#this one of: Sea Beach in the Fog | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themidnightcrimson · 2 months

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the scarlet siren ࿏ wm

summary: in which you take a trip out to sea that you will regret.

words: 6.0k

warnings: siren!wanda, dubcon/noncon, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), size kink, biting, a lot of blood, violence, fear, suspense, drowning, deep water, mentions of death, i wrote this in an irish accent for some reason, did you know i have thalassophobia?

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

masterlist.

Fishing was competitive these days. It was a bad winter and an even worse famine, and with beef and poultry no longer in the shops, the villagers were forced to turn to the shore to fish.

Your little village was nestled on a plateau of land that stuck out into the cold sea. The shore was lined with big, black rocks that had tumbled down from the looming hills over time and landed at the water’s edge with only a thin strip of grainy brown sand between them and the water. Travelling down to the shore over all those rocks was already hard enough, but it was even harder when you had to carry your boat on your back.

People had tried to carve trails through all the rock to make the beaches more accessible, but with all the storms that the area faced, the rocks just got tussled back around and demolished any trails attempted.

In fact, it had just stormed the night before. It pissed rain and spit wind so hard that people woke up to holes in their roofs. Naturally, the beach was all torn up from it, but it would always clean itself up and go back to the way it was at some point before another storm came along. And while most people were at their cottages fixing the storm’s damage, you saw this early dawn as a prime opportunity to fish.

Fish had also been scarce recently because of all the people turning to the water for food sources, but you knew that the previous night’s storm had tussled the waters, which meant the fish were probably scurrying all around. The sun hadn’t even risen yet as you dragged your wooden boat down the rocks in the dim dawn hue, the wood scraping loudly against the rock’s hard and bumpy surface.

Managing to get down the rocks without twisting your ankle, you finally plopped down into the pebbly sand with a huff of breath, pushing your boat off your back. This was only half of your journey, though, because you weren’t even going to fish here on the beach like most people did.

Adjusting the leather strap around your neck that was holding your oars to your back, you dragged your boat through the damp sand to the rickety wooden dock that stood beside the lighthouse. The lighthouse was even more rickety, since no one bothered to upkeep it since this beach was the worst beach for ships to come in at. They almost always hit the rocks because of how deep the water dropped off from the shore and how thin the strip of sand was.

You pulled your boat to the very end of the dock and then threw the oars down in it, and then your bag of fishing gear, along with your pole. Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself as you began pushing the single person-sized boat into the water. When it finally was fully in the water, you quickly jumped into it, causing a splash and a stressful cracking sound as you struggled for a moment to catch your balance. Finally, you sat down in the boat and let it settle before getting your oars and rowing yourself towards your destination.

There was a little cove area almost like an island to the east of the plateau of land. It was your favorite spot to fish because hardly anyone knew about it. It was barely visible from the shore even during a normal day, but it was completely out of sight on this extremely foggy, dark morning. The fog became more and more dense the further you rowed out into the water, until finally you were completely blinded.

“Fucking hell,” you murmured, reaching into your bag for your compass. The fog had completely surrounded you now to the point where you couldn’t even see the front bow of your boat. It was getting colder further into sea, too. Though the air above was tolerable, you couldn’t imagine how cold the water below felt.

The salty, wet air clogged your nose as you finally felt the cold round of metal in your hand, bringing your compass out of your bag. Sniffling from the cold air, you tried to adjust and read your compass when you suddenly heard something behind you—a voice.

Gasping, you whipped around to look behind you but only saw the thick white of fog. The voice had been shrill and steady, calling out some sort of smooth singsong noise that echoed over the water.

And then you heard it again, clear as day, right in front of you.

Snapping back around, you still could see nothing but the fog, yet the voice was still echoing all around you. It was a single note drawn out, not quite a shout or a scream, just an eerie note drawn out through the fog. Chills overcame you, but not from the cold.

Setting your compass down on the boat’s bottom, you grabbed your oars and began to quickly row towards the east. The fog seemed to be squeezing in on you now, some of it even spilling over the edge of the boat like thick smoke. Your heart was pounding—you couldn’t see where you were going, and you could still hear the voice in the back of your head. You wanted to get to the cove fast.

Suddenly, the wooden oar in your left hand stopped against something. You paused and looked over—you weren’t even able to see the paddle of the oar, only the handle you held. You tried to move the oar, but it wouldn’t budge. What could it be stuck on? Even though you couldn’t see, you knew you weren’t at the cove by now, and you were still heading east so you hadn’t drifted back to the plateau. These waters were so deep, there certainly was nothing your oar could be stuck in.

It was when something tugged your oar right out of your hand that you shrieked and jumped so hard that the boat rocked, icy water splashing onto your legs. With your left oar gone, you quickly used your right oar to haphazardly row forward, having to switch it over to the left side to keep going straight, more of the cold water splattering over you. Though you were crippled now with only one oar, you were so afraid that you rowed even faster than you normally would with two oars.

Though your arms ached, you kept rowing as fast as you could until finally the fog started to thin out. You were starting to break out of whatever thick cloud of sea fog you had been stuck in. It felt like you could breathe again when finally you pushed forward completely out of the fog, letting your tired arms go limp as you looked behind you at the cloud of fog. You searched for the silhouette of another boat but saw nothing. What the hell had grabbed your oar?

Turning back around and taking a deep breath, you swiped your forehead with the back of your wrist—now your body was so hot it was steaming in the cold air. Looking ahead, you could finally see the cove just a little ways away.

