#this is old but I've been going through my folder... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychedelic-ink · 1 year

Text

𝑨𝑸𝑼𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑪 𝑹𝑬𝑯𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, no outbreak au, strangers to lovers

word count: 7.2k

summary: Joel has been experiencing knee pain for the past two months. When he finally sees an orthopedist, he learns that he has some minor damage to his meniscus. The doctor prescribes him anti-inflammatory medication and physical therapy, recommending swimming. At the pool, he meets you.

warnings: conversation about past failed relationships + sexual relationships, sarah's off at college, reader being briefly self conscious about her body, touch starved joel, oral (giving), both reader and joel not being intimate with anyone for a while, piv sex, riding for the first time, ass play, messy, joel showing small signs of relationship anxiety, sexual tension, size kink, dirty talk, joel is mentioned to be older than reader but how old isn't specified, praise kink, joel being...well-endowed

a/n: this ended up being more emotional and longer than I intended lmaodfbvfg whoops?

Joel worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His right knee bobs nervously, his jeans making a sound every time. The early morning sun filters through the small window. A soft yellow light bounces off the picture frames on the orthopedist's desk. She’s not here yet. The kind nurse had let him in early, saying she would be there shortly. It smells like medicine. It’s too clean and he doesn’t like it.

His stomach turns. Some part of him actually hopes the doctor doesn’t come in. Joel’s not hopeful about the results. His knees have been bugging him for the past two months. Locking painfully whenever he sat too long and got up. Or when he was sitting in the truck for too long. It just started to ache out of nowhere. It had gotten worse. He’d give in, finally, after Sarah practically begged him on the phone to see a doctor. After all this time he still couldn’t say no to his sweet girl.

The door opens with a click. Joel becomes stiff, eyes nervously following the woman. She takes a seat. Placing the folder neatly on the shiny table, she opens it and smooths it out with the flat of her palms.

“Good morning, Mister Miller.” she says, not bothering to look at him. “I've taken a look at your knee x-rays and it seems that you have a bit of damage in your meniscus.”

His molars catch the smooth inside of his cheek and sink into it. She just said a whole lot that he doesn’t understand. He shakes his head. She’s finally looking at him, sharp eyes peering between thinned lashes.

“Is it serious? What does that mean?” he asks, hands finding the curve of his knees.

“Well, the good news is that it's not a major injury. There’s just a bit of damage in the tissues and can be treated with some medication and physical therapy. You won’t need surgery unless it escalates. Which, hopefully, it won’t.”

“Okay, that's good to hear. What kind of medication and therapy do I need?”

“I'm going to prescribe you some anti-inflammatory medication to help reduce the swelling and pain in your knee. And as for physical therapy, I'd recommend you try swimming. It's a low-impact exercise that can help strengthen the muscles around your knee and promote healing. I also have some stretches I want to show you. I want you to do them daily.”

She closes the folder, picks up a deck of Post-it notes, and starts scribbling something.

“You were a contractor, right? I’m going to need you to refrain from heavy lifting for a while. No jumping, no running, no extreme movements that can affect your knee. Some walking is fine, but not a lot.”

“Well,” he smacks his lips. Now relaxed, he leans back into the chair and crosses his arms. “There goes my weekend plans.”

“Do you work out a lot? Because this is quite common in athletes.”

“Uh…It was a joke.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly he’s fidgety again. Not wanting to look dumb, he explains. “Because you said jumpin’ and runnin’ and no one spends their weekend jumpin’ do they?”

A nervous laughter bubbles in his throat, and he manages to swallow it down. She nods and peels the paper away. Handing it to Joel, she looks at him with a small smile.

“Sorry about that, it’s still early. And you’re right. They don’t.

You step into the small shower cabin and allow the cold water to trace over your skin and wash away the outside. The elastic of your swimming cap digs into your forehead, the goggles applying pressure right above your head. Slightly irritated, you sneak two fingers under where the plastic starts, allowing your head to breathe one last time before taking a dip in the pool. You come here almost every day. It’s relaxing, soothing.

Your fingers slip as you twist the knob, turning off the spray of water. You might be biased due to your childhood, but you love the pool. You love the chlorine that fills your lungs with every breath. It’s sharp and pungent, leaving a slight burn in your lungs. During summers your parents would send you off to summer camp, which you thoroughly enjoyed. Though, calling it a “camp” felt wrong. It wasn’t outdoors, and you would return after the day ended, just like regular school, but instead of math, there was swimming and basketball.

You remember those days fondly, which is why you sigh blissfully at the scent whereas a lot of people would wrinkle their noses.

Walking to the pool, you roll your shoulders. You wince upon hearing them crack. It’s been a long week. Your gaze lifts to the ceiling. The soft pitter patters of rain echoes. You love to swim when it rains. It also meant there would be fewer people, and no children. You don’t have anything against the tiny humans, but they had a habit of being loud.

You spot an older couple, their bodies swaying in a lazy backstroke, their voices spilling out in laughter. You also notice one other person that’s aggressively swimming back and forth. In one lane, you notice a man. His cap and black goggles make it hard to catch a glimpse of his face. It’s hardly inappropriate, but you can’t resist stealing a few more glances at him.

You take in his broad shoulders, thick neck, and shapely arms. You narrow your eyes. You catch a glimpse of his salt and pepper beard, the darker hue of his mustache hinting at the color of his hair. Your eyes drop to his hands, hidden in the water up to the knuckles. He clenches them into fists before releasing them.

Your curiosity piques. You’ve never seen him before, he looks lost. He’s standing above the built-in stairs which are mainly used for people who are just learning to swim. He takes another step lower. The light blue water splashes over his soft stomach and he jerks away. You instinctively smile. You usually don’t reach out to people. If they smile at you, you smile back or talk about the weather. But the stranger’s nervous energy prompts you to take a couple of steps closer—close enough that he can hear you. You take a deep breath, pressing your nails into your palms, you push down the thoughts about your own appearance. No one really looks that good in a one piece. You feel exposed, which is why you usually dip into the water as fast as you can before anyone can get a good look.

“Hi there,” you squeak, with an awkward lift of your hand. The man stiffens and turns. Your own image is reflected back at you thanks to the goggles he wears. “Sorry to bother you, I was just…wondering if you need help?”

He stares at you in silence for a brief moment, his brows drawn together with confusion. But a moment later he relaxes, his shoulders drop and he playfully shakes his head.

Finally, he removes the goggles, and you see his eyes— his gorgeous, big brown eyes. Your breath catches in your throat. You’re suddenly feeling very clammy and sweaty.

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, a grin teasing at his lips. “My doctor said I need to start swimmin’ before my knees give out entirely.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He waves his hand in dismissal, “Don’t be. It's nothin’ that serious, just small damage to my meniscus. I know how to swim, so it’s nothin’ like that but I guess my nerves are fried from worryin’ all weak about the results. My brain still ain’t convinced that everythin’ is fine.”

God, he’s gorgeous. All you can do is focus on the movement of his lips. Him speaking is enough to fluster you. You need to get it together before he thinks you’re a creep. You part your lips, but the words die in your throat as you watch him. He starts climbing the steps one by one with an extended hand. The water cascades down his body, his trunks sticking to his thighs. In a fit of panic, you glue your eyes to his.

“I’m Joel by the way.” he takes your hand and gives it two firm shakes. You introduce yourself but all you can hear is your own frantic heartbeat.

“I’m glad it’s nothing serious,” you blurt out. You have no idea what to say or what you’re doing. “If you’re nervous we can do a couple of laps together if you want—if you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You swear your heart stops when his eyes flit across your face, assessing how serious you are. His smile never fades. You inhale sharply when his tongue darts out from between his lips, sweeping over his damp bottom lip.

“I bet you say that to all the older guys.”

“Only the cute ones.”

Clearly, the circuits between your brain and mouth are heavily damaged because there’s no way on god’s green earth did you just say that. You blink fast. Images of you choking out another you vivid in your mind. You’re insane—only the ones that are cute, who even says that? No more romantic comedies for you.

Joel pushes his shoulders back. He exhales a deep breath, his chest heaving.

“Well, ain’t that kind of you.” he takes a step back into the water, some part of you regrets not sneaking at least one more glance at his nethers. “I guess I should take you up on your offer. It’s only polite.”

A nervous bubble of laughter escapes your throat. You don’t say anything and follow him into the pool. You’re glad to be finally submerging your body in water. Ever since you were little you would believe that water had magical healing properties. You would go into the water, thinking that someone it would speak to you. Despite being an adult, you still think that sometimes. It just makes life a little bit more fun. You know it’s stupid to think of chloric water having any kind of benefit to your body, however, it’s hard to break old thought patterns.

Joel dips head first, and after watching his distorted silhouette underwater, you follow. You smile, bubbles coming from your nose. Your spine cracks as your body becomes more fluid. You turn around so you are facing upwards. Light bounces on top of the small waves. The ceiling is nothing but a blur of white and blue. Some part of you wishes this was an open pool so you could feel the vibrations of raindrops hitting the waterline.

Turning again, you notice Joel moving up. His head pops above water. You take one last glance at his body before propelling yourself up, joining him.

Your eyes follow the way waterdrops smooths a line down from his neck to his shoulder. Your mouth goes dry.

“So,” you say. “Did your doctor give you any specific exercises?”

He shakes his head, “She just told me to go swimmin’. And not to put pressure on my knees.”

You think for a bit before answering, “Alright then. We’ll just take it slow, so a couple of laps first, take small breaks in between.”

“You…really don’t have to, you know,” Joel looks almost guilty before his eyes move away from yours. Confused, you raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t have to what?”

“Swim with me.”

You feel your heart shattering into tiny pieces of glass that stick to your lungs. His voice is barely above a whisper, cracking at the end of his sentence. Your body moves towards his by instinct. The most natural thing would be to place your hand on his cheek and pull him for a tender kiss. Your body singing at you to do it. And man, you’re tempted alright. You want to trace the seam of his lips with your tongue, taste the chlorine on his lips.

You ball your hands into tight fists, thankful to be hidden underwater. You recognize the loneliness that maps across his handsome countenance.

“I know I don’t have to,” you say instead. He looks back at you with surprise, eyes immediately dropping to your wet lips. “I want to.”

He lets out a breath of relief, and nods, a smile gracing his lips. “A’right then. As long as I’m not keepin’ you from anythin’.”

The swimming had gone well. Joel definitely had the body and stamina for it, and the more laps he did, the more confident he became with his strokes. You found yourself staring at him openly, stealing glances before you dipped below the water, hiding your embarrassment.

However, he was still a beginner, and he’s knees began to ache after the tenth lap. He insisted that you continue without him as he sat at the side of the pool. You were hesitant at first but agreed, however, your cheeks burned from the mere prospect of that man watching you swim.

When you’re done, you catch him staring at you with a fond smile lingering on his lips. You imagine that’s the same look he’d give you with the first rays of sunlight after a rather passionate night.

Your pussy bottoms out, heat spreading between your legs. You inhale sharply, accidentally snorting a bit of water. It burns and your eyes water, but you manage to swallow down the frantic coughs that threaten to rip from your throat.

“Sweet little mermaid.” he mutters as you approach, eyes following you with greed. Your breath hitches, and Joel loses his grounding for a moment. He clears his throat and looks away. “You swim well.”

“Thanks,” you answer. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

You ignore the heat that emanates from his thigh, your arms accidentally brushing against the hard muscle. You clumsily push yourself out of the pool and take a seat next to him.

“How’re your knees feeling?” you ask.

He lets out a hum, stretching his legs underwater. “They’re fine. Hopefully, this works.”

“I’m sure it will.”

"Even if it doesn't work out, at least I won't be going home empty-handed," he says with a smile. Your eyes flick to him and widen slightly. Very inappropriately, your nipples tighten. A blush starts from his neck and spreads across his broad chest, you notice the goosebumps bursting over his skin. He starts to fidget with his thumbs. “And by that, I mean that I got to meet you. I think I put that weirdly.”

The world comes rushing back and you feel the soft waves of the pool on your skin again. You smile. Without thinking much, you playfully nudge his shoulder with your own. A soft chuckle parts his lips as he leans into you. Neither of you moves away from the other.

“So,” you say, flinching at how high-pitched you sound. “Is there a Mrs. Joel?”

He laughs. The sound reminds you of an open field with colorful flowers dancing side to side with the wind. Instinctively, you sigh, your lashes kissing your cheeks.

“Nope,” he answers. “What about you?”

You shake your head, “I’ve been single for two years.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well,” you look ahead, the old couple you spotted before is getting out of the pool. “My heart got broken quite a few times. I think without noticing I closed myself off after my last relationship. I find it hard to open up now and—” you cut off, your gaze drifting back to him. You bark an uncomfortable-sounding laugh and drop your head to your chest. “Aaand, I have no idea why I’m telling you this. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, darlin’. For what it’s worth, I haven’t been with anyone for a long time either.”

You grin and raise an eyebrow, “I find that hard to believe.”

Joel smiles but it’s a soft one, like he’s remembering something—or in this case, someone. With unblinking eyes, you wait for him to elaborate. He notices your gaze, his smile stretches into a grin.

“It’s not that interestin’ of a story,” he sighs. “I had my daughter when I was quite young. Mother left. And until Sarah went to college there was no one. After she left…I had a couple of flings but that’s pretty much it. Nothin’ long term.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Uh, yeah.” he answers, scratching the back of his head. You feel kind of bad now that you made him feel awkward. That wasn’t your intention at all. You’re surprised, but you find it to be sweet that he has a daughter. It must’ve been hard to raise her on his own.

Before you can say anything, you sense him pulling back, both emotionally and physically. His shoulder isn’t pressed against yours anymore, the lack of contact makes you ache. He moves his legs languidly under the water, your gaze follows the movement.

“I know it might be awkward. And not ideal. But I would love it if we could get to know each other more.”

Your ears burning, you take his hand into yours, squeezing it tightly. If he’s surprised by your sudden gesture, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t look at you and you squeeze again, drawing his gaze back to you.

“That’s not why I asked. That was probably a bit insensitive of me, I was just surprised and it came out wrong.” you let out a breath of relief when his thumb begins to draw slow circles over your skin. A shiver settles at the base of your spine. “And I would very much like to get to know you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the way his entire face lights up. Looking at him proving to be similar to looking into the sun, you lower your gaze and grin. You feel dizzy.

“Does that mean I can ask for your number sunshine?” he asks and leans closer. His warm breath fanning your cheek.

You nod, “Of course.”

The pleasant buzz that thrums in your veins soon shift into one of simmering annoyance. Of course, someone took—no, stole—your umbrella. It’s just your luck. It’s raining cats and dogs and all you can do is watch the heavy drops collide with concrete as you wait outside. You look up to the sky, pleading that it stops. You love the rain, love listening to it, but only if you’re surrounded by your cozy home wrapped in a blanket. Or if you’re swimming.

You could’ve handled a soft drizzle, sometimes you even enjoyed walking under the rain, but not this. You swear one of those drops alone can poke an eye out. It’s deafening. Thunder echoes, and you can’t help but flinch. Everything is so loud. Your body is refreshed, but at the same time, your muscles are drained from all the swimming. Exhausted from the workout and the excitement, all you want is a cozy nook with a steaming cup of tea and a good book.

You don’t have much else to do until the rain stops, therefore, you think of Joel. He’d been truly a splendid surprise. Sometimes life sucked but moments like those made it better. After exchanging numbers, he’d promised to call you as soon as he was back home.

A smile tugs at your lips. You find it cute that he said he called instead of texting you. You’ll get to hear his voice which is a huge plus.

You’re viciously ripped away from your thoughts when a loud honk echoes above the rain. With your hairs standing on edge, you see a truck with the window pulled down. You narrow your eyes. The rain and headlights create a thick fog, making it difficult to see clearly.

“Joel?” you call out, hoping that you’re seeing right.

“Hey,” he answers, leaning over and popping the door open for you. “Hop in.”

You take the first step, a bit uncertain with your movements in fear that it might be an illusion created by the stormy night, but it’s not. The leather seat under you is solid and so is the man sitting next to you. You wipe your face with your sleeve.

“Thanks. You basically saved my ass right now. Some asshole stole my umbrella.”

He grins, “It’s the least I could do.”

