for Becca?”

Tao ignored him, unbolting the door and flinging it open.

“Lark-”

Tao choked.

In stark contrast to his stiff, prim, upright posture earlier, Lark now sat slumped over, head on the table.

“Hey!” Tao shouted at him. Vic came in to stand beside him, cursing.

Lark didn’t move.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Tao darted around the table, stuffing the antibiotics into his pocket. He put one hand under Lark’s head and one on his shoulder and tried to lift him up without upsetting the broken arm, only to find it already pulled awkwardly out of the sling by the shackled weight of the boy’s other arm. Luckily the cast was holding strong. Lark’s head lolled back, and his eyelids fluttered. His color was even worse than it was earlier and his forehead was hot and slippery with sweat under Tao’s hand.

“Help me!” Tao waved Vic over, “Undo the shackles!”

“Are you sure-”

“Does he look like he’s going to escape, Vic?! Get your head out of your ass!”

Vic hustled over and Tao eased Lark’s broken arm back into the sling and held it steady as Vic sorted through his key ring and unlocked the shackles. Lark let out a tiny, pained whimper that made Tao want to throw up.

“Shit, okay, we gotta – we gotta get him to Faye!”

Vic kicked the shackles out of the way.

“Are you sure-?”

“Vic, I swear I will explain what I think is happening here, but he needs help first.”

Vic hesitated, but understood that stopping to argue would get them nowhere. He nodded.

“Thank you. Okay, Lark?” Tao placed a hand on Lark’s burning cheek to gently tilt his face towards his own. “We’re gonna help you walk a little ways, can you do that for me?”

Lark’s eyes fluttered open, and his unfocused gaze wandered over Tao’s face. His eyes abruptly filled with tears, and he took in a sharp breath.

“Please,” he whispered, “Please don’t break my arm again.”

Tao looked up and met Vic’s solemn stare. The other man had finally grasped that something was wrong.

This was going to be a lot more complicated than they thought.

~~~

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Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #this death that I chose #implied noncon #cw derogatory language #past noncon

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