Glancing to either side of you, you saw nothing but black water. These waters were always dark, mostly because of the black rock and black mud, but it was completely opaque now. All you could see was reflections of the dim grey sky above you and your own face distorted in the lapping water. You wondered what was below it—something that now had your oar, certainly. Shaking your head to rid yourself of the paranoid thoughts, you rowed on to the cove.

The cove was a U-shaped island that looked like a fragmented piece of the plateau your village was on—all black, rocky shores with limited sand, a cluster of dark, woody trees behind it that shielded it from the nothingness of the sea. The shape of the U was wide enough that the cove water leading up to the center of land was deep enough for fish to live. It was the perfect fishing spot, especially the further one went into the cove so that the island’s rocks and trees surrounded them.

Finally, you got to your favorite spot tucked further into the U shape where you were surrounded by the island, and you rowed your boat carefully until it was finally still. You glanced around the island—it was a little spooky in the foggy, dark morning. The trees were blackened, fog stuck all in them. The big rocks were an even darker black from the wet morning, and where there was usually a strip of sand, there was only a bunch of pebbles and rocks that must have been pushed onto shore from the storm. Sometimes, you would sit on the sand and enjoy the quiet alone, but you couldn’t imagine sitting on all those rocky pebbles.

You set up your fishing pole and cast it into the black water, setting the pole against the side of the boat while you opened your fishnet and made it ready for fish. You had even brought a little breakfast along—a pathetic piece of bread with a slice of cheese. Holding the end of your pole between your feet, you relaxed against the boat and ate your bread and cheese.

It took a minute before you got your first bite, bringing up a thick, silvery fish out of the water and tossing it into your net before recasting your pole. You were able to get three fish before suddenly they just stopped biting.

“For fucks’ sake,” you cursed like a sailor, bringing up your pole out of the water to see that something had taken the worm off the hook, even though you didn’t feel a fish bite. “Greedy fuckers. I’m tryin’ to eat, too.” You took another worm from your bowl of bait and stuck it onto the hook.

And then you heard it again.

It was the same shrill voice, but this time, it sounded like an eerie, angelic song. You froze. The voice lilted, echoing through the trees of the cove. This time, it wasn’t just a single note—it was words you could barely make out, but they were there.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya..

Your breath hitched in your throat. You lifted your head, eyes wide, and slowly looked around, seeing nothing but the black faces of the rocks and trees looking back at you.

Ya smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

The voice was beautiful, etching out every syllable of the foreign language like poetry. It echoed over the waters in a whisper, filling your ears like honey. You held your breath. You wanted to ask who was there, who was singing, but there was a buzzing sensation through your body like fear, but something different. It was like the voice was reaching through your ears and into your brain, its angelic fingers scratching and poking and twisting your brain around until you were in a dumb daze.

It was when you noticed something in the corner of your eye that your fear came through more prominently. The water, black and opaque, to the side of your boat was rippling with motion. It wasn’t the bubbles of a fish. It wasn’t movement from your still boat. The water rippled from one end of your boat to the other, pausing between ripples like something was swimming right there. But you couldn’t see anything.

Your lungs ached as your breathing picked up, yet you stayed completely still. You watched the water ripple around the bow of your boat, and down the other side. It was circling you, and it was entirely too large to be a fish.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

The voice came again, filtering through the cove’s forest, over the rocks, right into your ears. You don’t know why, but you found yourself slowly leaning over the boat’s edge, peering into the black water that rippled as something swam below it. Your vision became hazy. Your skin felt numb all over. Your heart pounded dangerously fast.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

You barely processed the sound of something brushing the side of your boat before you felt the hard vibration of something hitting the underside of your boat, something big enough to rock it.

“Woah!” you cried out, grabbing the sides of the rocking boat. You tried to get to your feet, but something hit the underside of your boat again, and it tipped over.

You had never felt such cold. The splash of your body hitting the water, and then the water flooding your ears, deafened you like the sound of glass shattering from inside your head. It struck your entire body like lighting—pure, icy shock and arctic pain. It almost felt like your bones cracked upon impact like a frozen branch falling off a cliff.

You couldn’t move as your body sank under the freezing black water. You opened your eyes, felt the cold freeze over your eyeballs. You saw nothing at first and wondered if you were dead, or even worse, struck blind from the freezing water. When you could finally see dim light filtering through the water, as much light as the cloudy early morning could give, you realized you weren’t blind. But the water was so cold, too cold to move. You tried to move your arms and legs, but you felt stiffened, shot with pain.

As you stared into the sea of black and tried to clench your frozen muscles, you saw a shadow forming in the water beyond. You could do nothing but watch with fear as the shadow formed into an unrecognizable silhouette.

Quickly, you glanced up and could see the shadow of your boat flipped upside down on the water’s surface above you. You didn’t realize how deep down you were. Even if your body was working again, it would take a minute for you to reach your boat.

You looked back in front of you. The shadow was closer now. You attempted to flail your arms and were able to move them a little. You screamed through your closed mouth, your lungs burning for air.

The shadow came into the glare of light in the water, and your scream intensified.

It was a woman, or something like it. A woman’s head, and neck, and chest, and torso, and waist, but right where her hips stopped, something else started. Where her thighs would have been separated and covered with skin, they were welded together and covered with scales. It was some sort of a fish tail attached to where the lower half of her body should’ve been. Instead of skin and legs, she was dark red and black scales on a long tail with a finned end that gently undulated in the water to keep her floating. Her tail almost sparkled in the light. It was so dark, but you could see hints of a deep ruby color between the dark scales. Her chest was bare along with the rest of her upper body. Her hair, a dark brown with reddish tint, bowed above her head in the shape of an obsidian flame. Her arms floated beside her elegantly, and you noticed her fingertips were black.