The rain pounds relentlessly against the windshield, the sound a chaotic symphony that drowns out everything else. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and you flinch as a particularly loud crack splits through the air. You jump in your seat. Joel’s hand lands softly on your thigh, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You look at him, surprised, and he meets your gaze with a small smile.

“Is this alright?” he asks, his voice gentle as he squeezes.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. His touch is warm and inviting. Like a soft caress that makes your skin tingle. You feel a sudden urge to lean into him, to climb on top of his lap, and allow his wide hands to roam all over your back.

Joel starts the car and drives onto the road. The world outside is a blur of colors and lights. Neon signs flicker in the rain, casting a rainbow of colors on the wet pavement. The buildings are tall and imposing, like ancient giants looming over the city. The headlights of passing cars slice through the darkness, creating sharp streaks of light that dance across your vision.

You watch the world pass by in a daze, lost in thought. The rain is a soothing sound, like a lullaby that whispers you to sleep. Joel’s hand on your thigh is a comforting presence, grounding you in reality.

The rain grows louder, the drops striking the windshield almost violently. Much to your disappointment, he pulls his hand away, leaving you feeling a sudden emptiness. You open your eyes, watching as he shifts gears and maneuvers the car through the busy streets.

You lean your head against the window, watching the world outside blur by in a dizzying whirl. You don’t have much to say and that’s okay. His presence isn’t forcing you to make awkward small talk. You’re completely content just being here with him, a moment you’re positive that you’ll never forget, no matter which direction your relationship with him goes.

When you finally pull up to your house, dread washes over you. You want to invite him inside for something warm, as a thank you for rescuing you from the rain. But you’re not entirely sure that you should.

You push back your worries.

“This is me,” you break the silence. "Would you like to come inside for a bit? I have tea and coffee— or perhaps you would prefer wine to warm you up?"

The last addition was meant as a joke, a little bit of humor to break the tension. Joel’s lips are tightly pressed together, his knuckles almost white from how hard he’s squeezing the steering wheel. After grueling moments of silence, he swallows and turns off the car.

“Wine sounds great.”

The sound of your front door closing behind you feels momentous. Ironically enough, you don’t get to open the bottle of wine. You kiss him first, and he follows, pushing you up against the wall with possessive hands. You barely manage to push the door closed. He’s all consuming. Inhaling your chlorine scented skin and drinking lust from your lips. He kneads your breasts in his large palms and you gasp into his mouth, he swallows the sound. Parting away, he licks the seam of your lips before leveling you with a steady gaze.

“I promised myself to take this slow,” he rasps, panting heavily. When the first hints of laughter tickle the back of your throat, he takes hold of your hips and presses them firmly together. You feel the hardness of his length through the fabric of his jeans. Your eyes roll back. “That feels good don’t it—fuck—I just don’t want to fuck this up, you’re really nice and—”

“Joel,” you say, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet your gaze. “Calm down. You’re not going to fuck this up. We’re in this together. I really want this, you do too. But if you want to go slow, have that wine, we’ll go slow. But I don’t want you to be stressed out of your mind no matter what you choose, okay?”

He exhales a breath, deep and steady. “Okay,” he says, hands squeezing your hips. “Okay. Sorry ‘bout that. I hope I didn’t scare you off.”

“You could never,” you say, brushing your lips together. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“I think I want to show you to a good time, sweetheart.”

“Meaning?”

“I want to fuck you.” he swallows. “If you want it too.”

“Oh, believe me. I do.”

You catch the curve of a mischievous smile before he crashes into you, claiming your lips in a heady kiss. He pushes a leg between your thighs and your grind down, gasping at the friction. Warmth gathers under the tissue of your stomach, everlasting. It’s been so long since you felt like this. The heat of someone tearing you apart and pulling you back again.

A pleasant tingle spreads from your legs up your spine. Joel licks into you, his tongue moving over yours. He nips at your bottom lip. You whine when he parts away, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck. He feels your pulse with his lips. An involuntary giggle leaves you as his mustache chafes the skin. He teeths at the flesh and you grind your hips down once more, wetness growing between your legs.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes shakily. “Show me to the bedroom.”

The trip to the bedroom is a disorienting one; A blur of limbs and kisses being traded with one another. You feel like a teenager, not being able to keep away not even for a second. You don’t bother to close the bedroom door. Joel pulls your shirt off, your ears left ringing at the force of it while your hands fumble with his zipper. Joel chuckles and bats your hands away. The way you furrow your brows goes unnoticed. He dips his head, closing his lips around the tight nipple.

Your legs start to shake. He flicks his tongue, the tight nub pebbling swiftly. Your head falls back, a deep moan coming from the back of your throat. He sucks and moves his jaw, applying pressure. While one hand rests over the curve of your waist, the other promptly toys with your unattended nipple, pinching and twisting until it’s hard and aching.

“Shit—Joel—” you gasp, voice quivering. “It’s been a while, it feels so good. Fuck.”

He parts away from your chest, the tip of his tongue swirling deftly around the areola. His warm breath makes you shiver. “That’s okay honey, I’ve got you.”

“Take this off,” you mumble in a daze, pulling at the hem of his shirt. You bend your knees to cup his erection, it pulses under your palm. “And take these off too. I want you in my mouth.”

“You’re killin’ me, sweetheart,” he breathes out. “You’d like that, huh? My cock in your mouth, cummin’ down your throat as you wrap them pretty lips around me—what a sight it would be.”

“Fuck yes,” you choke out, gently pushing him towards the bed.

You’re almost delusional in the way you speak and move. He’d painted you a picture you so desperately wanted to make into reality. You tug off his shirt as he kicks off his jeans along with his underwear. A sharp exhale parts your lips when you feel his dripping cock against your lower stomach. Heavy and hot, pressing against your skin. You wrap your fingers around the base and they barely close around him. The tips of your ears burn.

“J-Joel, oh my god,” you say with awe. “I-I don’t know if I can take you all.”

His fingers touch the back of your neck and he pulls you between his legs as the two of you tumble onto the bed. He gently squeezes, your body melting at the touch. His lips touch your ear.

“Sure you can, sunshine. We’ll just take it nice and slow, a’right? I’ll fuck this pretty little cunt with just the tip if I have to, it feels good all the same.” his thumb traces your bottom lip, and slowly, he pushes the digit into your mouth. Your eyes fluttering, you suck his thumb. “Just get my dick nice and wet with this dirty tongue of yours. Been twitchin’ since you uttered the words.”

He pops out his thumb and leaves wet streaks across your cheek. You move down his body, dragging your nails down the swell of his stomach as you get closer and closer to his length. Joel hisses when you wetly kiss the tip, a bead of precum forming. You wrap one hand around the base and rest the other over his stomach, fingers caressing the coarse hairs that form a sinful trail.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, lips dancing over the length of his throbbing cock. He moans. “That swimsuit of yours doesn’t do you justice at all.”

“If you continue to talk like that I’m going to bust,” he chokes, hands fisting the sheets. “Please just—” he swallows. “Just stop toyin’ with me.”

Answering him with a throaty hum, you dip your tongue into the slit, groaning at the taste of him. His cock twitches against your lips, smearing precum over the tender swell of it. Parting your mouth wide, you take the bulbous head between your lips and flatten your tongue. You feel a vein that curls underneath his length. You groan and take him deeper. He’s been truly blessed, the width stretching you wide, forcing saliva to dribble from the corners of your mouth. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Slick glistening at the insides of your thighs.

You’re still worried about not being able to take him all. You want to feel every inch of him buried deep inside, and even though Joel assured you that it would be okay, you still want this to go perfectly. It’s been a long time for you both, you want it to feel good for him too.

“Deeper,” he croaks out and when you look up, you find those gorgeous, dazed out, brown eyes looking down at you. “Can you?”

Your lids flutter heavily. Nodding, you force your head down, your chin straining as you take him halfway. Your vision blurs with tears. Spit oozes down his length, your throat convulsing at the pressure.

“You’re takin’ it so well,” he praises through grit teeth, his southern drawl deeper and more noticeable than before. “So fuckin’ well. You feel so good—I ain’t gonna last sweetheart.”

Encouraged by his sudden honesty, you mentally grin. And with more fervor than before, you bounce your head up and down while stroking the rest with your hand. Briefly you remove your lips, swipe your palm over the head and move it back down, coating the rest of him with slick. You take him again, his thighs tightening around your frame, shaking uncontrollably as he forces his hips to remain still.

Moans echo from the back of Joel’s throat, filling the room with his deep cadence. He reaches out for your hand and locks your fingers together, holding you and guiding your hand further up his stomach. You’re a bit unbalanced now. His cock spears almost painfully down your throat. While trying to limit yourself with only the half of his length, his cock twitches, and throbs. You repeatedly swallow around him, your hand starting to shake.

Large drops of precum coat your tongue and go down your throat, his grip on your hand painfully tight. You breathe heavily through your nose. He’s about to come. With a ferality you haven’t felt with anyone before, you push apart your legs and force yourself down against the sheets. The soft fabric doing little when it grazes your aching clit. You moan around him.

Then you find yourself empty. A gasp rips from your throat at the way Joel pulls you off his cock, breathing in heavy pants. Your gaze drops to his cock. The head a beautiful shade of red, glistening with precome and spit. You lick your lips.

“Sorry,” he grunts, pulling you so that you’re straddling his waist. He pushes himself up by the elbows, face only an inch away from yours. “I didn’t wanna come just yet. Need to feel you around me, sunshine.”

He closes the distance and claims you with a devout kiss. He tastes himself on your tongue, hips jerking up in a weak attempt to seek you out. You breathe him in. The scent of chlorine and something so undeniable Joel fills your lungs.

“Don’t keep me waiting then,” you grin against his lips. He mimics your expression grinning as he lays back down. He guides you to raise your hips, and briefly, worry crosses your face.

A question quickly follows, “What’s wrong?”

“I…fuck, it’s stupid. Don’t worry about it.” but of course, he doesn’t let go and fixes you a look that has you spilling your guts. “It’s just been a while and well. I’ve never actually done it like…this.”

“You never rode someone before?”

You shake your head and bite your bottom lip. Frowning, he touches the abused flesh with his thumb and tugs it away, smoothing it with the pad of his finger.

“We can switch positions. It’s okay.”

“But I want to try it.” your words coming out in a rush, it’s followed by a nervous laughter. “I always did, but my partners usually had other plans. And after a while, I just generally chickened out and stopped asking. I got embarrassed.”

“Oh, honey.”

Your eyes widen upon feeling his arms around you, pulling you into a bear hug. His hand cradles the back of your head and you bury your face into the crook of his neck. You kiss the skin. Warmth blossoming in your chest. Both of you suspended in the moment, breathing each other in and out. Soon, his fingers trace a path down your spine, and a chill spreads at the end of your back.

“Believe me,” he mutters, you feel the movement of his jaw. “I would want nothin’ more than to have you on top of me, takin’ you deep. I’m sorry those assholes made you feel otherwise.”

You choke out a sound, smiling and shaking your head. “It’s not that they were assholes—well, maybe some of them—but maybe I just wasn’t good at expressing myself. Or I just didn’t look…” you clear your throat, his arms tighten around you, forcing the air out of your lungs. “Anyway, it’s not important.”

“You express yourself fine if you ask me.” his thumb skims over your clit and you gasp. The digit slides between your folds with ease, he hums in approval. “And it looks like your body is expressin’ itself quite well too.”

An understanding without words forms between your two. He cups your ass and you lift yourself up by holding onto his broad shoulders. Joel jerks himself with one hand before he motions you to lower yourself. Despite how soaking wet you are, the stretch still makes you wince. You continue a bit further, having to stop when it proves to be more painful than pleasurable. Sliding his one hand back to your front, he leisurely circles around your clit. You clench and dig your nails into his shoulders.

“That’s it, go slow sweetheart. We have all the time in the world. You’re doin’ so good for me. Spreading yourself around my cock like that.”

Feeling yourself becoming loose, you sink further down, only having to stop again a few inches later. You groan in frustration and Joel puts his mouth on your breasts, sucking.

You draw in a long breath, “Is that all of it?”

Joel looks up and allows himself to smile.

“Well, nearly. Just a bit more.”

His mouth moves down and captures your nipple between his lips. Your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. With a moan, you sink down completely, his hips flush against yours. Joel breaks away from your tender skin, both of you moaning loudly in unison. His head falls back against the bedpost, staring at you between heavy lids. He looks completely blissed out.

Wanting more of the debouched expression, you ever so slightly move up your hips and sit back down again. His eyes squeeze shut, his throat trembling with a wrecked groan. You’re not doing any better, your eyes rolling back as your muscles start to spasm.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re wet. Shit. Can I move, sunshine? Please?”

“God yes,” you breathe out, your head spinning. His hands cup your rear, helping you to lift halfway off his cock before lowering you again. Electricity runs up your spine. Your cry out his name, pulsing around him uncontrollably. “J-Joel, I don’t think I’m gonna last,” you say apologetically.

“That’s okay,” he groans, voice hoarse. “I ain’t gonna last long either.”

The two of you capture a soft rhythm that works for the both of you. Joel guides the sloppy roll of your hips, and you do your best to move up and down his cock. Your legs aching due to the swimming. You want to go faster, the burning between your legs growing with every grind of your hips. There’s an itch deep inside. An inch that you can’t seem to scratch with the way you’re moving. You whimper and fix Joel a pleading look. His cock twitches.

“You want it harder?” he rasps, lashes fluttering.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Give it to me, Joel. I want you to fuck me hard with this big cock of yours.” you make a show of rolling your tongue and pressing your hips flush against him, grinding yourself into his pelvis.

“The mouth on you, Jesus.” he drawls but with a smile. Your heart skips a beat, a grin of your own touching your lips.

You’re confused when Joel sucks two fingers into his mouth. Not that you’re complaining. You see the pink of his tongue, the glistening spit that coats his thick fingers. Pulling them out, Joel massages your asscheeks and spreads them, you moan as the open air hits your other hole. He brushes two wet fingers over the rim, making you quiver.

“Feels good?”

You nod and he slips one finger, your entire body jolts, your breath catching in your throat. However, you don’t have time to focus on the new sensation. Joel presses his feet into the mattress and with fervor, he starts fucking up into you. Railing you until you’re gasping for air and left feeling nothing else but the heavy stroke of his cock. You shout his name, your lungs burn.

“That’s it make a mess of me, darlin’. Such a good fuckin’ girl. All you need is my help isn’t it? Look at you, doin’ so well for me.” the words he continues to mutter force out a visceral reaction from you. You claw at his chest. Dragging them down as his cock spears into you over and over. The slick sounds echoing throughout the room. You notice him watching where you two connect, he looks hypnotized. His lips parting as he watches his cock disappear into your wet cunt.

He pushes his finger in deeper and you’re suddenly aware of how full you feel. Your arms that keep you upright buckle and you fall down, covering him like a blanket. An apology touches your lips, but before you can, Joel’s lips are already on your temple, kissing and whispering praise all the while continuing to fuck you senseless. He pulls out his finger and slightly lifts your hips for a better angle. You whine at the loss and hear him chuckle.

“Another time, sunshine.”

Your walls start to spasm and contract, his hips start to stutter. His strong steady strokes becoming sloppy and rushed, he pushes you down against him rolling his hips and grinding deeper into you. Fuck. Your head is spinning violently. Your cunt dripping and making a mess of his cock. He rubs into you again, the dark hairs that crown his length stimulating your throbbing clit.

A silent scream shakes your chest. You see white before you squeeze him tight, the force of it making his breath hitch. You gush around him. Slick rolling down his cock and seeping into the sheets. You don’t even notice the wet tears smeared all over your face as you nuzzle him. Waves of pleasure wash over you again and again. Leaving you shaking and panting for air. Joel holds you still, his hands comforting against your heated skin.

Your jaw goes slack when he gently thrusts up again, shushing you when you let out a whine.

“Where do you want me?”

It takes you a while to understand the question. Lifting your head, you give him a blank stare. His eyes glimmer with amusement, a lopsided smile forming on his lips.

“Look at you,” he coos. “Pretty little thing completely fucked out. You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

You’re pretty sure you actually purr at his words. You leisurely smile. You lift your hips and push them back down, both of you groaning in delight. He keeps uttering pretty from under his breath, his own composure breaking down. Another orgasm rolls over you, albeit much softer this time, like a fire warming your skin. You sigh happily, kissing him on the lips.