Then there were her eyes. A deep red like the color of her tail. Too much white between the bottom curve of her pupils and her lower lashes. Darkened around the lids with some sort of black paint. Even in the darkness of the water, the red of her irises caught you. Even in the fear, there was beauty. She was haunting, and her eyes stared you down like you were her food.

A mermaid, you thought. You’d only ever heard of them when the sailors of your town made it back from faraway fishing trips. Everyone had chocked the stories up to oceanic hallucination, but now here you were, face to face with one.

And then she smiled. And her teeth were ivory white, and in the middle of where there were some human teeth, there was rows of sharp fangs like blades. Her smile was uncanny, unsettling, evil.

And then you realized she wasn’t a mermaid.

Another choked, muffled scream bellowed out from your burning chest when she darted forward. You could feel the vibrations in the water when she swished her tail in a boast of strength, her hair darting behind her as she surged forward through the water with ease. Her eyes seemed to darken.

Screaming as much as you could underwater, you suddenly found that your muscles had defrosted with your fear. You swam upwards, kicking and thrashing as much as you could, your body fatigued from the cold and the lack of oxygen. Your muscles burned and quivered as you overworked them, your lungs aching, your throat burning, vision growing dark until finally you burst above the surface, gulping down a large breath of air and several more after that.

You didn’t have much time to breathe because you became aware that the siren was still below you. Looking around, you saw that your boat had floated too far away, and the nearest place you could go was the shoreline several yards away.

Before you could make a break for the shore, you noticed how quiet everything was. The siren could have easily grabbed you by now. You tried to look into the water that splashed up on your chin, but it was still black. A soft mist came down from the bleary sky, further wetting your head.

What if she was right below your feet where they kicked obscurely in the water? What if she grabbed you and dragged you down? Just the mere thought made you start to slowly float your way towards the shore. Maybe the siren was just like a shark, and it was only sudden movement that made her attack.

You kept slowly swimming backwards, craning your head all around to get a comprehensive view of the water’s surface around you. There was nothing. No swishing of water at your feet. No ripples on the surface except the ones you caused. Not even any bubbles.

Was she gone? Had she decided you weren’t worth the trouble? Or were you just hallucinating? Maybe this was the oceanic hallucinations everyone said sailors had. Maybe all that fog had made you paranoid.

Your body was rocking with how icy the water was, though you just felt numb now. You looked behind you at the island, wondering if you could seek shelter in the trees until someone came looking for you, or maybe you could make some sort of flotation device out of something. That was silly. Your best bet would be to go back to your boat and hand-paddle your way back home.

As you turned your head back around towards the direction of your boat, you gasped and froze.

There the siren was. Only the upper half of her head was above the water. You saw her hair, much more reddish now in the light, slick to her head. Her forehead, speckled with droplets of water. Her red eyes that seemed to reflect a glare of red on the surface of the water in front of her. Beyond that, only the bridge of her nose, the end of it under the surface. She was completely still, as if she was standing on flat ground. She was only maybe two feet away from you.

“P-p-p-p,” you tried to speak, but your body was convulsing from the cold, your lips numb and blue. “Please,” you whispered in a croak. It was getting hard to breathe as the harsh cold invaded your blood. You were begging for your life because, in the haze of your hypothermia, you recognized those eyes.

You’d heard stories from the village sailors about a particular siren. You’d seen her image sketched in books. Always those red eyes, that red tail. This wasn’t a mermaid, and she wasn’t just a siren. She was the deadliest ocean creature that all the myths and legends described. She’d instilled fear in children of your parent’s and even your grandparent’s generations just through stories of her malice. She commanded every corner of the seas, and sailors who were superstitious enough always kept an eye out for her during their voyages, lest she take them down.

She wasn’t a mermaid. She wasn’t just a siren.

She was the Scarlet Siren.

Somehow, she knew you recognized her. Maybe it was the look on your face, or the way you froze. She stretched her lips open in a charming yet malicious smile. And then slowly, inch by inch, she slipped under the water.

Letting out a choked scream, you quickly turned back towards the shore and started to swim. Your heart felt like it was going to rip right out of your chest if the Scarlet Siren didn’t do it first.

When you were halfway towards the shore, thrashing the water and letting out choked breaths, you suddenly felt hands grab your ankles and yank you beneath the surface.

You thrashed under the water, your long hair coming undone and floating around your face as you watched the Scarlet Siren come closer to you. You kicked at her so hard that your shoes came off your feet, your foot hitting her tail and feeling the fishy scales there.

The Siren’s hands were climbing up your body, grabbing at your coat and pulling it off as you spiraled in the water, trying to get out of her hold. Finally, you were able to kick her tail hard enough that the force sent you popping above the surface like a fish. You were able to take one gasp of air before she pulled you right back down again.

This time, the Siren growled and nosedived towards your waist, her teeth clamping down on the fabric of your shirt. You squealed as she ripped your shirt off with her teeth, the fabric so easily tearing. The blades of her teeth had caught the skin of your belly, four long scratches bleeding through your pale skin, the blood clouding in the water. The Siren paused at the sight of your blood diffusing in the water, distracted enough for you to kick her in the face so hard that she turned downwards in the water.

You took your chance to swim, popping up through the surface and pushing yourself harder than ever. The shore was right in front of you. Your body ached and the skin of your stomach stung, but you kept going until finally your fingers touched black rock.

Coughing up water, you lifted your body onto the pebbly surface, the blood from the scratches finally able to drip down your skin, the red following the lines of water on your waist. You flopped onto your back and pulled yourself more onto the shore.

You knew it wasn’t over. The Siren’s head popped out of the water, and her hands grabbed your ankles again. You cried out and tried to kick, but she held your legs down as she lifted herself completely out of the water.

You watched the Scarlet Siren crawl over you, her strong arms planting down in the rocks on either side of your head, entrapping you. The shockingly heavy weight of her tail crushed your legs down on the rock, the smell of ocean filling your nostrils. It felt like the end of your life. You thought to yourself, as the Siren laid herself over you, that this was what rabbits felt like with dogs. This is what lambs felt like with lions. Birds with cats. Fish with fishermen. Sailors with sirens.

“Now, what’s a pretty girl like yourself doing all alone out on these waters, hmm?” Her voice was shockingly heavenly, smooth like butter and sweet like a bird’s song. It caught you off guard and somehow made you more afraid. There was also some sort of foreign accent laced in her words, somewhat Slavic. How could a monster like herself look so beautiful and sound so sweet?

You could only make incoherent noises as you watched the Siren’s tail start to morph. It ripped itself apart, and the scales sunk inwards, and the flesh shaped itself into the shape of a human woman’s legs, and pale skin etched itself over them. She was now the sight of a fully human woman, naked and lain over you, except for her razor teeth and red demonic eyes and murderous intent.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked more seriously, her eyes flickering over you. Her underwater tactics left you in only a brassiere and fisherman pants.

You were shaking from the cold, but her body felt surprisingly warm on yours. Fear had overcome you, leaving you dumb and pathetic.

“Please d-don’t kill me,” you cried, tears rushing down your cheeks.

“You didn’t answer me, detka,” she continued calmly, bringing a hand to your chin and holding it. Her skin felt inhumanly smooth. “Do you know who I am?”

Breathing heavily, you squeezed your eyes shut. “The S-Scarlet Siren.”

The Siren puckered her lips. “What a demeaning term. My scales are more maroon, don’t you think? My name is Wanda.” She paused, pressing the pad of her thumb into the dimple on your chin. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”

You didn’t answer. She trailed her hand down your stomach, smearing the blood there before she grabbed hold of your pants. Sitting back on her knees, she started to yank them down. Instinctively, you fought her, trying to kick her away.

“Stop!” you screamed loud enough that a few birds from the forest cawed and fluttered. The Siren pursed her lips and used her strength to pull your pants off, but you flopped onto your stomach like a fish and started frantically crawling away.

“Stop it, human,” she growled, grabbing the back of your thighs and dragging you back down the rocks. Using the opportunity, she ripped the last of your clothing off, your brassiere, and threw it to the side. Grabbing you by your wet hair, she turned you back onto your back and lowered down. You were face-to-face with her now, about to try and push her off until she opened her mouth.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya.

YA smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

It was the song you’d heard earlier, before your boat tipped. But as she sang it this time, that buzzing feeling within you grew stronger. Her honey-like voice lilted in your ears as she sang, and you found yourself leaning upwards. Her red eyes, glowing now, watched you tremble as you weakly lifted yourself, your own eyes growing wide as she entranced you. You were very easy for her.

Smiling through her song, she snaked her arm under your waist and easily lifted you up, pressing your bare body to hers. You were so cold against her, so feeble and weak. Your eyes trained on her lips, your irises glowing red from her magic flowing within you. She could feel your mind breaking down, letting her in, growing weaker and weaker. Finally, you closed your eyes and leaned up to kiss her. The Siren held your head with her large hand and kissed you softly, her lips smooth and slippery.

Her song was how she got her victims, but her kiss was how she trapped them. You were under her will now.

Breaking the kiss slowly, the Siren laid you gently back down on the rock. “It’s much easier when you’re calmer, detka. Now, tell me your name.”

“Y/n,” you whispered inaudibly, but the Siren’s ears were trained enough to hear you.

“Y/n,” she repeated in her lilting voice, smiling with her sharp teeth. “You’re the prettiest one I’ve ever caught, y/n.”

Her eyes raked down your limp body that she held in her arm, her free hand pressing against the bloody scratches on your tummy. She gathered some of your blood on her blackened finger and lifted it up to her mouth, sucking your blood off her long finger. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head like a reptile.

Though you felt paralyzed, there was still some consciousness left in your head. You were starting to realize that there was a reason sailors didn’t let their women on their boats, and that the reason was hovering over you.

“You’re right, beautiful girl,” she purred, “But don’t even think about those other human women. You’re the best one of them all.” Her voice had an edge of malice, and it was sickening to hear it through the sweet, complimentary tone.

Her red eyes flickered back to the scratches on your tummy, and she leaned down, letting her long, snaky tongue slither out of her mouth and onto the scratches, licking up your blood. Her breath fanned over the expanse of your stomach, covered in goosebumps. Her hands gripped either side of your ribcage as she grazed her mouth over your stomach, landing on a spot off to the side before digging her teeth into your flesh.

“Ah!” you screamed out, feeling all the blades of her teeth stab into you. She let go, revealing a bloody bite mark on your torso.

“So sweet and fresh,” she growled.

A particular wave of water came up aggressively onto the shore, rolling over her ankles and causing scales to appear before the water receded and human skin covered it again.

The Siren moved to your chest, her large hand grabbing one of your tits and squeezing while she rolled her long, thin tongue over your nipple, her siren eyes flashing up at you. You squirmed, whimpering from the pain but also from another uncontrollable emotion. You were entranced by her, under her will, and had no control over any feeling she gave you emotionally or physically.