“Where?” he asks, a bit more desperate this time.

“My mouth.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Everything is sloppy and uncoordinated. You’re not even sure how you make your way down between his legs. You’re still throbbing when you suck on the tip, your eyes closing as you taste the mixture of you and himself. You take him as deep as you can, feeling him at the back of your throat. He holds your head but doesn’t force you to the more.

“Sweetheart, move your tongue.”

Your skin prickles at how hoarse he sounds. You happily obliged, stroking the underside of his cock with the flat of your tongue. He sucks in a sharp breath, his chest expanding, and on the exhale, he lets out the loudest moan of the night. It comes from the depths of his lungs. His hips jerk, finally spilling down your throat, you swallow him greedily, your walls pulsing with a need to be stretched again.

He comes and comes and comes. There’s so much of it. It floods your mouth, trickling down your chin. You breathe heavily. His cock throbs on your tongue and god you love the feeling.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck, that felt so good.” his hands fall limp to his side. With a grin, you release his cock and swallow once more, more audibly this time. His dark gaze drops to your lips. He shakily wipes the come that spilled from your lips, popping it back into your mouth. You lick at the digit eagerly. “I should thank whoever it was that stole your umbrella,” he mumbles.

“We should get them a cake,” you tease, kissing the empty patch on his beard. “So…should we get cleaned up and then…talk?”

He squeezes your hips and then follows the curve of your spine. “Sounds like a plan, sunshine.”

You end up sharing that bottle of wine after all.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #joel miller au

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tojigasm · 1 year

Text

Sheep and Wolf

Authors note: omgg, it's been almost an entire year since I've posted a Toji fic, but here he is!! Back in the flesh, he returneth! I hope you all enjoy it!! <33

Warnings: 18+ nsfw, smut, fluff, creampie, kissing, pet names, angst, Christopher Nolan, blood, guns, mentions of bandaging a wound, Toji being old

Toji, who calls you while you're at school, chuckling into the phone when you complain about your professors and the schoolwork you've got to finish by the end of the week.

"I'm still havin' you watch that Christopher Nolan film tonight," he teases, and you can hear his smirk on the end of the line.

"Noooo," you whine, "you're gonna torture me with your film bro shit on top of my homework?" You sigh, and you can hear him laugh, "doesn't mean the film is gonna be any better just because I'm being forced to watch it."

"Yeah, yeah, kid," tojis voice deepens some, and you find yourself smiling at the rasp of it, "now go learn something."

He can hear you giggle on the other end before the line clicks off, and he turns back to looking over folders for his next mission.

—

Toji, who rolls his eyes when you get amped up at night time. Too excited and too happy to fall asleep.

You're wiggling around under the covers until a firm hand grounds your thigh to the mattress.

"M'kay, I think that's enough." Toji warns gently, scrolling through his phone with his other hand. "It's bedtime."

Your idea of "bed time" lasts momentarily before you're shuffling yourself under the covers and wiggling about as you giggle.

You've come to learn that Toji is a very patient boyfriend, but his limits still exist in full, and they become very apparent when interfering with his usual bedtime schedule.

"Y/n," he puts his phone down to watch your hump of sheets and pillows stop at his voice, "what did i just say."

You sheepishly crawl back up to the top of the bed and go to sleep.

—

Toji, who comes back home, stumbling up the wooden stairs, scraped, torn, and bloodied.

The sound of stairs weaning under his unsteady steps pulls you from your sleep to find him slumped against the railing of the wall, pressing his hand to his side.

"Oh my god, toji!" You make your way to him, kneeling on the step above him to look him over. "What did you do, oh my god," You pull his arm over your shoulder to help him stand, and he hisses through his teeth.

"I didn't do shit, not my fault i didn't know the asshole had a fuckin' gun."

Once to the master bathroom, you sit him on the edge of the tub, peeling his shirt up to assess the bloody wound.

"Is it..?"

Toji shakes his head tiredly, waving you off to grab the rubbing alcohol from beside you.

"Nah, I fished the bullet out on the way here." He pulls the collar of his shirt into his mouth in preparation.

You scoot yourself back some to watch him pour the isopropyl over his bloody skin. This was his field anyways, you'd decided.

"Fuck!" Toji groans, throwing his head back.

Working quickly, you move back to help clean the wound with water from the tub before wrapping his stomach with guaze.

He passes out on the edge of the tub, and you stay with him until morning. It'd become a semi-regular routine in his area of work, though the first couple of times you'd been so terrified and he'd felt so bad that the next day after the event you'd have a newly wrapped present on the kitchen counter.

The presents now are that he even makes it back at all.

—

Toji, who fills you so well, you sob.

His cock stretches you open and runs along your gummy walls, thick and girth length sends a pulse of pleasure through your cunt.

"So fuckin' tight. Shit m'gettin' close." Toji groans, kissing up the side of your neck.

"Wanna have your baby," you sob, pulling at his thick raven hair.

Toji chuckles at that, pulling back some to gently cup your cheeks in his hands.

"No, y'dont." He kisses the soft of both cheeks and then your nose and then your lips. "Don't wanna be stuck with his old man forever, do you?"

You giggle through heavy tears, and he holds you tighter to him. A large hand strokes over your head as he pumps into you.

"You're doin' so good." He kisses you, pulling back to rest his forehead to your own, "you're such a good girl."

His thumb strokes your clit and the other presses your knee to the bed, holding you open.

"Sweet angel."

And when his heat fills you, you bite into his shoulder and cum. Gummy walls squeezing around his girth and pulling him in.

—

Toji, who lies with you on your balcony, whispering how much he loves you under the stars after a long week.

"No, that one is big dipper." You laugh, falling back to his chest.

"Sorry I'm not a fuckin' nerd and spend my free time drawin' magical pictures in the fuckin stars." Toji sighs.

"Hey!" You hit his chest, "they're not magical. They're literally right there." You look back up at the sky again.

"Mhm, sure."

The cool breeze of the night blankets the two of you from your shared apartment balcony. It sings and howls through the trees.

Toji's hoodie is soft and envelopes you in its warmth against him. The material thin enough for you to hear his heartbeat through his own shirt.

There's a gentle beat of silence where Toji strokes his knuckles over your cheek back and forth.

"Know I love you, right, kid?" He asks.

You nod against his chest, and you can feel him nod back.

"You're a good girl."

—

Toji, who's age, catches up to him in cruel and unkind ways.

It starts small, him squinting to read the menu print when the two of you go out. At first, you had teased him about it, and he had pushed you with a heavy eye roll.

Then it turned to squinting while watching TV and reading books and driving, so he got readers and contacts.

Sometimes, his age is ridden in late night returns to home. He hardly makes it up the stairs, and there's evidence of his hardship written into grooves in the railings and the light stripes of wood that've been bleached time and time again from his blood.

At others, it's in far more relaxed ways.

When his hair turns a salt and pepper mix that he's no longer able to trim away to ensure his youth. Rather, the white and greys start at the roots now, speckling throughout his thick raven tufts.

And sometimes, it's in the way he rolls the two of you over. Forcing you on top of him as he fills you to the brim. He holds you by the hips, helping to guide you along the length of him at your own pace.

—

Toji, who calls you, choked up on the other line, and you know he won't be coming home.

"I want you to–"

"Toji, please tell me what's going on," you sob, the sound of rain and his shaky pants fill the line.

"Goddamnit, y/n! Listen to me!" He scolds you, and you hang on the tip of every word. Relishing in the realization that it might be the last time you speak to him. The last time he speaks to you. The last time he'd ever have to calm you down, get frustrated with you.

"Toji," you weep, sobbing into the sleeve of his hoodie.

"Honey, I need you to listen to me." He groans on the other end. "You remember the key to the safe?"

You nod, sniffling into your arm, stifling a wale.

"Y/n?"

"Yes!" You cry.

"Good girl, good."

And it almost feels as though he's there with you. Holding you to him and whispering sweet nothings into your hair as you cry in his arms.

Almost as if you'd wake up, and everything would go back to the way it was that morning.

"I want you to take everything and call Nanami." He waits a beat, "you hear me, sweetheart?"

"Yes, yes," you cry through a shaken nod, "I'll call Nanami. I promise."

"He'll help you." He hisses, "you're gonna be okay, baby." He tries to soothe you.

"When will I see you? Are you coming with me?" You ask pitifully. As though you don't know. As though he won't lie to protect you. As though asking the question might tear the fabric of your reality and pull you back to last night when he pulled you into his arms to sleep.

There's a soft moment before he stumbles over his words, "i– you don't need to worry about me, kid." He sighs.

He lets you cry for a moment, soothing you from his end.

"M'sorry I couldn't give you that kid you wanted or half the things you deserve. You're a good girl, far too good fr'me."

"Toji, please," you sob.

"Be good fr'me, okay?"

Your hand strokes over your cheek, mimicking his late touch.

"I will. I love you."

"I love you too, kid."

The line clicks.

#toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader #toji smut #toji fluff #jjk fluff #jjk smut

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fixyourwritinghabits · 23 days

Note

Any tips for picking back up in the middle of a revision without having to start over? I wrote a book in 2019 and started a major revision in 2021. I printed the book and tore it apart with notes and switching timeline events/chapters around. Now I look at all the notes that are good advice and I would like to apply this progress to the story, but it's so overwhelming and jumbled up 😵‍💫

I've also recently picked up a back-burnered project I've been dreading, only to realize the notes I wrote solved 99% of the problems I had. The only thing holding me back was me, and it sounds like you're in the same boat.

Draft A New Outline - Having a way to track what changes you need to make is helpful, like using an Excel sheet (I know, but it does work) or color-coding changes. This will help so much, especially if you need to track big changes.

Go Through and Highlight What You Like - You may have to throw out whole chapters, but there's reasons you don't want to. Note what you really like - a turn of phrase, a character moment - and see if you can fit it in elsewhere. Always keep that cut folder or document to dig through later.

Set Micro Goals (And Keep Them!) - It's easier to dive into a new draft than to revise an old one. Chunk your goals in easy to accomplish ways. Instead of tackling a whole chapter a day, tackle a scene or a page. Instead of revising 800 words a day, narrow it down to 500 or 300. I make a big chart with my revision goals on it, and you're damn right I slap a cute Daiso sticker next to each goal accomplished. It really helps.

Work Backwards, Revise Forwards - If you have an all new ending with bigger and better stakes, figuring out how to get your plot there may require stepping back, chapter by chapter, to see what subplots you should add or scenes that need to be moved around.

However - and this is just what works for me - working toward a revised draft means starting the rewriting/revising process from Chapter One. That way I don't accidentally cover the same ground twice, and catch when I need to start a subplot sooner or rework descriptions I've used more than once.

Move Past The First 50 Pages - Don't get stuck at the beginning! It's so tempting to revise the first act to perfection, but you might need two or three more drafts to get to the real end of your story, and that might mean tossing all that hard work out. Keep going, and if you find yourself getting caught into fixing Chapter 3 when you're not sure Chapter 30 works, make a note and move on. Finishing your second draft is just as important as finishing your first.

Good luck and keep going!

#revising #revision #writing advice

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dingochef · 7 months

Text

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OFC (Reader)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Roleplay, power differential, cum play, p in v, oral (m&f receiving), dom/sub elements, edging, orgasm denial, masturbation, slight shoe kink

My small contribution to Kinktober.

Masterlist

Measure of Man

You are seated at your dining table, waiting for Jake to arrive home and to find the sticky note you left on the front door,

"Lt. Seresin,

Report to my office immediately.

-Dr. Matthews"

This idea has been floating in your head for awhile, an opportunity to have a little different kind of fun with Jake. Frankly after the shitty day you had at work, the appeal of getting outside of your own head and piss poor mood sounded good and hopefully you'd get a good orgasm or two out of it.

Jake steps into the house holding the sticky note in his hand, a quizzical look on his face as he holds it up. You talk before he can.

"Take a seat, Lieutenant Seresin," you direct Jake to sit in the kitchen chair pulled out from the table. You've staged your dining room table to be a "desk" including an old name plate that reads, "Dr. Elsa Matthews, PhD."

Jake gives you a slightly raised eyebrow as he sits down.

Picking up a file folder you ask Jake,

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No, El,--" he responds tentatively before you cut him off.

"I thought you Navy guys were good with titles, please address me as Dr. or Ma'am. I've been called here to evaluate your ability to go on a very important mission."

"Okay, Ma'am," he responds, his Texan accent coming out, he nods to complete the act of deference.

"We have two options, one, I ask you questions and you give me answers you think I want to hear," you say walking around the kitchen table to sit on the edge, crossing your legs. Jake's gaze at your legs tucked into a tight pencil skirt and the high black heels you're wearing does not go unnoticed.

"Or two, we employ a more hands-on method," you finish.

Jake smirks that cocky grin of his and sits up a little straighter, his brain having caught on to your game.

"I'd be interested in hearing more about this hands-on approach, Ma'am."

"It's a little unorthodox, but trust me when I say you'll be satisfied with the results. So, what will it be, Lieutenant?"

You uncross your legs and recross them as he ponders your words, your movement distracting him slightly,

"Uhh, the second one," he answers as he clears his throat.

"Excellent, let's get started," you say hopping off the table, "Take your clothes off, we'll start with the physical examination first."

Jake looks at you not sure exactly where this is going,

"I thought this was a psych evaluation, Ma'am."

"Is a comprehensive exam to evaluate a few characteristics like your overall fitness for the mission, physical stamina, impulse control, your ability to follow orders, and most of all my satisfaction that you're up to the mission requirements. If you don't want to do this, Lieutenant Seresin, I can just move on to my next appointment,"

you glance down at the file folder on the desk,

"A Lieutenant Bradshaw? Maybe he'll be more cooperative and eager to please me?"

Jake scowls and stands up and starts to strip, starting with his uniform shirt.

"Oh, I think you'll find me very eager to please and definitely will satisfy all your requirements, Dr. Matthews,"

he says, stripping off his uniform shirt and undershirt draping them across the back of the chair. He kneels down to untie his boots, pulling them off along with his socks that he neatly tucks under the chair. Jake stands up in a parade rest waiting for your next command.

"Everything, Lieutenant. You'll find I'm very thorough in my exam," you say, as sternly as you can as you reach forward and cup Jake through his khakis. His hips buck forward reflexively and his cock starts to harden under your hand.

Jake hides a small grin as he slowly moves his hands to his belt buckle unlatching the gold metal. After undoing the button and zipper he pushes down his pants and underwear in one smooth motion before standing back up. His cock proud and erect in front of him.

You pick up a fabric tape measure and a clipboard from your "desk" and step over to Jake.

The tape measure slides easily over one of Jake's biceps; you pretend to write down a measurement on your clipboard. You let the tape measure trail around Jake's body as your hands smooth over his hard muscle and golden skin and you "accidentally" bump your body into his, like when you step away after measuring his waist you let your fabric covered ass graze his erection. All the while you're marking down "measurements" on the notepad and occasionally humming small words of praise. Jake is standing perfectly still and the only way he lets on how he is affected by your touch is the occasional sharp inhale when you graze his cock. Your last move is to wrap your hand around his cock and hold it out to be measured. You hold the tape measure end to the base of his cock, the cold of the metal tip causing him to startle. Your other hand lifts his member up and you pull the tape measure along length, earning a light grunt from Jake. You let the tape measure fall away and keep fisting his cock. Jake looks down at you trying to read your face.

You maintain a disinterested, professional look as you continue to jerk him off, enjoying the muted moans and grunts as he keeps up the facade. Just as he starts to thrust his hips in time to your motions you pull your hand away, pulling an anguished whine from Jake.

Satisfied with your teasing you step back and lean against the table.

"Impressive Lieutenant," you say,

"Peak physical condition."

Jake is lightly glaring at you while his dick drips precum, his green eyes locked onto yours as he awaits your next direction. The power and tension in the air along with Jake's naked body on display has wetness pooling between your legs. You sit back down on the desk and open your legs as much as you can in the tight pencil skirt. Jake's eyes automatically drop to your apex as the skirt starts to slide up. You can tell the moment he locks onto the lacey thong you're wearing; you have no doubt that there is a darker patch visible on the delicate fabric betraying your arousal. Jake smirks a little at that revelation.

"Next is the oral exam," you say, trying to maintain a professional tone. Jake nods and raises an eyebrow.