Moving her mouth to your other breast, she sunk her teeth into the mound of flesh, causing you to cry out again. You attempted to lift your arms to fight back, but she quickly snatched them and pinned them to the sharp rocks.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya.

YA smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

She sang again, her voice filling you as she gave you more bites between each lyric, blood now dripping down your sides. You were dizzy, from the blood or the trance or the entire situation, and helpless. Your blood was smeared across the entire lower half of her face, dripping from her chin, staining her razor teeth as she grinned. It was so strange, seeing a monstrous look on such a seductive, beautiful woman.

When the Siren glided her tongue down the center of your stomach, you felt a twitch within you. When her hands gripped your hips and scratched downward, coming to grab your tender thighs and spread them open, you obliged. You felt hotter now, as if steam would start rising out of your body into the cold air. There were already billows of fog coming out of your lips with each breath.

“Such a delicate angel,” the Siren purred at you as she lowered her body down. As she settled her elbows over your thighs, her legs tucked back into the water. The waves gushed over her bottom and onto her lower back, and when it receded, she had a tail again, halfway resting in the water, the crimson fin on the very end flipping up in the water instinctively.

You were naked, bleeding on the rocks, being overtaken by a Siren, the Scarlet Siren no less, but you felt overcome with a pleasurable sensation. It was a mix between drunken and sexual as the Siren licked her tongue over your thighs.

When she had you to a point of gyrating your hips for her, she finally put her mouth over your core, sucking on your sensitive nub immediately. You cried out, grabbing onto rocks as she suckled on you, causing arousal to already slowly gush out of you.

Her tongue was long and thin and bumpy, so when she lapped it over your slit and then pushed it deep inside you, you nearly went blind. She snaked her tongue in and out of her, her hands grabbing your thighs harshly as she forced your legs open wider, moaning onto your clit. She seemed hungry, ravenous, as she devoured you, and you felt the terrifying hardness of the very edge of her teeth almost hitting your sensitive skin every once in a while. You could tell that she had done this before, and you wondered what number you were going to be in the list of women she had killed.

“Ah!” you cried out, feeling yourself coming close already. The feeling was something entirely different, and before you knew it, you were clenching around her tongue and crying out, your body arching off the rocks.

“So delicious,” the Siren hissed when she retracted her tongue, staying where she was between your legs while you panted and squirmed. “And so tight.”

Without warning, she placed four fingers in a row at your entrance. You swallowed hard, your consciousness breaking through a little to fight back by thrashing around. You tried to close your legs, but she was amazingly strong.

The Scarlet Siren opened her mouth to sing her song, and you relaxed involuntarily. You could only scream when she forced four of her fingers into you. The pain was dizzying, along with all the blood you’d lost, and you were halfway unconscious as she stretched your cunt out around her fingers, forcing you to take all four of her unnaturally long digits. Your walls resisted, but she kept thrusting, lapping up any arousal and blood along the way. She bit into your thigh, rubbed her face in the wound and curled her fingers inside you, watching you tremble and squirm dumbly.

You finally started to come to when the pain went away, pleasure taking over. The stretch felt otherworldly, her tongue flicking your clit and lapping at it, fingers pumping deep and hard into you so that it was all you could feel. Besides the gentle waves of the water near you, all you could hear was the squelching noises that she committed on you. She devoured you and fucked you eagerly, hungrily, like an animal, becoming more and more carnal the more she had of you.

When your second climax crashed over you and you convulsed uncontrollably, whimpering and screaming and thrashing, the Siren chuckled victoriously between your thighs.

When the climax left you, your body dropped limp on the rocks. Your vision went blurry, and all you could see was red eyes hovering over you staring at you, and the dark crimson of blood on her face.

“You did so good, detka,” she lilted, caressing your cheek with her soft hand. “I think I’ll keep you.”

Fortunately for you, you could feel nothing but bliss. It was the Siren’s entrancement on you that made you feel heavenly as she took hold of one of your ankles and dragged you into the water like a dead fish, swimming away into the black and taking you with her.

Your abandoned boat still floated upside down a ways off from the shore. The cloud of fog was still on the sea’s surface, crowding into the cove. The water washed away your blood from the rocks.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #siren #siren!wanda #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #lesbian #marvel #lgbt #wanda maximoff x f!reader

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1800titz · 2 months

Text

The vacay piece I teased ages ago. One night stand :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, oral, brief size kink (if you squint), praise kink, this one’s p vanilla.

WC: 2.5K

It starts like this:

A bohemian beach with a high riding tide, where ripples surge and flood the shore. Sand tears from its home, coasting the verge in the breeze like a fog under the overcast, and when the clouds split open, the rays hug her skin.

She’s sprawled over a chaise lounge in a little red thing that’s all skimp and no cover besides the intimates. When she rolls onto her side and tips to her tummy, he eyes the flash of skin behind dark tint. His arms brace over the porcelain border of the pool that overlooks the beach up ahead — he’s watchful from a distance. Someone swims up to the bar behind him. Chlorine laps at his back, teeming over the grout between the tiles as he wraps his lips over a straw and nurses something cobalt and strong.

By the time he culls a second one, she’s up, all glistening skin in the sunshine, hips swaying as her toes make doughy prints in the sand. She trails to the sea, and the ocean eats her until she’s just a little silhouette in front of his sunglasses with water-slicked hair and lines that cinch and swell in all the right places.

He sees her like that, outlying his bubble, in brief pieces like the flashes of skin. Fragments in the horizon, like the border of a stranger’s leg in the background of a photograph. He sees her in slivers where eyes interlock from across the room and linger. This bohemian summer is painted in teal, and it’s waves swathing the coast, warm skin coated in cocoa butter.

It ends on a night where the teal metamorphose indigo, and then nearly denim, with orange on cords, glinting like miniaturized, splintered orbs of the sun have been caught to glare forever on strings in the night. Harry sees her through that indigo, this stranger’s bare leg waltzing in the depths of his touristy snapshot, mingling in the dancing horde. He trails closer, shouldering through the throng and squeezing through in polite gaps, and she twists like it’s fate — just enough to smuggle a glimpse in her peripherals.

Eventually, Harry leans in to murmur, “What are you drinking?”

The plush of his mouth ghosts over the cartilage there, and his cadence smooths over like honey, low and deep over the pounding bass of the music. Waned tobacco and spice; a warm, pleasant musk in the flurry of scents.

She doesn’t immediately respond, observant like she’s weighing whether the invitation is worth entertaining. It only takes a second. Then, there’s a hand over his pec, like she’s already made friends with the filth of his intentions. His red-lycra-skimp mystique rolls up on her toes.

Harry twists his head just enough for her to respond, “It’s a Blue Lagoon.”

Saccharine — rich and lux and smooth, something that has her skin glowy and sweeps up her throat, tucks behind her ear, enough so that the scent billows off with the motion of her hair as she flips it over her shoulder.

Harry casts his gaze to the drink. A red straw is tucked into the ice, and the only remnants of the beverage mingle at the bottom. The ice shimmers in faded teal, much like water sloshing over the flat tides. Her fingers cradle over the cup, and that’s where soft, thin lines of gold coil. Despite the broad array, there’s no wedding band.

“Can I grab you another?”

That’s when she does the thing; this patently flirtatious, brazenly get-under-my-crocheted-midi-skirt sort of thing, lashes coy in their sweep and eyes innocuous as the tips of her manicured fingers pinch at the straw and siphon it to her mouth. There’s an elegant presentation to the polish — neat, short lines with a nude base and a white tip.

The remnants of the beverage vanish until all that’s left is crushed ice painted with blue curaçao. Harry watches the straw. He watches her lips, the way they unlatch and the way the pink tip of her tongue offers a glimpse before it hides away behind her front teeth.

When she pulls the drink away, she tips her head — an inclination for his ear again — and when he ducks his chin for her answer, she tells him, “Can you make it worth my time?”

A tongue swipes — his — like it’s already hungry and yearning. Dimples form beside the curling edges of a mouth after the pink muscle retreats. Home in its hungry cavern; limitlessly craving. He doesn’t bother going for her ear again, instead opting to fix eyes that have wandered, all week, onto her face. Definitive, close. Mesh of saccharine and spice.

“I’ll make it worth your time,” Harry assures.

His eyes are virid, even in the indigo, under all the miniature suns as the lanterns throw them back into a roll of blue — it climbs over the crowd and seeps with the music. They’re virid and intent. They’re virid, and there’s something lewd that dances in the mottled talc.

She watches him. A set of eyes flits to his mouth and stays, brief like a fragment. She nudges the cup — the fragment splinters and fades — extending it against his chest until he raises his hand and his ring clad digits curl over it slowly, wet with condensation.

“Blue Lagoon,” sweet mystique reminds him, a little curl to her mouth.

Harry heads to the bar. He orders a Blue Lagoon and refreshes his tequila. Double. He winds through the half-clad crowd, prodding and slipping through sweat-slicked bodies until he finds her again.

He makes it worth her while when they’re dancing, when her arms are slung over his shoulders and the tips of her fingers graze at the little curls at his nape, like an intimacy beyond a summer fling, or maybe like a restless hunger — its touches only test the waters with dips of toes under lapping ripples. He makes it worth her while when his hand cups the meat of her hip, and she tips her head up for their mouths to meet, when their dancing slows and the kiss turns feverish, cushiony mouths teasing at the seams until they split.

He makes it worth her time when they make the stroll back to his room, heels clicking over tile and bouncing off from lofty wall to lofty wall, a good bit of distance between them strictly for the sake of avoiding shagging in the middle of a hallway. He makes it worth her while when he braces his wrist band to the lock over the door, when she’s leant against the wall with her irises lingering on him and her lashes batting coyly. She’s well-behaved, hands tucked behind her back like a combat to handsy temptation.

It’s a different story behind the door.

He makes it worth her while when her fingers toy at her crocheted halter, index perusing at the fabric below cleavage and brushing over chalky yarn. He makes it worth her time when he steps into her space all slow-like, face tipped down and the pink below his cupid’s bow worked into a soft curve, lengthy, deft digits working over the buttons of his shirt. An untamed tendril teases over one of his brows. Her hands meander from fondling at her own tits, at rogue pieces of yarn in the stitches, to straying up his ink-etched forearms. That’s when he lets her take over the work, when his arms snake over the vale of her waist. When his colossal hands cup lower, when he nudges forward and their mouths brush again. He licks into her mouth and rolls into the gap between her teeth.

Filthy kisses are shrouded behind closed doors, even in the easy ambience of a resort. Furlough on the greedy pursuit of pleasure, on some secluded island with crystalline waters, plus tequila — that’s practically a petri dish for hook up culture. But filthy kisses are saved for the bedroom, and there it’s taste buds doused in citrus limon and gray goose, a tip of a tongue swiping along a row of teeth, basking in the ridges.

“What do you like, little minx?” Harry murmurs. He climbs the column of her throat with the ruddy border of a hungry cavern, and her pulse murmurs back under his mouth. “Hm?”

The blunt tip of his forefinger traces her collarbone, follows a line of cleavage, toys at the cinch in her top; unravels her. It splits down the center, and the straps follow limply down her shoulders. Harry pinches a nipple and scrapes his teeth over her neck, humming again.