"Kneel lieutenant," you order and Jake slowly lowers himself to the floor, still a few feet away from the table.

"Your next task is to make me come with, what I've been told, is quite the mouth on you," Jake breaks into a smile and starts to shuffle forward on his knees to get closer to you,

"As timing is everything you've got five minutes to make me come, starting now."

You hit a timer on your phone laying on the table to emphasize your point.

You had expected Jake to dive in, frenzied to get you off, but he starts at a slower pace kissing up your legs and between your thighs. His confidence in his ability to make you cum translating to a leisurely pace. When he reaches your lace covered mound he breathes your scent in deeply. He drops a sweet kiss over the dark spot and slides his hands up to pull your thong off dropping it to the floor. Jake picks up your feet where they are dangling and places them on the table so you are butterflied completely open for him. The anticipation and just how close he is to your pussy makes you squirm with need. He is kissing all around you, except where you need him most. Finally, he runs his tongue down through your folds into your slit and back up around your clit. A loud sigh mixed with a moan escapes you as you try to hold yourself up so you watch Jake's every move. Jake lets out a muffled moan as he licks your clit. Two of his thick fingers circle around your slit, he gently slides one in quickly followed by the other. The stretch just the right side of intense and you feel yourself gush more arousal around his fingers. He moves his fingers in time with his assault on your clit. That burning need inside you starts to build deep in your belly. Jake curls his fingers in a come hither motion as he speeds up his efforts on your clit. The change in sensation ratchets you up another notch closer to your peak. Jake recognizes the flutter of your soft walls and your breathy moans and speeds up even more, determined to push you over the edge. All it takes is one furious suck on your clit and you are soaring a loud scream bursting forth from you.

You lay down against the table catching your breath as Jake continues to leave gentle kisses around your mound and your thighs.

Leaning up on your elbows, you take in the sight of Jake as he wipes his chin on his arm. Grabbing the clipboard you turn the timer off and inform him,

"You have successfully passed the oral portion of the evaluation, with some time to spare."

Jake smugly grins from between your legs awaiting your next request.

"Take a seat, Lieutenant," you order and Jake complies quickly.

"One characteristic we look for in a mission leader is the ability to control your base impulses, to put others first," you state, walking around his chair, your fingers trailing across his broad shoulders.

"I can assure you that I'm very in control and everyone comes before me," Jake says, earnestly.

You have to bite your cheek not to laugh at the double entendre Jake is laying down.

"This next exercise is designed to test that theory exactly."

Jake watches you with his intense green eyes as you stand in front of him and start to unbutton your very professional white blouse revealing the matching bra to your thong on the floor.

You turn your back to Jake and unzip your skirt letting it fall. Your bra follows soon after till you are completely naked save for your heels in front of Jake. He greedily eyes you up from head to toe, a subconscious lick of his lips betraying his lust along with his obvious erection.

Walking confidently to where Jake sits you straddle one of his legs and pull his chin up so your eyes meet.

"I'm going to ride your cock, but you are not allowed to come. If you feel close say, "parachute." I might ease up or just keep fucking you, see how far I can push you. Say "Red" if it's too much and we stop, understood, Lieutenant?"

Jake swallows hard and responds,

"Yes Ma'am."

You bend down and quickly take Jake's hard cock in your mouth as far as it can go, the action punches out a surprised moan from Jake. You pull off and keep a hold of his cock as you guide it inside of you, a long moan of satisfaction boiling up from Jake's throat. You enjoy the feeling of connection and see that Jake is doing everything in his power not to start thrusting up into you. He waits patiently for you to move. Feeling a bit generous you grab the short hair at the back of his neck and pull, forcing his lips up for you to greedily kiss. You start a slow roll of your hips up and down his cock. Jake's hands hang at his sides.

"Hands behind your head," you order and Jake complies.

You lick your fingers and reach down to rub your sensitive clit as you move up and down.

"Quite the impressive performance so far, Lieutenant Seresin. I look forward to the rest of your evaluation," you say, your pace of your hips steadily increasing along with your rhythm on your clit. You watch every twitch and look of pleasure on Jake's face as you ride him. Jake grips at his own hair and tenses his arm muscles as he tries to stave off his impending release. You put as much muscle as you can into your movements up and down which pushes you closer to the edge.

"Mmm, I know I'm close to another. How are you doing? You're not going to disappoint me and come, are you?" you tease.

"No, Ma'am. Want to be good for you," Jake grits out, eyes rolling back as you climax on his cock, squeezing hard as you peak. You're relentless as you keep riding him, bracing your feet on the chair by his thighs to give you even more leverage. The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your moans of pleasure, and Jake's grunts through gritted teeth. You manage to squeeze out another orgasm before Jake grunts out,

"Parachute."

You still your hips, but stay perched on his cock. You dismount and turn around so you can guide him in from behind.

"Good control, Lieutenant. Let's resume," you say as you start to ride him again. You repeat this game several more times, driving Jake to the edge and then stopping short. Abruptly you stand up disconnecting from Jake.

Jake looks lost as you look down at him, his dick hard, red, and pulsing.

"Please, El, need you, need to come," he pleads, breaking his character.

"Lieutenant Seresin, I will not tolerate your insubordination and lack of respect. Stand up," you order, your voice a bit hard.

Jake nearly stumbles as he follows your order, he stands before you in a parade rest, chest slightly heaving. You lean up and kiss just below his ear as you lazily stroke down his chest, just ghosting over his cock.

"I was going to let you come, Lieutenant, but now I'm not so sure. Your impulse control and ability to follow orders leaves something to be desired. You're going to have to do a good job of convincing me why you should come." You sit back down on the desk.

"Yes Ma'am. I understand and I apologize for disrespecting you," Jake replies, the building desperation apparent in his voice.

"Come closer," you bark and Jake steps closer.

You trail the toe of your shoe up Jake's inner thigh and just barely lift his balls with the shiny patent leather; the ecstasy on his face betrays how much even this little touch is pushing him closer to the edge.

"Why should I let you come, Seresin?"

you ask, mockingly, as you run your shoe on the underside of his dick. Jake lets out a ragged sob of a moan, grateful for some touch. He slowly starts to thrust at your foot, obviously desperate for something.

"Please Ma'am, please let me come. I'll eat you out for the rest of the day, the rest of the week. I'll live under your desk and give you head during all your appointments," Jake pleads, eyes screwing shut as he continues to thrust at your shoe and the air.

"Negotiating, good tactic. Glad to see you can think on your feet. Touch yourself, Lieutenant."

You drop your foot away as Jake starts to fist his cock. He opens his eyes, the desperation to come heavy in his eyes.

"May I come, Ma'am?" he rasps out.

You pretend to ponder it for a moment watching the panic start to build on Jake's face which quickly turns to pure need as you slide off the table and to your knees in front of him. You take his cock in your hand and continue to stroke him.

"I think you've passed my evaluation today. I'm satisfied with the results, are you Lieutenant Seresin?" you coo.

You finish your sentence by taking in his length into your mouth, relishing in the sounds you are pulling out of Jake at this needy moment. You start to bob your head along his cock, determined to push him over the edge.

"Yes, fuck…ahh, yes, I'm satisfied with the result, Dr….ahhh, shit, Dr. Matthews. Please, may I come?" he asks, voice strained.

You pop him out your mouth and continue to jerk him off,

"Yes, you can come."

Jake lets out a loud low moan as he climaxes, spurts of hot cum landing on your face and tongue. His jaw agape and muscles tensed as he watches his release puddle on your face.

"Holy fuck, fuck, El," he stutters a long with the last thrusts of his hips to eek out the last drops of pleasure.

Jake reaches out to gently cup your face as he catches his breath, his thumb catching some of his come and pushing it onto your tongue. You suck lightly on his thumb earning a small moan from him. He turns around and hands you his discarded T-shirt to clean up.

Mostly cleaned up, you wrap your arms around Jake's neck and pull him down for a sweet kiss. Jake wraps his arms around you, returning the gesture.

"Was that okay?" you ask, suddenly feeling a little off. Roleplay was something you had discussed before but today was probably a bit of a surprise for him.

"That was very okay, and you did a good job of checking in. Trust me to know my limits, El. Also it was hot as fuck and I may have cummed my brains out. Shower?" he says, soothingly to you.

Your doubt quelled, you lead Jake to the shower and sit him on the bench, washing his hair first. He leans into your touch, letting you take care of him.

"Anything in particular bring that on, El?" Jake asks, after a few minutes, as you scrub his back.

"Very shitty day at work, some asshat vendor kept talking over me and mansplaining something I had to remind him that I have a god damn patent on and my boss didn't seem to care. Just felt so frustrated and…small," you say.

Jake turns around,

"So you wanted to be the powerful goddess that you are by ordering around your very manly, virile, burly, extremely handsome, peak of maleness, strong aviator boyfriend?" he asks, getting to the heart of the matter.

You smile at his self praise and duck your head into his chest,

"Well, yes, when you put it that way I feel a little embarrassed."

Jake cups your chin and pulls your face out to meet his gaze, he sweetly kisses you on the forehead,

"Don't be, El. It was hot as fuck and I'm glad I'm here for you in a way that was very mutually pleasurable. It really turns me on when you take what you want, what you need."

"Thank you, Jake."

"Anytime, El. Anytime. Plus it gave me a couple of ideas for the future."

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mayhemmanaged

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@midnightmagpiemama

@mygyn

#top gun maverick #hangman #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x you #top gun smut #jake seresin smut #hangman smut

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buglaur · 1 year

Text

tutorial contents:

1 ‣ gshade & photoshop actions 2 ‣ template or cropping & colouring 3 ‣ notifs & pop-ups

okay hi! i have a really old editing tutorial from back in january that i've been linking people to, but it's pretty outdated by now. i also keep getting anons asking about the same things, which is fine, but i always have to go searching for the post explaining it, so having it all in one place will be a lot more convenient lol

i use a ☠ copy of photoshop cc 2017 to edit my screenshots, however the majority of everything i'm doing also works on photopea

photopea is an online version of photoshop that's 100% free and works very well! i can't recommend it enough, it's fantastic

first things first, you're going to need some screenshots to edit. for the sake of this tutorial i'll be working with this one of raffy:

in all honesty, gshade will do most of the work for you. of course it's not needed, but i definitely don't think i could live without it! in this screenshot i used sunset n' vinyl by nesurii

when opening the screenshot, the first thing i do is run it through 2 photoshop actions:

butter action by early-grape

smooth sharp (no topaz) by poolbrop

to add actions in photoshop go:

windows > actions > the 4 lines at the upper right corner of the newly opened window > load actions > your downloads folder > open up the .atn files!

if you're using photopea, as far as i'm aware you can't use photoshop actions, but i've found that 'filter > stylize > oil paint' and 'filter > sharpen > smart sharpen' have a very similar effect when using the right settings. try these:

i like these two actions because they smooth everything out nicely, but keep it sharp at the same time! i always run butter before i run smooth sharp, however butter may leave you with 2 layers. make sure to merge these layers before running smooth sharp to achieve the full effect.

here's a before and after (of the photoshop action):

from here you can move on to step 2

before anything else i want to share the template that i use to make editing a lot faster. you don't need to use it but it's definitely made things a lot easier for me! it's a .psd file and will work perfectly in photopea

download (simfileshare)

if you're using the template you can skip right on to the next section, as it's already cropped to the right size and has the colouring folder included. just drag your screenshot into it and resize to fit the height.

if you're not using it, crop your edited screenshot to:

1707 width x 1280 height

then adjust the colours to your liking. it always varies slightly depending on the picture but my regular process for each screenshot would be:

up the saturation by 8%

up the lightness by 3%

up the contrast by 12%

all of this can be done by looking in the 'images > adjustments' tab

you should end up with something similar to this!

if you want to add a moodlet or social interaction or anything similar, it's all the same process. what you'll need is a screenshot of it straight from the game. i just press the 'c' key to capture them! i'll be working with these two:

for the blue notification i'm going to select it using the box select tool. try to get it as exact as possible. one you have it selected

for photoshop users:

click on the 'select and mask...' option located at the top

adjust the global refinements at the side as follows:

smooth: 70 feather: 0.0px contrast: 50% shift edge: 0%

for photopea users:

go to select > modify > smooth

set it to 15

select 'ok' and press 'ctrl + c' to copy it, then 'ctrl + v' to paste it into your screenshot. adjust the size and position and you should end up with something like this:

next you want to add the transparent border around the notification. if you're using my editing template, right click on the reference notif in the layers tab and select 'copy layer style' (photopea > 'layer style > copy'). from there you can paste that layer style onto your own notif through the layers tab.

if you're not using the template, here's how to set it up on photoshop:

right click your notification layer and select 'blending options'

under styles, tick the checkboxes for stroke and drop shadow

input these settings:

on photopea, it should be more or less the same. repeat the exact same process with the social menu option, but instead of selecting it with the box select tool, use the magic select tool. in the end you should end out with this!

from here you're finished! thanks for reading! go to file and export as png

if you've got questions never hesitate to ask, just make sure to read the faq in my pinned. i might edit this post soon to include the gen intro traits and aspirations bit, but this is all for now. hope it helps, my editing process post has been in need of a revamp for a very long time. i haven't proof-read this so apologies for any mistakes!

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 tutorial #5 anons in my inbox asking the same question after not reading my faq #this ones for you #3 anons in my inbox asking about cas pics #ones coming for you soon #okay maybe not soon but sometime #all my free time has been eaten up #i signed up for extra saturday morning classes and not having a lie in is sucking the life out of me lmao #when i'm busy i just wanna play video games and when i get the chance #to play games i just wanna sleep #its a vicious cycle #i'm currently playing resident evil biohazard tho #enjoying it very very much #i've only got 2 and 3 left to play and i've played every mainstream re game 💪💪#it was a very fun journey! i played them all within this year #long post

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copperbadge · 6 months

Note

What do you mean by digital cleaning?

It's something I've been working on more this year because I had a bit more travel than usual so couldn't do actual home cleaning, but I always take a couple of days in the Month Of Cleaning where I'm focused on my digital life. It's good to make your physical home a comfortable place for yourself, but it's also good to recognize that we have "digital" homes that need attention. And often this is at least less physically demanding, so it's good to keep it in your back pocket for days when you're mentally okay but physically too tired or sore to do more of that kind of work.

In the shortest possible terms, digital cleaning is just making sure that your phone, computer, socials, and other digital "presences" are organized in a way that you find helpful, and that you take a moment to either answer those messages you've been putting off or give yourself amnesty on doing so.

This tends to make a lot of people extremely anxious in a way ordinary physical space cleaning doesn't, so I'm going to put the rest of it behind a cut...

So when I say digital cleaning, I refer to stuff like going through my likes on Tumblr and clearing them out, going through my drafts and turning them into queued posts, answering my asks. I spend time in my email inboxes, either responding to messages or removing them. I am not an "inbox zero" kind of guy, but I like to keep the read-but-not-answered messages to a minimum, and towards the end of the year that usually means a clear-out and amnesty. I clean my Google Drive -- delete old files I uploaded for others, move documents I'm no longer using into an archive, move documents I want to work on into a central work folder. I go through my catch-all folder on my hard drive and organize it; I sort through the year's photos and organize those, partly to archive them and partly because I make a scrapbook from them each year. I don't usually have a ton of tabs open but often have more than I'd like, so I go through them all and either read, bookmark, or get rid of them.

I look in my phone's file tree to make sure I delete files I don't need (mostly menu downloads, Restaurants Stop Making Your Menus PDFs Challenge 2K24) and I sometimes go through each app on my phone, make sure I still use it, and make sure it's set how I want it. If this sounds like a nightmare, bear in mind that I very rarely put apps on my phone to start with -- I think my mother has more apps open at any given time than I have apps on my phone ever.

Everywhere I clean, I look for files named things like "notes" or "deal with" or "random" and move them all into one place so that whatever is in them, I can sort through it and make sure it goes somewhere permanent. Logins go in the login/password spreadsheet I keep, addresses go into my contacts, story notes go into a "fiction scraps" file, random thoughts either get moved into a journal file or put into drafts to become Tumblr posts, etc.

If this sounds like I might have some kind of compulsion disorder, I get that; when I explain my digital hygiene systems a lot of people look at me like I'm spouting a mad but harmless conspiracy theory. But it's something I used to have to do periodically even before I created National Clean Your Home Month, because otherwise I could never find anything, and everything was just...harder. As I once told a boss who admired my organizational skills, "It was this or endless chaos."