Behind closed doors, his red-lycra-mystique (bare, her tits are bare now, in the backdrop of his picture) gets denuded to flesh when she shimmies the dress down her hips. He helps her and then tears his own shirt over his head. It’s hasty, like disrobing takes too much time from a place where time moves slower, riding the water in leisure. Harry still doesn’t know her name, and she slips to her knees, batting her lashes, and takes his buckle apart like unslotting puts the last of the puzzle pieces together.

When her tongue rides under the ridge of his tip, delving and dragging over the prominent vein jutting on the underside of his shaft, he cranes his neck back and makes a sound like she’s torn into his chest with the tips of her french-polished manicure. He punctuates every pornographic, wet sound with dialogue.

“Christ, you’re a dream.”

“Fuck, you’re pretty with cock in your mouth.”

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that, sweetheart.”

“—Y/N,” red-lycra-mystique supplies, gaze bouncing from the twist of her wrists at his base to his face, and then sweeps his bubbling head over her bottom lip and swallows him down halfway.

“Y/N,” Harry mirrors, tone bathed in the same sweetness she radiates at his feet.

And then she trails the very tips of her blunt nails up his sac, and the shiver that rolls up his spine short-circuits every feasible attempt of formulating something in english. Just… gone. Something splinters.

Harry doesn’t cum all over her tongue, despite the pretty mental image he’d cherish of Y/N on her knees with ribbons of silky white coating the insides of her mouth. He thinks about the way he’d dip the pad of his thumb against her tongue, the way he’d stir and scrub it in. He thinks about her lips latching and her cheeks hollowing.

He’s got immense willpower, particularly when she takes him all the way down until her nose nearly brushes the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair the tributary of his happy trail pools into. Because then, she pulls off, chin sloppy with saliva, mouth wide, and stares up at him with this wickedly indelicate curl to the corners of her mouth as she gasps in breaths. Like she wants him to.

Instead, they make it to the bed. He splits her thighs with his palms and spits where she’s puffy and warm, leaky with longing, toying at the seam of her hole with his digits. Smooths the wetness with his thumb when he tucks two fingers in and laves his tongue at the crease between her inner thigh and her cunt. He bumps her clit with the tip and rolls, and her spine arches like the highest point of her torso peaks at the clouds of nirvana.

“You’re a good girl,” Harry tells her, and his voice is so soft, like he’s reassuring an animal that’s backed itself into a corner, “Want you to drench my face.”

And she does, because when he holds a placid, unwavering hand out and talks her so sweetly, lips suckling in a vacuumed ‘o’ between her thighs, what can she do besides roll her hips against his mouth in little, desperate juts, face creased before bliss spumes through every major artery.

When Harry sits back, his chin is sticky, glinting in the buttery cast of the lanterns drilled into the ceiling. He kisses her again until her jaw is stained with her own slick, and despite the entire basis of a one night stand, his tongue meddles into her mouth with the same passion of a man carving a piece of her open. A cozy lacuna just for him in the depths of her chest, something that’ll linger and yearn. A hungry chasm that’ll grumble when her cunt pulses — when he’s not there to fill it. She’ll think of him; a stranger’s leg flitting like a passing speck in the background of her photograph.

Y/N’s cunt hugs him like it can’t get enough.

Eventually.

Because at first, it’s: too big, won’t fit, pleated brows when he’d split her spongy walls apart on the latex-coated tip, stretching to tuck in and hovering to imbibe in miniature ticks of her expression. A twitch in her lashes, a shift in the line of her mouth, a little swallow bobbing down the column of her throat.

“You’re a good girl,” he’d crooned, smoothing a thumb over a rib and then her clit, just to see her squirm more over his cock.

Eventually, she clambers over his lap, planting her palms back over inky, firm muscle. It’s leverage as she bounces to fill that starving cavity — the one he’d drilled with his tongue, like the shape of him can fill every square inch of space before they never see each other again. Hungry, hungry, hungry.

“Come on, baby, come on,” Harry coaxes, a low groan mottled with breathy pants, “—Shit.”

Momentarily, he pauses the guiding grasp he’s got over her hips to drag the pad of his thumb over his tongue lewdly, smearing spit over the digit and swiping circles over her clit, instead. In response, the rolling pace Y/N has set stutters, knees jolting, and her mussed hair spills off her shoulder as she cranes her neck back.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yes, yes, yes—“

His eyes flit from her cunt to the ethereal line of her neck, the borders of her shoulders, the shape of her tits bouncing.

Ultimately, of course, his gaze winds back down to ogle where they connect, because that’s the view — that’s where she swallows his cock, thighs splayed and trembling, gliding from the tip until about midway before rising and repeating the cycle. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. He draws his thumb lower, lets it meddle where they merge, where her hole flutters and rolls over him, gleaning the sticky arousal that coats his shaft and bringing the pad of it back to her clit. His eyes linger. Flicker up. Return to watch her ride and nearly roll back into his head.

He’s carved the void, and later, when she tips forward and her nails scrape over his pecs, feral, she whittles her own. Later, the space between his thighs aches and heats. Something pulses on the underside of his balls. It yearns for blue curaçao, pellucid, crashing waters, and a skimpy red bikini.

#harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles one shots #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader

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peachesofteal · 3 months

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Dad!John Price/female reader The Ocean anthology Note: The orcas mentioned in this series are based on a real population. Coolest things on this planet.

The strait is quiet.