Putting addresses into my contacts list means I always know that the addresses I have for my friends are up to date. Putting logins into a spreadsheet means that five minutes spent now will not result in five weeks of procrastination later because I can't find the login and can't do anything else until I do that. Going through my email and archiving old conversations means not only can I find them easily when needed, I don't have to look at them the rest of the time. Sometimes I even go through my various wish lists and remove old/purchased items, or clear out all my "save for later" carts.

There's no doubt this is stressful, but like every part of NaClYoHo, it's broken down into smaller tasks; I don't have to look at my computer and organize everything on it all in one day. I can answer a few asks, then sort photos (something I find very soothing up until the moment I Don't), then read and delete some emails, then I'm done for the day. I can spread "answer or file all your work emails" out over a couple of days. I can maybe empty out my Likes but just turn the ones I actually want to reblog into drafts for now and deal with them later in the "drafts" phase of cleaning. And if I don't manage to empty out my inboxes, at least they're emptier than they were.

I'm struggling this morning with having put a bunch of physical cleaning on the to-do list but not feeling physically up for it, so I did what I felt capable of doing (measuring cabinets for new shelf liners mainly) and later today I might sit down and start building this year's photobook. Or not -- I have to code Radio Free Monday, sort out a prescription and possibly go pick it up, plus a very full day of work and a couple of afternoon appointments I can't shirk, so today may simply be a "get through the day" kind of day. That's okay too; some days the spirit is willing but the schedule is full.

#naclyoho #national clean your home month #digital cleaning

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octuscle · 3 months

Note

Hey Chronivac, on my way home today I drove past a fancy hotel and saw a super hot and hunky valet outside it. Is there a way that I could use this to become his equally hunky boyfriend or husband?

You are almost 70 years old… You have three failed marriages behind you, each of which has cost you a fortune. And now you come up with the idea of starting something with a valet? Don't take offense, but I do find it a bit strange. But anyway, I've seen worse.

You steer your Bentley convertible into the hotel driveway. Carlos is already walking towards you, eager to be of service. "Welcome, it's nice to have you back with us. May I ask you for the keys to this wonderful car?" You've never been here before… But what a sexy Spanish accent! You give him the key and a 10-dollar bill. And you have to swallow. You have a very dry throat.

With some difficulty and the help of your walking stick, you enter the lobby. You go to the concierge and ask to speak to the personnel manager. When asked who he might report, you reply "James Miller, it's about something private". While you wait in the lobby for an answer, you look in the mirror. Yes, there are already a few gray strands and a few wrinkles around your eyes. But for someone in their mid-50s, you don't look bad at all. Lots of exercise and a healthy diet, you think contentedly. The concierge asks you to take the elevator to the fourth floor.

You're already a little nervous. You haven't had a job interview for a long time. And at your early 40s, you're probably a bit too old to be a parking attendant. You clutch your application folder with white knuckles. But the secretary in the HR department smiles kindly at you, asks you to take a seat and offers you a drink of water. Out of sheer nervousness, you reply with "Gracias". She laughs and says that the conversation will be conducted in English. You laugh back. With your gleaming white teeth, you can iron out any embarrassment.

The door to the meeting room opens. The last applicant is a spotty beanpole. At least visually you have the best chance. The secretary invites you in. The personnel manager smiles at you, you shake his hand and smile back. "Well, Mr. Molinero, the first lesson today is that you don't shake my hand, I shake yours. You never shake hands with a guest unless they do it first. Do we understand each other? You swallow. Carlos wasn't exaggerating. This is a strict place. But it's also the best hotel in town. "Mr. Molinero, is Carlos your brother? You have the same surname." You reply that you are often mistaken for brothers. But you are actually married. "Delightful!" replies the personnel manager. And then you go through your CV.

The interview felt like it took three hours. In fact, it was just 20 minutes. The HR manager stands up and shakes your hand. He laughs as you shake his hand. "Good strong handshake. I like that. Welcome to the team. Rebecca will sort out all the formalities with you, Diego. And for the rest, I'll just rely on Carlos to introduce them well.

You never get a second chance to make a first impression. And Carlos and you are often the first to give an impression of "your" hotel. You are professionals. You know your way around cars, are excellent drivers and know the local area like the back of your hand. Yes, the pay is really bad, but the tips are royal. Carlos actually once inherited the Bentley convertible of a guest he'd never seen before or since. Of course you didn't keep it. But you were able to use the proceeds from the sale to buy a beach house in your Mexican homeland.

And if things aren't going well enough, you can always work extra shifts as a waiter by the pool. Your suntan lotion massages are famous!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #race change #age reduction #ai image

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angel-of-the-moons · 8 months

Text

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Violence, graphic violence, blood, fighting, human trafficking, mentions of abuse, drug use, child abuse, sex trafficking, angst. So much angst.

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Whew! I'm proud of this one! Many thanks to my bestest friend, Artemis, who himself has DID and helps me understand this condition and describe them (hopefully) more accurately! His system is a big help in me learning more about this subject! (Extra note: any Spanish spoken in this fic is in italics. As I am not a fluent speaker by any means, it is mostly translated by Google. Have fun!)

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 2:

Inside Voices

(Steven, no…) Marc's voice groaned out, glaring at him through the shared reflection in the glass door.

"But Marc! I've lived here for ages and didn't know this shop was here!" Steven beamed, smiling widely. Thankfully the wireless headphones he had on made him look like he was on the phone, and not completely off his rocker…

Marc ran his hands through his curly black hair. (You have enough books!)

"But this store might have books I don't have!" He pointed out.

(Just let him look, hermano.) Jake sighed, his reflection staring up at Steven from a puddle on the ground.

"Yes, thank you, Jake. At least somebody encourages my hobby!" Steven huffed indignantly at Marc.

(Jake, stop babying him!)

(Hey, nothing wrong with having a hobby?) The man snorted.

Marc rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders, he directed a tired glare back at Steven.

(You gonna go in or just stare at the front door?) He finally asked.

Steven grinned like an excited boy going into a candy shop.

Marc really needed to have a talk with Jake about this. Steven already had too many books in their flat!

Steven pulled the headphones out of his ears and shoved them in his pocket as he opened the door, nearly jumping when the bell dinged.

He looked around, rather impressed with how much was inside a small space. Steven almost jumped again when the clerk spoke.

"Hi! Welcome to Here Today Books!" She said cheerfully.

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(I'm just saying, Steven… that's too many fucking books.) Marc said, crossing his arms at Steven through the reflection in the window across from his desk, cluttered with papers, folders, and books on various subjects of the Egyptian religious pantheon, architecture, etcetera.

"Oh, hush." Steven hummed, pushing his glasses up his nose as he examined the pages on one of the old books he held in his hand.

(Steven…) Marc sighed, exasperatedly.

"I know, I know." He sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The stubble there was getting rather coarse. Maybe he could talk Jake out of growing that mustache or goatee he was thinking about…

Steven looked over and picked up the bookmark, sighing deeply as he looked at the gold-tipped rose sealed so lovingly in the plastic. Small vine-luke designs had been penned into the colorful sheet of paper inside the plastic as well.

(Very Beauty and The Beast, no?) Jake mused, his reflection from the mirror on the desk looking at Steven with a cocky grin.

It helped them, they found, to have as many reflective surfaces as possible in their flat; it enabled them to talk to each other simultaneously and "see" one another. Sure they could all talk in the headspace, and when they co-fronted it was almost like they could feel each other; rubbing shoulders, as it were, but sometimes you just needed to see the other person, y'know? Outside of your own head? Shared head? The terms still confused poor Steven, at times.

"I s'pose." He hummed, holding the plastic in his fingers gently, as if it were made of the thinnest glass. Absentmindedly, he pulled the sleeve of his shirt up and looked at the inside of his left wrist.

A mark was there.

A rose, to be precise.

Sometimes it would look like it was wilting, other times it was blooming and vibrant… other times it was closed, not ready to bloom.

Right now, it was somewhere between wilting and blooming. He wasn't sure what it meant. He thought back to Marc's ex-wife, Layla. And how he practically fell head over heels with her when they first met.

He had hoped, with Layla, that she had a corresponding mark… but she didn't. Layla was one of the few who didn't have a mark, or in the very least it hadn't shown up yet. Which isn't entirely implausible… But… something happened. After escaping the Duat, coming back to life, fighting Ammit… finding out about Jake.

They just drifted apart. The sparks that may have been there snuffed out, any hints at romance gone from the equation. They all decided it was better to leave it at that.

Well, at least they were all still on friendly terms, Steven mused. Layla still spoke to he and Marc via phone, or even email. It took Steven forever to convince Marc to ditch that "old dinosaur piece of plastic" he called a phone, and stick with his touch-screen.

Except… Jake. Ah, Jake. Layla never fully trusted him.

(Steven.) Jake said, getting his attention, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Hm?" He hummed, turning the bookmark over and over in his hand thoughtfully, eyes fluttering back to their mark on their wrist.

(It's my turn tonight.) Jake reminded him softly.

"Oh… right." He cringed. "Bollocks, I hate this…"

(I know, hermanito. But it has to be done, or the bad guys roam free…)

"All right, just… don't let me see any of it, yeah?" Steven sighed, placing the bookmark on the table as he put his hands in his lap.

(Of course.) Jake replied.

Marc stayed silent.

Suddenly, eyes flew closed, the jaw clenched; a bit of a sharp pain fluttered briefly through the brain at the sudden switching. They were getting better at seamless transitions, but sometimes some form of discomfort lingered. The body sat, almost like an empty vessel waiting to be filled. Whether it was five minutes or five seconds, it was unsure.

When the eyes opened again…

Jake was sitting where Steven sat. Steven's reflection wasn't in the mirror as Jake's had been, previously. He was left alone with Marc staring at him from the inky-black reflection in the window.

(I really hate that we have to do that to him.) Marc sighed, shaking his head.

"He's too gentle for our work, Marc." Jake said, clicking his tongue as he stood, walking over to the wardrobe in the corner and reaching out to grab his old leather coat. "He's too… good."

(I know.) Marc's reflection was in the fishtank now, where Gus the Second was swimming alongside… they really should think of a name for the other two.

Jake tugged the old worn garment on and pulled the gloves out of his jacket pockets with a sharp yank, flexing his fingers as they filled out the soft, well broken-in leather. Lastly, he pulled out that golf cap and slid it on his head, and looked at Marc.

(You don't have to see this, either, Marc.) He said to him.

(Somebody's gotta bear the weight with you, brother.) Marc said intently.

"Gracias por eso, hermano." Jake mumbled, twirling the flat's keys in his fingers as he walked to the front door.

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He sat, kneeling on the rooftop, his body hunched in a way that made him look like a gargoyle, unflinching and unmoving in his gaze; the cape gifted to him flared out almost like a long, tattered set of broken wings.

He wasn’t sure why he decided here of all places was a good place to talk. Why here? What drew him here? Was it the lingering joy and comfort Steven felt when he came in earlier that day?

The sign was hand-painted and in need of a new coat. Flecks of it had chipped away, the exposed wood beneath bleached by years of exposure. But… why was the bookshop important enough to stand outside now?

He looked down below, the curtains were pulled back still in the flat above, old lightbulbs casting a soft, orangish glow to everything inside. He could barely see from this vantage point across the street the boxes of books and book stacks lying on a desk in front of the window. Small knick knacks lined the sills, a hanging plant pot on the outside containing flowers of different kinds, slightly wilted from the lack of sun from the past few days, and now the night.

He stirred when he watched the young woman inside walk to the window in the living room and close the curtains; then tracked her movements as she went about her nightly rituals.

She seemed relaxed. Comfortable. Safe.

She didn't need protection tonight.

He felt the air chill around him, seeping through the wrappings of his armor.

“Jake Lockley.”

There it was. The voice he was waiting for. The voice that always knocked him away from his personal thoughts. The voice that told him of his duties during the night.

Khonshu.

“Yes, father?” Jake asked, standing up, turning to see the large imposing silhouette of a gaunt man, enshrouded in ancient, wispy linen wraps, a tattered shawl hanging from his bony shoulders, clenched in his fist; in place of a head was the dessicated and fleshless bone of a bird skull, small web-like tendrils wafting about here or there. Large, eyeless sockets fixed him in a crushing gaze, the skull tilting in an almost inquisitive manner.

(I wish you’d stop calling him that…) Marc grumbled from within.

“Have you located the evil-doers I sent you after?” Khonshu’s ancient and ethereal voice grated out.

“Yes. I plan on taking them out tonight.” Jake replied dutifully.

Khonshu tilted his head at Jake, and stood from where he sat on the aircon unit. “Now… Why are you here? This is not where you usually prefer to speak with me.”

“I… don’t know.” Jake admitted softly. “Felt like I had to be here.”

“Hmm.” The god hummed, stopping to stand next to Jake, looking down at the flat below. “Indeed.”

“Was there… anything else, father?” Jake asked, looking up at him.

“No. You can leave. I will issue new orders when our quarry is dead and dealt with.”

“Of course.” Jake bowed his head, pressing his fist over the moon on his chest; sparing one last glance down at the woman before walking away, leaping to another rooftop with superhuman strength.

Khonshu stayed. Observing, just for a moment longer, at the woman inside the safety of her home.

“Interesting.” He mused to himself, stamping his staff down and vanishing in a haze of mist.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Jake panted, pulling one of his darts out of the chest of the man who had tried to previously shoot him just now. He sheathed the weapon and approached the shipping container, hesitating for a moment before smashing the lock open with his bare fist and hauling the heavy doors open.

Inside were half a dozen women and young girls, and children. Some of them naked, others half-dressed. Many of them were dirty and half starved, injuries evident on their poor bodies.

He noticed how they all flinched, backing away from him.

“I won’t hurt you.” He said, in a tone as soft as he could possibly manage, trying to ease their worries. “I’m here to save you.”

Jake leaned down and pulled the jacket off the dead body of the man he had just killed, stepping over the corpse to the young woman nearest to him.

She was clad only in her underwear, bruises and track marks lining her body. He draped the jacket over her shoulders, zipping it closed for her as he guided her arms through the sleeves.

“The police are on their way. You’ll all be safe, soon.” He said, his glowing white eyes fixed in the black abyss of his mask immediately zeroed in on three women, clinging their arms around a group of small children.

The youngest couldn’t have been older than three years old. Her eyes cold, far too ancient and haunted for one so young, clouded by the things she’d been forced to endure for the profit of her traffickers; her tiny body already bearing the scars of the abuse and trauma. Jake’s fist balled at his sides as he forced his breathing to try and calm; adrenaline surging through him again, a hot coal of rage dropping deep into the pit of his stomach.

He wished he could kill them all over again. He wished he could make them all suffer in ways they could barely process for the things they’d done. He wanted to–

His cloak was tugged on, snapping him out of his seething.

He looked down, and a small boy, all skin and bones looked up at him. He looked to be about seven. Could be older, as malnourishment can inhibit growth. His big green eyes looked up at Jake as he wrapped the edge of his cloak around his shoulders like a blanket, his dirty and grimy fingers clinging to the blood-soaked material, seeking comfort he so desperately needed. Jake felt his heart crack in two. He looked almost like...

He closed his eyes for a moment and kneeled, getting as eye level with the boy as he could.

“You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” Jake said, his voice quiet, almost broken. He reached for a ratty blanket on the ground and covered the little boy with it, the sight of him covered in a bloody cape almost too much for him to bear.

He felt his breathing hitch when the little boy smiled up at him, gap-toothed and happy. He handed the boy off to a woman who looked to only be maybe nineteen.

“Stay…” He cleared his throat, looking at everyone within the container, standing back to his full imposing height.

“Stay here while I make sure it’s safe and I got them all. Someone will be here soon to get you all out of here.”

“Thank you.” One of the women sobbed quietly, clutching onto what looked to be her own child. They looked too similar for them to be anything but related.

Jake turned, his cape flowing out behind him like a white shadow as he stalked into the warehouse beyond, his fists already tight; the spiked knuckles on the back of his hands ready for blows he was all too eager to deliver.

He stepped over bodies, beaten, broken. Lifeless.

All at his hand. They deserved worse.

The eerie quiet of the cavernous space was only interrupted by the tinkling of chains suspended from the rafters, wind whistling through unseen cracks.

He could hear the sirens in the distance closing in, but he didn’t relax. He wouldn’t. Not until he was sure.

Not until he knew they were all dead.

Jake’s hands trembled with anticipation as that coal of rage ignited into an inferno, burning hot and low in his belly, sending sparks through his bloodstream. He was so far into that haze of red, he missed the man rushing him with a kabar knife.

He must have missed that one, the coward was probably hiding the moment the carnage broke out.

The moment he turned, he felt the blade slip easily through the wrappings of his dark armor, piercing the flesh and organs beneath, the pain tearing through his body like a macabre tsunami.

He brought his fist out, slamming the spiked knuckles into the face of the man.

The coppery scent of blood, the crunch of bones and cartilage filled his nose and were deafeningly loud in his ears. He was sure he watched his eyeball dislodge, hanging over the crushed and bloody expanse of his cheek as his body was sent flying into the cargo loader nearby.

The sound of his bones turning almost to powder overpowered the haunting ambience of the dark lair.

Jake marched over to him and gripped him by the shirt, rearing his fist back for another punch, even as his body hung limp in his grasp.

Only… he couldn’t land the blow. He just couldn’t. It was one thing to kill to protect. But it was another to beat a corpse that he’d already wrought with one blow. His ears picked up the sounds of shouting, sirens, bootfall. A helicopter whirred above, spotlight shining at the carnage below.

He stood, clutching at the knife still sticking out of his side as he dragged his feet, pulling the shell of his body outside, where he was met with armored police officers, wearing what he assumed was some kind of riot gear. The pain in his side was maddening, he almost didn’t hear them demand he kneel. But he did hear a woman cry.

He lifted his gaze to see the woman he’d handed the boy off to; the child still clutched in her arms as they looked over at him, their eyes locking with his.

“He saved us!” She cried.

“Don’t hurt him, please!” Another shouted.

“He’s a nice man!” A child sobbed, clinging to the emergency blanket around her frail body.

Jake felt like he could cry, he felt his heart swell to bursting; not able to tear his gaze away from the innocents he’d saved, that he killed for. Not even when one of the officers approached him, gripping his elbow to keep him steady.

The older man sighed, unable to cuff the man that the human trafficking victims were shouting and crying accolades for. Even if he apparently killed all these monsters bare-handed. “Come on, lad. Let’s get you looked at. We can’t leave that knife in ya.”

“I’m fine.” Jake mumbled, looking at the ground. His shoulders slumped.

“Like hell you are.” The officer turned and shouted for a medic.

“Perdóname, mi corazón." Jake muttered to himself. To someone else.

But as the man carrying the equipment bag jogged towards him, Jake gripped the handle of the knife and wrenched it free in one tug, blood spurting from the wound.

“Good God!” The officer gasped, reaching out to press his hand over the gushing wound. “Are you insane, boy?”

“Yes.” Jake mumbled, pulling his hand away from him, with gentle care that betrayed the violence his bloody fingers had wrought mere moments ago. He felt the wound close, the magic and blessed armor already performing its duty. Just as he had, so violently.

Jake straightened his posture as the medic and the officers backed away in a strange mixture of fascination, horror, and awe.

“Who… what are you?” The medic breathed.

Jake turned away, his gaze to the sky.

“I’m Moon Knight.”

And with that final goodbye, he leapt up, disappearing into the blackness and depths of the night, his heart heavy but relieved, cloak streaking across the shadows, as if to chase them away.

Chapter 3: Link

#moon knight #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marvel #my writing #khonshu #A Rose Under The Moon

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injuries-in-dust · 1 year

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What concerns me with the humans are space orcs stuff oddly enough was humanity's clothing,

Looking at mass effect and other SciFi games and films the clothes suck, boring and basic design all round.

Then I look at what we wore around the 1800s, where did our sense of fashion go?

Security chief Thron frowned as they looked down at the human, classified as; "Stowaway" in the holding cell.

Xe didn't know how the conversation had spun around to this topic, but it was engaging enough to pass the hours until they reached the next spaceport to hand the human over to the proper authorities. "Human fashion is so boring."

Jupiter classified themselves as a "Hitchhiker" but after a few hours in the cell and settled on an "agree to disagree" mentality with the security chief.

They shook their head. "You've clearly not met the right humans."

Thronn shook xyr head, "I have met many humans during my service."

"Oh service," Jupiter rolled their eyes. "You can't judge human fashion based on those guys in the service. Uniforms don't count."

"It is not just humans within the service I have met. We are a cargo vessel, we bring many useful supplies to many fledgling colonies, human ones included."

Jupiter shook their head, "new colonies? You're judging fashion by what you see on the new colonies?"

"Then what of your garments? Dull colourings all over your person. Little accoutrements to be seen. Very boring. Very typical of human stowaways."

"Hitchhikers." Jupiter corrected. "You can't judge hitchhikers and colonists. They don't have the resources to waste on fancy stuff, and I've got to travel light. It's all about keeping it simple. Hardwearing stuff that lasts a long time and could be easily replaced or repaired. And the dark colours help me hide when I'm stow... hitchhiking."

Thronn decided xe would let that slip of the tongue pass without comment.

Jupiter looked xem up and down. Even in a uniform, the alien had been allowed a few accessorires of cultural significance. It certainly added splashes of colour to the usually dull grey security uniform. A small headdress with a bright embroidered pattern, a sash around the waist with a matching design, and an epaulette on the shoulder made of small conical seashells stitched onto silk and painted in bright colours.

It was certainly more than Jupiter had going on. They had a navy blue bomber jacket, dark shirt, dark khaki trousers, brown hiking boots, a black and white shemagh wrapped around her neck and a dark green and black rucksack usually slung over her back, but right now it was sitting outside the cell in an evidence locker. The closest to an accessory they had going on was a few ID patches sewn onto the jacket and bag. Name, species, blood type, and world of origin.

Photographs and memories were their souvenirs.

"Have you ever been to any of the long-established colonies? Any that have been around for a century or more?"

Thronn shook xyr head, "I haven't. The ship's duties only take us around the border worlds."

"Then you haven't seen what humans are really capable of when they get comfortable." Jupiter pointed over to the locker holding their bag. "There are some pictures on my datapad. I managed to visit Port Marinda, Alforanza, and New Barcelona last year, they're all human colonies, all about two hundred years old. Go on, get the pad and I'll show you the pictures."

Against xyr better judgement, Thronn opened the locker and retrieved the datapad. Xe opened a small hatch in the holding cell, usually used to pass meals through.

Jupiter scrolled through the pictures until they found the folder holding the pictures of their visit to New Barcelona. The pictures showed the wonderful countryside of rolling hills of silver and purple grass, scattered with trees with leaves of bright orange. Sunglasses were a must when walking in the countryside because of the risk of violent headaches, especially on sunny days. The sunsets were simply stunning, and they had amazing local fruit that looked like a red banana and tasted like raspberry and dark chocolate.

The capital city was also a sight to see. Tall, wavy and twisting buildings that looked like bright coral growing right out of the ground. Each one was a different colour so every district contained a rainbow of either bright or pastel shades.

The people were equally bright and ingenious in their clothing. Jupiter turned the screen to show Thronn a picture they'd taken of a picturesque street market.

Thronn looked at the handful of humans in the picture. One human wore a colourful dress that looked almost like millions of feathers sewn together. Even in the still image, xe could imagine how they would shimmer in the light.

Another human, a male, he wore a bright green suit, covered with silver, gossamer-like webbing which rose out of the shoulders, spreading behind him, resembling small wings.

Xe spotted a person Xe almost thought wasn't human at all until xe realised that their skin was painted from the neck down. Covering the paint was a simple dress that looked like a net. Where each thread crisscrossed with another, a brightly coloured jewel had been sewn.

One human being, who looked to be talking with a shopkeeper over some sort of food, was dressed in an elegant gown of a bright colourful fabric that looked like a sunset itself had been turned into the material that made the garment.

There was a tall adolescent human was dressed in a tight full-body outfit with an elaborate headdress which covered their entire face with a snake-like mask. You couldn't see the human and it gave Thronn an almost unsettling impression of a large bipedal reptile moving among the humans.

"You see," Jupiter said. "Forget uniforms, travellers and frontier colonies. Just give humans time to settle down, get some resources to spare and watch their imaginations fly."

Thronn had to admit it. Human fashion was not boring.

#humans are space oddities #humans are strange #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #inspiration out of nowhere #just had to write something

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matchesarelit · 2 months

Text

Imagine If You Will... Scientists of an Absurd Field (Lars Pinfield x gn!Reader)

Featuring: #2 + #9 from @dumplingsjinson's prompt list (here)

W.C: ~1.3K

Warnings: teasing,

The new non-firehouse base for Ghost Corps was as clinical as it was scientific, and hence it wasn't your favorite place. Although being completely honest with yourself, your distaste for the space was most likely linked to the gangly scientist who remained tucked inside its walls seemingly 24/7.

He wasn't horrid by any means, he was an amazing scientist. you'd seen his work over the last year or so and it never failed to impress, yet when it came to your work he seemed unable, or at least unwilling, to comprehend your methods. He seemed to believe your more spiritual work regarding ghosts was quack-like, on one occasion he likened it to a band-aid on a bullet wound, it was at that point in the conversation you enjoyed reminding him that spirits were much more open to spiritual interactions than scientific attacks. Was your wording perhaps a bit judgmental? yes, but you know what they say about fighting fire with fire... it works.

Silently musing over the satisfaction of keeping your old office away from the over-tiled building, you trailed through the halls in search of Winston. A dense stack of files tucked under one arm, your phone in the other, browsing emails and DMs for any new cases, your focus only raised from the floor upon hearing an all too recognizable groan coming from somewhere ahead of you.

Despite your initial assumption, the sound that fell from Pinfield's lips was not directed at you, as per usual, but instead at whatever possessed item he was dealing with. His usually quaffed hair had become splayed and crazed, some strands drooping down over his goggles, he seemed completely engaged with the task at hand despite the chaos that was perpetually unfolding on the surrounding desks and there was truly no telling how long he'd been in that position.

Deciding it was best to continue your search in other areas of the facility, you slowly regained your previous pace, your own gaze now, however, stuck on the hunched man in the center of the space. Your few milliseconds of observation were, perhaps, not the best trade off for looking where you were going, as within a moment you felt your body collide with another. Snapping your head forward you were met with Winston's light smirk of amusement as he held your shoulders to keep you steady.

'Woah there,' The statement was pretty nonchalant and was followed by a small chuckle as he watched your eyes widen in embarrassment. 'You know in Ghostbusting, I've always found it helpful to look where I was going.' His tease made you roll your eyes, even so it pulled a small shy smile onto your face.

'Sorry Winston I-'

'Oh its really no bother, I get that way myself with all of this,' He turned glanced around the room at the machinery and containment cells, his observation of your intrigue clearly missed the specificity of your gaze. Even as your eyes flickered back to Lars, his posture now straightened, his goggles pulled atop his head and his hair pulled back beneath it, only to see his gaze already studying you, Winston seemed much too caught up in the room as a whole.

'Ghost corps has made such great achievements, so many scientific bounds leapt. And now with you, we have the more mystical side locked down as well. Nevertheless, I'll let you in on a secret...' The taller man leant in a little closer, cautiously looking side to side in feigned secrecy, 'Scientists, especially in such an absurd field, are pretty big show-offs, I'm pretty sure every one of them would be more than eager to explain their work, if you're willing to lend an ear that is.'

Nodding in understanding, you felt the need to move the conversation to a place, physically and topically, away from the current scene. 'I'll have to give that a try, but um... for now-' I tapped my fingers against the manilla folders still tucked under your arm, 'I've been quite busy.'

From there you'd spent over an hour of catching Winston up on your most recent jobs, different cases all over the country, resulting in a range of movings-alongs and trappings, despite the latter option being your last resort more often than not.

When you finally left his office, a few additional jobs assigned for the following weeks, you made your way back through the halls. Winston's words were clattering around in your head, and without noticing, your feet had brought you to the large machine in the center of the main lab.

You kind-of knew what it did, you'd handed in a few items you'd collected over the last few months for extraction, yet as you stood in it's shadow, hands tucked neatly away in your jacket pockets, as if afraid to touch any part of the machine even anything as minor as a brush of your knuckles, you realized you were completely in the dark over how it actually worked.

Eyes running along the tubing and cables you failed to notice the footsteps approaching from behind until they settled by your side.

'Thinking about getting into actual ghostbusting?' Your eyes had never before rolled like they did in that moment. Closing your eyes with a deep breath in, you stewed in the moment, uninterested in even acknowledging the man by your side.

'It's okay, I'm sure we could find something actually useful for you to do.' An unwitting sigh passed through your lips at his incendiary comment. Taking a moment and considering your options you settled on waiting for him to say more. After all, his comments were baseless, both of you were well aware of the others accomplishments, and more often than not that was the point of bickering betwixt the pair of you.

'I know how you love speaking to ghosts, so maybe you could use your special set of skills' -a phrase he entombed in air quotes- 'to get their names before we put them in containment... might make filing quicker.' He was so... infuriating, there was not one moment in his presence where you'd known a semblance of peace. You save his life... he thinks of a hundred ways you could have done it quicker...and proceeds to tell you them in detail. God forbid it ever came to it, you doubt he'd ever let up about it if he managed to save your life.

Turning to him slowly you cocked your head to the side, feigning a patronizing level of concern, as you placed a soft hand on his arm, 'The world still goes around if you don’t talk. You do realise that, right?' His brow tightened in what you expected to be his only response, but within moments he was scoffing and peeling your hand from his arm, holding it securely in both of his against his jumpsuit-clad chest as he met your condescending gaze with one of his own.

'I'm sure it would, still, the last time I did, you struggled to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I'm just trying to help you stay upright, bub.' His gaze was darker now, nothing short of challenging you to contest, and yet when you did... he chuckled, cutting you off.

Squeezing your hand briefly between his own as he nodded knowingly 'I know, my kindness knows no bounds, its okay there's no need to thank me.' He was often cocky, at least around you, but this was next level, and despite him definitely having the upper hand, you felt the familiar and overwhelming need to push back.

Pulling your other hand up to join his and your other, you leant into him slightly, taking an almost invisible step forward as you drew your lips into a sickeningly sweet smile, 'Oh lars...'

You leaned in closer, eyes searching his for any hesitance, and when met simply by a wink, your lips met his. It was brief and by far the softest interaction the pair of you had had to date, however that of course did not last long as you soon parted your lips.

'What a shame... You sound better when you’re not talking.'

#lars pinfield #lars pinfield x reader #ghostbusters frozen empire #gbfe

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ghosthunterbuck · 1 year

Text

these tangled threads

(buddie) (2.3k words) (6x11 spec) i've been back for five minutes and immediately decided i needed to write some spec fic so uh, here we are, have some coma!buck :)

Evan picks at a loose thread on his sleeve and stares at the screen in front of him. His latest in a long line of temp jobs has him feeling disquieted. Even more lost than usual, somehow. He wonders if it isn’t because he’s back in California.

It’s been years since he graced the west coast with his presence, and it’s hard to explain why he’s back now.

It certainly isn’t for the work. Digitizing old files might be the worst job he’s ever had, and that includes the summer he spent digging drainage ditches in Florida.

He’s felt restless, though, as of late, an itch beneath his skin that he can’t seem to scratch. Evan pulls at the thread again and a little more of his sleeve unravels. He lets the red string dangle and returns his attention to the file in front of him.

June 22nd, 1985.

Evan sighs quietly and flips the folder open. He arranges the sheets nestled inside by color. Red for fire, white for police, yellow for medical. He pulls the stack of red towards him and begins the process of painstakingly typing in each detail all over again.

Twenty years of files and he hasn’t even made it through the first.

…

He’s just begun working on the 26th when there’s a soft knock on the slightly ajar door to his closet-turned-office. A young woman pokes her head in and immediately wrinkles her nose.

“Wow, I don’t think they could’ve found a darker room to put you in if they tried.”

“It’s uh– it’s… fine?” Evan ventures.

The young woman snorts and pushes the door further open, allowing a small sliver of natural light to stain the carpet.

“I’ll have to ask Eddie to find out for sure, but I’m pretty sure this is a fire code violation,” she says with a wry grin.

Evan smiles, a little cautiously. “You’d know better than me,” he says, tapping the file in front of him, “my knowledge currently ends in 1985.”

The woman chuckles softly. “Anyway, a couple of us are going to grab lunch from the food truck across the street. You want to get out of this cave and come with?”

Evan bites his lip and glances at the stack of files to his left.

“I’m May, by the way,” she says.

“Evan,” he replies, but even as he says it, something about it feels wrong. Like the shape of his own name is unfamiliar to his tongue.

“Come on,” May says, backing out of the room but leaving the door wide open, “you’ll go crazy sitting in here all day.”

Evan stands before he’s consciously made the decision to do so. “You’re right,” he says. “Can’t stay here forever.”

…

The food truck reminds him a little of a postcard Maddie sent him a few years back, a generic one with no location and no return address. It’s funny, the way she’d flipped the script on him when she finally left Doug.

He hasn’t gotten a new one in a few months, but who knows if the long string of forwarding addresses he’s kept is still intact.

There’s a small group of blue and maroon polo-clad individuals huddled beneath a large beach umbrella nearby, and May leads him to them.

“Hey guys! This is the new temp Sue mentioned yesterday, Evan,” she introduces him.

Another wave of discomfort hits him and he frowns a little. He tries to wipe the expression off his face before anyone catches it, but at least one of them notices. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Evan,” May continues, “this is Linda, Josh and Eddie.” She points to each of them in turn.

Linda and Josh both offer him a warm greeting, but Eddie simply nods. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and a seemingly permanent furrowed brow, and Evan finds himself picking again at his frayed sleeve under the man’s scrutinizing gaze.

Evan wants to look away, but finds that he can’t.

The moment seems to stretch and pull into something more akin to molasses than time, slowly crystalizing into a shape that feels recognizable. Evan feels the urge to reach out, the inexplicable need to pull Eddie to safety.

Eddie’s phone rings, and the moment shatters.

“Excuse me,” he says, and Evan would swear he’s heard that voice before.

…

By the time Eddie returns, Evan’s halfway through a taco and a story about his time as a ranch hand. The others seem interested enough, but Evan’s boring himself. He knows how the story ends – another place he couldn’t stay, another set of fraying loose ends.

“Have we met before?” Eddie suddenly interrupts.

Evan’s certain they haven’t, certain he would remember if they had, but there’s a nagging sensation in the back of his head that begs him to reconsider. “I’m not sure,” he says after a moment.

“On a call, maybe?” Eddie presses.

Evan shrugs helplessly. “I’ve never called 9-1-1,” he says.

Eddie shakes his head impatiently. “I’m not a dispatcher,” he says. “I used to be a firefighter, though.”

An image flashes through Evan’s mind. It’s Eddie, but he looks younger. Or – maybe younger isn’t right. Less burdened. His posture is straight and he’s wearing turnouts and a warm smile. He has the look of someone who’s settled in his skin, someone who knows exactly who he is and isn’t afraid of that knowledge. He’s so incredibly familiar, but Evan knows they haven’t met. Not in this lifetime, anyway.

He shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, I don’t think so. I haven’t been in LA in years.” Evan feels like he’s lying, even as he knows he’s telling the truth.

Eddie’s lips twist into a small frown, a painful expression Evan is suddenly desperate to wipe away.

“Who was on the phone?” he blurts.

The question works, and Eddie’s frown fades into something closer to a tired smile. “My son,” he says, “Christopher.”

“Whoa, you got a kid?” Evan’s voice seems to echo in his own ears.

Christopher, he’s seven.

And super adorable.

“One that’s growing up way too fast,” Eddie says. His tone is light, but the guilt in his expression says everything he doesn’t.

He doing okay?

Better than me.

Evan turns his attention back to his frayed sleeve, and realizes it isn’t just one string, it’s two, tangled so tightly together he’s sure they’ll never unwind.

…

“Buck,” someone says, and Evan’s head snaps up so fast it hurts.

There’s no one there. He’s alone in his dingy longstay motel room, picking at a plate of microwave lasagna that makes him wish desperately that he’d learned how to cook somewhere along the way.

The room shouldn’t feel silent, not with the buzzing air conditioner and thin walls, but it does and it’s oppressive. Evan flips on the TV and hopes it’ll be enough.

A red headed reporter fills the screen, and something like anxiety twists in his chest. He reaches for the remote but freezes when the image changes.

“...three alarm blaze that displaced multiple families was extinguished early this morning by multiple teams of firefighters. Incident commander Robert Nash commented at the scene.”

“Our team performed admirably tonight. We just wish you were there with us.”

Evan’s brow furrows and he sits back, watching as the camera pans to two paramedics bandaging the arm of a young firefighter with dark skin and a pained expression.

…

In the morning, a postcard from Maddie arrives.

Strangely, the image on the front is of a small, nondescript house with three pairs of shoes set neatly by the front door.

Evan flips the card over to read the inscription.

We miss you. Please come home.

There’s no postage, and no return address.

Evan shivers and grabs his hoodie from the bed. It’s only when he pushes his knuckles through the end of his sleeve that he notices his two strings have turned to nine, all varying degrees of tangled, though none as long or as tightly woven as the first two he’d noticed.

His head aches, and he wishes more than anything he could follow Maddie’s instructions.

Home though… he doesn’t know where that is.

…

Evan finds himself at the pier with no memory of how he got there. It looks familiar but wrong, dotted with rides and attractions he knows are long gone. He looks to his left and finds a young boy staring at him, no older than eight.

“You ever think about what you want to do with your life? What you want to be when you grow up?” the boy asks him.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Evan replies.

The boy ignores him and continues speaking. “I hope you do find something you love,” he says.

“I did,” Evan replies instinctively. He hesitates. “Or I thought…”

The boy looks at him, and suddenly he’s older. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck. The doctors can fix you.”

Evan gasps and stumbles back. There’s a roaring in his ears. He turns just in time to see the wave that swallows him whole.

…

What am I supposed to do if you– you promised, Buck. Chris needs you, and I–

…

Evan sputters and coughs until a river flows from his mouth. He’s standing in a bathroom, in front of a mirror, covered in blood.

The strings from his tattered sleeve wrap around his fingers now, difficult but not impossible to distinguish from the horrible stains on his skin.

The door behind him swings open, and a man walks in.

Immediately, Evan is comforted, though he doesn’t know why.

“Everyone’s out there,” the man says. “Waiting.”

“Why?” Evan asks.

The man frowns.

“I was just the guy standing there when it happened,” Evan continues.

“I need you to open your eyes, kid,” the man says.

Evan blinks– once, twice, and he’s back in his office.

…

The door swings open.

“None of us are better off, you know,” a woman with a shaved head says as she steps into the room. “I know you think it sometimes, but we’re not.”

“I don’t understand,” Evan says.

“Bobby’s a wreck. And Eddie… I’ve never seen him react like that to anything. Reminded me of you, actually.”

“You know me?” Evan asks, feeling more and more desperate. The walls around him feel like they’re closing in.

“Point is, we don’t work without you. So I’m going to need you to wake up and come be a firefighter again, okay?” The woman turns on her heel and leaves.

“Wait!” Evan calls, but it’s too late.

He blinks again and finds himself in the middle of a grocery store, clutching a box of cat laxative to his chest.

…

“Buck?” A man asks, striding towards him. He’s wearing a firefighter’s uniform and has a scar in the middle of his forehead. “Man, what are you doing here,” he says. It doesn’t sound like a question.

“I'm just here to– to do some... some shopping,” Evan replies.

The man shakes his head. “This isn’t right,” he says. “It isn’t supposed to happen like this. You need to come home.”

“I want to,” Evan whispers. “I don’t know how.”

The box falls from his hands, tearing at the red strings that no longer seem to come from his sleeve but from his skin instead.

“Maddie’ll be back soon,” the man says. “She stayed with Jee overnight, but she’s on her way now. I know you’re not going to wake up for me, but maybe you could wake up for her? She needs you.”

The man claps Evan on the shoulder and spins him around, and suddenly he’s face to face with the sister he hasn’t seen in years.

…

“Maddie!” Evan cries, throwing himself towards her. She catches him in a tight hug.

“I miss you, little brother,” she says sadly.

“I’m right here,” Evan says.

“What happened to you,” Maddie whispers.

Evan shakes his head. Tears begin to pool in the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know, Maddie. I’m scared.”

…

He’s flatlining again!

Ma’am, please step back and let us do our jobs.

That’s my brother!

And we’re doing everything we can to save him.

…

Evan gasps awake in his motel room, alone again. Or maybe– he was alone the entire time. Just dreaming. It always feels so real.

The TV is still on, but now it’s the weather. A grim meteorologist addresses him.

“High winds and rain are in the forecast tonight, but the real danger is the lightning. Shelter away from tall trees and poles, and whatever you do, don’t go climbing any ladders.”

Evan shudders. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He’s in danger.

The door swings open, and Eddie walks in.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and though it isn’t his first time hearing the name, it’s the first time he understands that it’s his.

Buck stands.

“You have to open your eyes,” Eddie says, “okay? You have to.”

“I’m looking right at you,” Buck says softly.

Eddie shakes his head and the meaning is obvious. You’re looking right at me, but you still don’t see.

“The doctor’s,” Eddie says shakily, “they say you might never wake up. But I don’t believe that, Buck. I know you. I know you better than they do and I know you’re not going to give up on us like that.”

Buck reaches out on instinct and lays his string wrapped hand over Eddie’s heart.

In an instant, it all comes rushing back to him.

“You have to wake up,” Eddie says.

“I’m trying,” Buck gasps.

“You have to, because I can’t do any of this without you, Buck. I don’t want to.”

Buck remembers the moment lightning struck him. He remembers the moment before the pain, remembers feeling, just for a moment, like he might be immortal. He remembers Eddie crying out his name.

Eddie’s hands encircle his, and the red string tangles them together.

“Please, Buck,” Eddie says, squeezing his hand. “Come home.”

With a herculean effort, Buck squeezes back.

#911 #buddie #fic #911fic #911 fic #buddie fic #evan buckley #911 spec #911 spoilers #abbie writes #userceecee

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farfromstrange · 3 months

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Lizzi’s Valentine’s Special & Follower Celebration

Dear Everyone,

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and I thought, since this silly little blog hit over 1.1k followers yesterday, I want to give you something special.

First of all, though, I want to thank you. I’ve been on here since (and I checked with the archive) July 19, 2022. I can't believe that it has been almost two years. I started watching Daredevil after watching Spider-Man: No Way Home in December of 2021 and hearing Matt Murdock say, "I'm a really good lawyer," after catching a brick. So, I started watching the show, and that was during a time I was really miserable. Mentally and physically, I wasn't in a good place, but after watching Daredevil for the first time and falling in love with Charlie Cox as a genuine person and an actor, it felt like I found a reason to keep going.

I started writing fanfiction again, which I kind of neglected because I felt like this hobby of mine wasn't going anywhere. I wasn't inspired at all until I watched the show. If I hadn't, I probably would not have gotten back into writing and using it as an outlet for my feelings, and I probably wouldn't be where I am today. Thanks to Charlie's portrayal of Matt Murdock, and watching his interviews, I felt like I could do the things that I love again and follow my dreams. He's the reason I chose to major in English. And while I owe him that much, I owe you guys here on Tumblr and AO3 even more.

When I first posted here, I didn't think people would even be interested in what I had to say and write. But then more and more people started visiting my profile, you guys started following me, and it kept me motivated to keep writing, even when I'm miserable, and I sometimes only post once every blue moon.

I feel so honored that you guys chose to follow a silly little blog run by a silly little 20-something-year-old whose first language isn't even English (but made it her entire personality), and who chose to write about traumatized dark-haired characters portrayed by Charlie Cox. I'm overwhelmed by the love you continue to show me, and every time one of you chooses to reblog or comment on one of my works, saying that it resonated with you, I feel like I'm doing something right. I'm sharing my ideas, my own experiences, my wishes, and even my deepest, darkest dreams through my writing like it's a fucking diary, and you eat it up every single time.

I'm just so glad that this community exists, as chaotic as it sometimes is, and that you chose to stick around, even when I suck at keeping promises sometimes. You keep teaching me new things about who I am, my writing, and how important it is to put myself first. I don't know if you've heard it lately, but you guys are incredible and I appreciate the hell out of every single one of you.

Thanks to Tumblr, I made lifelong friends (especially looking at you, @blackshadowswriter) and found like-minded people that made me feel less alone. That alone was worth making this account and continuing to post on here.

You may think that I'm being dramatic, but for someone who has never really experienced the kind of validation this community gives me, I want to celebrate this milestone. It means more to me than I can even put into words. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all so much! Please, don't ever forget how amazing you are.

That being said, I've got some exciting things planned.

The other day, I found a folder in my Docs titled "the vault". I completely forgot about it because I usually keep my WIPs in a different folder. As it turns out, I made that folder for fics that I originally never planned to post, or ones that I'd finished but wasn't happy with. It’s many, but it’s a few. Some are deeper than others. I also jotted down rough ideas and outlines last year that I stuffed in there, some of which I've actually shared with you but never started working on. Until now. And the contents of that vault are what I want to give to you now.

INTRODUCING: The Vault

6 stories from the vault. 1 bonus fic. 7 days.

I went through a myriad of emotions while I wrote these. For some, I actually bled my soul onto paper. For others, it was merely a brain fart that led to their existence. They're sad, horny, and at times angry, but some of those were originally written for me, and only me. Those that weren't started as a few sentences in a folder before I forgot they existed. Either way, I don't want them to catch dust. And I wouldn't want to share them with anyone else.

Starting February 14th, I will be posting one fic every day until February 20th. My “The Vault” works are Matt Murdock x Reader works, but I've made an exception for the bonus fic. I won't tell you what they are about, but I will give you a list of installments and what kind of fic they are so you know what to be excited about (and maybe which ones are not your cup of tea).

-> The number at the end tells you the date I will be posting it on, but I put it in chronological order as well.

INSTALLMENTS:

1. If You Need To Be Mean (angst, hurt/comfort) 14.

2. Mismatched Bridesmaid (fluff, smut) 15.

3. Weed Cookies (humor, fluff, cw: accidental drug use) 16.

4. the grudge (songfic, angst, hurt/comfort, cw: death of a parent) 17.

5. Halloween (Smut) 18.

6. I Want To Fuck A Priest (Smut, cw: priest!Matt) 19.

BONUS:

7. Now That We Don’t Talk (Part 2 of Is It Over Now?) -> Frank Castle x Reader (smut, angst) 20.

A few more words: You are free to send me an ask if you want to know more, but be prepared that I won't be answering in much detail. I don't want to spoil the fun. I would, however, not mind talking about them as vaguely as possible (if you’re interested).

Thank you all. For everything. And I hope you stick around to read these little gems.

With love from yours truly,

Lizzi <3

#lizzi writes #follower celebration #valentine’s day #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x you #frank castle x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #charlie cox

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bitchin-beskar · 1 year

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the taste of scotch and cigars - chapter one

Rating: M

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fake dating trope, propositioning a stranger in a bar, drinking/mentions of being tipsy (minor), intense makeout in public, hints of exhibition kink, hints of voice kink, absolutely fucking douchebag of an ex, mentions of cheating, I think that's it for this chapter? Most of these will be expanded the further into the story we get, and more warnings will come hehe.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: this is one of the au ideas I've ranted to @catsnkooks about (there are many) and I wanted to schedule the first chapter drop during my vacay because it's been sitting in my wip folder and I wanna get opinions to see if people like this idea/wanna see more. (I mean, I'm gonna post it regardless but I still wanna see if people are into the idea). anyways, enjoy this fun spin on a fake dating trope :)

The burn of cheap vodka as it slid down your throat did little to soothe the ache in your chest. Coming here was a mistake. You should’ve let sleeping dogs lie, let your past stay where it belongs. Instead, you’re submerged in old memories and familiar hurts, the waters of time washing over your head and threatening to drown you in melancholy and diffidence.

The noise of the packed pub pressed in from all sides, buffeting you and keeping you off balance, loud enough that you were barely able to hear yourself think. You’d managed to avoid interactions thus far, but the likelyhood of that dwindled with every second you lingered, waiting for…

Well.

God only knows what you were waiting for.

Draining the last dregs of your drink, the thunk of your empty glass on the wooden bar as you sat it down made you frown and debate waving over the bartender for another refill. You thought for a long moment, before you decided otherwise. If you were going to be interacting with others tonight, you’d prefer to have at least some of your wits about you, and the vodka you’d consumed was enough to take the edge of your sorrow off. Any more though, and you couldn’t be held responsible for what might happen.

You turned around in your seat, scanning the crowd. In the back corner of the pub, you saw them for the first time that night since you’d walked in. The group seemed to be concentrated in the back, thankfully. You’d done a perfunctory greeting with the hosts of this little reunion, and then beelined for the bar and had been sat there since. Honestly, you’re not entirely sure why you even came.

Unfortunately, right as you were looking over at the group, you made eye contact with Christian, the one person you’d been hoping to avoid. He’d been looking in your direction, and when he saw you, he smirked and stood up, beginning to try and make his way through the crowd.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you spun around again on your stool, regretting not having ordered another drink. “God fucking dammit.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you began to wonder if it was possible for you to make a quick escape in the crowd, when your panic was interrupted by a deep and deceptively smooth British-accented voice to your right.

“Everythin’ alright, love?”

Turning your head, you made eye contact with the older man sitting next to you at the bar, and immediately your mouth went dry. How had you not noticed him yet?

He was absolutely gorgeous, with clear, intelligent blue eyes and thick dark brown hair that you wanted to run your fingers through. His cheeks and upper lip were covered in that same dark brown hair, shaved into mutton chops with stubble on his lower lip and chin. He was dressed in a light blue henley that clung to his torso, a hint of a ball chain disappering into the vee of the neckline, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and showing off his forearms. One hand was wrapped around a glass of scotch, and dangling from the fingers of his other hand was a lit Maduro cigar. He had on dark, well worn blue jeans that were moulded to his thighs, and black, slightly scuffed up combat boots.

He looked like the kind of man you’d spent many a shameful night fantasizing about back in high school, fingers ducking below the waistband of your sleep shorts as you clasped a hand over your mouth lest you wake your parents sleeping down the hall.

Those bright blue eyes were focused on yours, and you felt your cheeks heat under his surprisingly intense yet soft gaze. Something deep inside of you, fueled by the vodka, whispered that this was the kind of man you could trust, the kind of man who maybe, possibly would be willing to help a perfect stranger out of nothing but the kindness of his heart.

Maybe it was the alcohol, and you were drunker than you thought. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you, this gorgeous, dangerous man who managed to pierce you with such soft, kind eyes. Whatever it was, you lost control over your brain-to-mouth filter, and words began to spill forth.

“My ex is here, he just saw me and is coming this way, and it’s been years since I last saw him, and… god, I don’t have the strength to deal with him tonight, he never fucking takes no for an answer, would you be willing– I mean if it’s not too much trouble, and I could pay you back, but could I ask you–”

You managed to reboot your brain, but not quite fast enough to stop the spew of words from escaping you, and physically biting your own tongue was the only way to prevent you from making an even bigger fool of yourself. Immediately you averted your eyes, tearing yourself away from his piercing gaze as you shrunk in your seat, dread and shame roiling in the pit of your stomach and mixing with the alcohol to make you feel sick.

Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck were you thinking? He just asked if you were alright, he didn’t ask to have your entire life story dumped on him at the drop of a hat. He had to be at least ten years older than you, if not more, you were likely barely more than a silly little girl in his eyes. Shit, he’s probably got a stunning wife and gorgeous kids at home, and here you are, practically propositioning the poor man. Your mama always said you were a no-good, simple-minded child, and here you are, not even ten years outta her house and proving her right once again.

So lost in your self ruminations, you don’t notice the pensive look on the handsome stranger’s face, until suddenly there’s an arm wrapped securely around your waist and you’re being tugged off your barstool and onto a thickly muscled thigh, leaning against against the warm length of a heavily muscled torso. You somehow manage to not leap out of your skin in surprise, even when you feel the brush of his lips against the outer shell of your ear, his voice a low growl, gravel grinding against pavement.

“I’m more’n willing to help a pretty lil’ girl like you, love. No debt necessary. ‘Sides, a man who doesn’ understand the word no? Princess, that ain’t a man at all.”

Dreaming. You’ve gotta be stuck in some kind of alcohol intoxication induced fever dream, because there’s no fucking way that this is your life right now. Shit like this doesn’t happen outside of cheesy romcoms and trashy dime store novels. Let alone at random pubs in fucking Liverpool.

You’re not given the time to delve more into the ramifications of dreams induced by too much imbibed alcohol because your ears are abruptly assaulted by a reedy, nasally voice that you wished you could forget, but was burned into so many of your adolescent memories.

“Sweetcheeks! Goodness, it’s been awhile! You know, I wasn’t sure I’d see you here, we were all pretty surprised you showed up.”

The stanger-who’s lap you were perched-on turned at the interruption, his hand sliding from your hip across your belly, palm hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. He hooked his finger in your belt loop, fingers pressing reassuringly into the meat of your hip as his forearm felt like a bar of iron against your abdomen. The positioning was oddly possessive, like it meant more than him making sure you didn’t tip off his thigh and onto the dingy floor of the pub. His glass of scotch was abandoned on the bar, the arm not holding you streched out on the wood, cigar dangling from his fingers. You turned your head to look at the last person in the world you wanted to see, although you were distracted slightly from your ire by the slow drag of lips along the length of your jaw, the bristles on your stranger’s beard tickling the sensitive skin. It was an act that was surprisingly soothing as it was intimate.

Schooling your features, you looked at the face of the man who’d held your entire heart in his hands and shattered it on the ground without a second thought. Half a decade hadn’t dulled the pain, although you did a remarkable job at covering it up.

“Christian. Wish I could say it’s a pleasure.”

He pouted, an altogether unattractive look, although years ago it had been one to tug at your heartstrings. “Awe, don’t tell me you haven’t missed me, at least a little bit?”

You fixed him with a glare, even as fury began to burn low in your belly. “Why exactly would I be missing you, Christian?”

He rolled his eyes, as though the answer was exceedingly obvious, and he thought you dumb for even having to ask. “Awe, babes, you’re not still hung up about that little incident, are you? Even your momma thinks you’re overreacting, sweetcheeks.”

You cocked an eyebrow, even as you subconsciously sank further into your stranger’s embrace, his hold on you soothing and helping to keep you grounded. The admission that he still talked to your momma stung more than it should have, but then, she’d been heartbroken when you divorced who, in her eyes, was the most perfect embodiement of a son-in-law to ever grace God’s green earth. Figures she’d refuse to cut contact with him, even though you had.

“Hung up? Little incident? I came home to find you fucking Paisleigh, my best friend, in our fucking bed. And then I find out it wasn’t just the once, but practically every single week of our relationship, with about three dozen different girls over the years. I would say I have every right to still be pissed at you, Christian.”

“Well, that’s hardly my fault, is it? Men have needs, babes. I was just doing what I needed to, since you certainly weren’t fullfilling ‘em. You hardly needed to move halfway across the world cause you got a lil’ upset about it.”

It took every shred of self control you had to refrain from launching yourself off of your stranger’s lap–and dear sweet god, you’re just now realizing you don’t actually know his fucking name–and strangling the idiot in front of you. Honestly though, it was probably less about your self control and more about the way his arm tightened around you, his fingers hooking tighter around your belt loop. He brought his other hand up to take a slow drag off his cigar, the richly sweet smoke curling around your body as he exhaled, his chest pressed comfortingly against your back. He let his hand drop, resting it on top of your thigh, fingers carefully keeping the cigar away from the fabric of your pants.

You felt the movement of his head as he gave Christian a look, glancing up and down before scoffing darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. He only held you tighter, even as he opened his mouth, and the rich smoke of his voice filled your ears, deep and dripping honey, sending sparks straight to the fire in your gut.

“You’re no man. You’re barely more ‘n a immature little boy, a waste o’ space n’ air. If you’re not willin’ to stay faithful, then ya shouldn’t be in a relationship. If you weren’t satisfied, it certainly wasn’t somethin’ she was doin’ wrong.” He punctuated his words with a kiss to your temple, and dammit if it didn’t make you wanna melt into a puddle on the floor.

Christian puffed up, looking extremely offended, albeit ridiculous considering he was skinnier than a stick. “Do you have any idea who I am, old man?”

You’re trying very hard not to panic, because you didn’t have time to tell your stranger anything before this conversation, but you shouldn’t have worried, because he simply replied with a shrug of his shoulders, and a short, clipped, “Nah, should I?”

Dammit, you thought, trying to hold back a laugh. You didn’t know he was funny too.

If anything, that only pissed Christian off more. “Sweetcheeks, you didn’t tell your little friend here about your husband?”

“Ex-husband,” you hissed, eyes narrowing and body tensing at the way Christian spoke, all amusement draining from you at the sound of him acting so damn dismissive, it made you wanna claw his eyes out.

“Shh, is alrigh’, love,” your stranger whispered in your ear, and to your surprise, the tension bled back out of your limbs, the low timbre of his growl soothing the fury boiling inside you. Unfortunately, Christian rudely interrupted.

“And just who are you supposed to be?”

Your stranger chuckled, the vibrations rumbling pleasantly against your back. “Nah, I’m nobody special. Jus’ the one who took advantage of your colossal fuck up and married the sweet thing you let get away, ain’t tha’ right, love?”

It took every ounce of control you had to stop the surprise from showing on your face at his declaration. This was so far beyond anything you could’ve ever hoped for, you didn’t quite know how to handle it. There’d been no hesitation on his part, no awkward pauses or stuttering. Just a steady declaration that he was apparently your (fake, fake you reminded your brain) husband.

Christian’s cheeks were turning a ruddy color, nearly incandescent with rage. You should’ve realized that this little charade was gonna push him too far, especially when he bared his teeth and snarled.

“I pity you, sweetcheeks, you’re such an obvious charity case I should’ve known. No way is another man willing to settle down with you, especially considering the fact that you’re used, broken goods. Did’ja tell him that, before you trapped him, babes?” He growled, spittle flying. “Quieter than a doormouse in bed, she doesn’t even know how to properly pleasure a man, else I wouldn’ta needed to find someone else, isn’t that right?”

Ok, that was it. You were going to deck Christian here and now. You were done letting him have all the power, letting him walk all over you like he had for the entirety of your relationship. Just as you placed your hands on the forearm around your waist to push it off you so you could fight your fucking ex, a firm hand on your jaw distracted you, turning your face to the side and tilting it up, then slightly chapped lips were covering yours.

Oh.

Your eyes fluttered shut as calloused fingers smoothed over your jaw, cupping your face as your gorgeous, dangerous-looking stranger slowly pried your lips open and plunged his tongue into your mouth, stroking the length of it alongside your own tongue. You followed his lead, opening up beautifully beneath him, letting him kiss you deeper as he plundered your mouth, growing more heated, more passionate with every brush of his lips against yours. His beard scratched gently at the sensitive skin around your mouth, but beard-burn was quite literally the last thing on your mind. The entire world faded away, until it was just you and your stranger, and the deep, possessive way he kissed you.

He claimed you with his mouth, there was no better way to describe it. He drew back slightly, only so he could bite at your lower lip, teeth pulling at the darkened skin and making you let out a surprised moan before he dove back in, open mouthed and messy. He sucked on your tongue, making you whimper softly, which only spurned him on even more. His fingers tightned on your jaw, keeping you steady against his onslaught, stealing kiss after kiss. He stole the very breath from your lungs, every time you pulled back to gasp for breath he simply chased you, greedily depriving you of precious oxygen.

He tasted like scotch and cigars, the smooth burn and sharp bite of sweet smoke mixing to create something so uniquely him that you honestly couldn’t imagine him tasting like anything else. You wondered if he tasted the vodka on your tongue, or the coconut of the lip balm on your lips. Whatever your taste, he couldn’t seem to get enough.

A loud cough broke the bubble you’d found yourself enveloped in as he kissed you, but even still, he didn’t let you jerk away, pressing one, two, three kisses in quick succession against your swollen and tender lips, glossy and slick with spit.

Your eyes slowly opened, finding him already staring at you, his pupils blown wide, inky black surrounded by a pale, thin ring of blue. His fingers stroked the skin of your cheek, almost reverent as his gaze flickered between your own wide eyes and your ravaged mouth.

Incoherrent sputtering drew your attention away from the man who’d just kissed you–a fucking stranger–like you were the only two people to exisit in the world and not just at a pub in the middle of Liverpool, and you slowly slid your eyes from his to look at Christian.

You had to fight the urge not to laugh. Christian somehow managed to look equal parts dumbfounded and embarrassed as hell. Considering the way you’d just been kissed felt like it had to break some kind of public indecency law, you weren’t too surprised at the mix of emotions on his face, although they were quickly giving way to anger once again.

He didn’t get to interject, however, as your stranger spoke, his voice barely more than a growl. “If you’d been any good in bed, then maybe you’d have some kinda idea about all the pretty sounds my wife can make, but somethin’ tells me you weren’ ever enough to earn those, and like hell am I ‘bout to let you learn how she sounds when she makes ‘em now.”

Abruptly, he stood, easily hoisting you off his lap to stand on the ground, although his arm stayed secure around you and not letting you take even one step away from him.

“Hol’ this for me, love?”

He handed you his cigar, before digging in his back pocket to pull out a wad of cash, throwing it on the bar and making a quick gesture at the bartender to indicate that he was closing your tabs.

He turned back towards your ex, making eye contact even as he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and brought your hand up to his mouth so he could take a drag from his cigar still gripped between your fingers, breathing in deeply before exhaling, chuckling at the disgusted look on Christian’s face.

“My wife ‘n I are leavin now, cause I’ve been deployed too damn long and I don’ feel like wastin’ another second with bloody pricks who mattered so little in her life that she doesn’ even mention you.”

With that, and a gentle nudge, your stranger began to steer you out of the pub, sliding his arm from where it was still wrapped around you, instead slipping his hand into the back pocket on your jeans, cupping your ass and giving your ex a little show, and causing your heartbeat to race. The cool air hitting your face as you stepped out onto the streets of Liverpool felt like being reborn, as you felt the tension that had been gathering all of the last few weekes in preparation for today just… fade away.

The two of you walked a bit away from the door to the pub before your stranger slid his hand out from your back pocket, leaving you immediately missing the security and warmth he’d provided, even with just that little touch. You turned to look at him, silently offering his cigar back, which he took, but just let it dangle from his fingers. His expression was sheepish, and he rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand. It was endearing, and you found yourself having to violently squash the part of you that said to just go for it and kiss him again, just to see if he’d still react the same way without an audience.

“I do apologize, ma’am,” he offered, and you blinked, thrown a bit. Why on earth was he apologizing to you? Shouldn’t you be the one apologizing, for even asking a total stranger a favor like that in the first place?

“I might’a taken things a bit far back there, but no one should be talkin’ to ya like that, love. It don’ matter who they were or what they used’ta mean to ya.”

To your horror, you felt your eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. You were so used to being the one blamed for the failure of your relationship, being the one told that you must’ve done something wrong to force a man like Christian to seek someone outside of your marriage, that to have someone tell you that it wasn’t ok for you to be treated that way was like a balm on an old wound you didn’t realize had ripped back open.

You had no idea how to respond to what he’d said, and at a complete loss for words, you blurted out the first thing to come to your mind.

“I don’t even know your name?”

His laugh was deep and warm, and you desperately wanted to take it inside you and hold it’s comfort there for the rest of your life. He smiled at you, eyes twinkling, and held his free hand out.

“Captain John Price, British SAS, at your service, love.”

You took a deep breath even as you placed your hand in his, trying not to show how the sound of his title falling from his lips sent a heady rush of arousal through you. You’d thought he might’ve been military, and the confirmation was doing unspeakable things to you.

“I-, uh, sir-” you started, only to be cut off as he brought your fingers up to his lips, brushing them across the backs of your knuckles and making your knees go weak with the look he leveled you with.

“Love, not to be crass, but I’ve had my tongue down your throat and my hand on your arse. I think you can call me John.”

#captain john price x reader #captain john price #reader #reader fic #fem!reader #fake dating trope #no smut here #yet #but it's coming #so 18+#new multi-chap #the taste of scotch and cigars #cod:mw2 au #au fic

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