Fog rolls across glass, painting grey sea smoke on top of clear, hyaline waters, mirror images cast from horizon to cliff. It’s a prehistoric stillness, the kind that’s sung low in the belly of this passage for millions of years, volcanos and glaciers all doing their worst, their best, to shape and carve this land to be as it’s known now.

Granitic wall looms above and below, plummeting into the earth beneath you until the water is too deep to see where it ends and hell begins, water and plants and light refracting into a teal green color. painting the pitch something most only see in magazines. It stretches tall too, forms the base of the islands, of all the land that flanks the strait, and you have to crane your neck to see where rock ends and soil begins.

It’s a marvel onto itself, but you’re not here for the geology.

Where are they?

Your paddle dips, pushes, forging a path through the quiet, preternatural stillness, wrists to ribs moving with hypnotic pace. Left, right, left, right. Dig. Dip. Your lungs burn, muscles ache, and still you paddle, up and down the coast, maintaining your determined pace in the face of exhaustion, forcing yourself past the brink of logic and reason, as always, in the pursuit of passion. You focus on your breath, on the cold, settling it in your bones, falling into the beautiful rhythm that is paddling, cold sea spray dripping down to your gloves.

It’s easy to get lost in the quiet of the water. The fog and the cliffs crowd inwards, silent watchers of a sacred place, protectors of a balance long disturbed and derailed everywhere else in this world. Your paddle strokes in perfect time, kayak cutting through the eerie mists and propelling you forward, focus fixed on the horizon, looking, listening. Waiting. You simmer in the silence, straining to hear the telltale blow of air, the signal of surfacing.

Nothing comes.

Where are they?

Salmon jump in front of the kayak, shattering the serenity in their wriggling flight.

The residents elude you. You say good morning to an otter, a sea lion the size of two men, some curious Dall’s porpoise, but are left bereaved at the noticeable absence of the pods.

It’s the first day. It’s okay, it’s only the first day.

The alarm on your watch goes off, just as the lighthouse, affectionately named Little Rock, looms ahead, faded and chipped green paint calling you back to the cove, a glacial breeze whipping under your goretex and neoprene, cutting to the quick, right down to flesh and bone.

Time’s up.

“Did you see them?!” Aly bounces on her toes at the edge of the dock, running alongside the pace of your paddling.

“No.” Your tone is light, but you don’t hide the disappointment, and she smiles sadly, sympathetically. What a smart kid.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“Are you coming in now?” You nod, motioning to the beach, and she skips ahead, running down the steps onto where millions of little pearled rocks give way under her feet, echoing the same as you run the fiberglass bottom of your kayak aground, popping your legs out on either side.

“I know you wanted to see them.” Her eyes are wide and a little fearful. You frown.

“I’ve got all year, I’ll see them. Don’t worry.” The assurance is tepid, but present, and she shrugs.

“You should ask my dad. He knows where they are a lot.”

“Oh yeah?” You could try. She nods, excited, shiny dark braids gleaming in the mid-morning sun. You glance around, looking for an adult, or someone who accompanied here down here, but there’s no one, and you chew on it, pulling your boat higher up than the tide will reach today. “Shouldn’t you like, be in school or something?”

“I do school online.” She rolls her eyes, gap tooth grin stretched across her face. “It’s for gifted kids but I always finish early.”

“Does your dad know you’re running around this place unsupervised?” She shakes her head, and then sobers, glancing towards the woods.

“I’m not unsupervised.” What? You look the same direction, but all you see is the shadow of the forest, darkness so thick you’re not sure you could see your way in broad daylight.

A chill traces your spine, ice cold and cautious, slow in its discovery, pressing against your skin like it’s moving under your clothes. You gasp, whirling and-

There’s nothing. Only the lapping of the tide, the gentle waves that rake through the shore. Your beached boat. Remnants of the morning’s mists.

Must’ve been the wind.

The Ranger’s daughter giggles. You raise an eyebrow, and then motion up the hill.

“Want to head back with me then?”

“Aly!” The Ranger’s voice reaches you, even a hundred meters away. She sprints ahead of you, and your stomach twists, iced over fear spreading through your veins.

He’s going to freak. He already hates you and now he’s going to think you kidnapped his kid or something.

“Where have you been?”

“Down at the water.” She kicks a rock, beaming. One of his too wide palms sweeps over her forehead, moustache and lips kicking to the side with a sigh.

“Not supposed to be down there on your own, remember?”

“I wasn’t.” She stands tall with her insistence, and proudly points at you. “I was with her.”

John straightens. He stares at you with a scrutiny that you’ve never felt, an intense pressure building behind your eyes, in your thighs, incinerating all the muscle in your body until you’re sure to explode.

The silence is painful, and Aly hops from one foot to another.

“You find ‘em?” There’s no softness in his eyes for you, only a hard edge, hand coming to rest on his daughter’s shoulder.

“No.” You think he’ll turn away then, drift away in the wake of this encounter, but he holds you steady there, caught between him and the earth, crushing weights on either side. It’s unnerving, this stranger, this Ranger, a moon to a tide, and you swallow when he finally speaks, it’s with that rich timbre, the accent that twists you up in boundless knots.

“They make you earn it.”

“You should sleep with your window open.” Aly pipes up, and John’s mouth twitches.

“You can hear them in the cove, in the middle of the night.” He explains. “They hunt and play in the shallow off the beach pretty often. Though it’s too cold to be sleeping with your window open.” The last piece is serious, like a warning, but you’re already vibrating with anticipation, attention fixed through the trees, like you can see down the hill to the harbor.

When you turn back, John is watching you. Hard muscle and tone turned dulcet, there’s less shadow in his eyes, replaced by something wild, willful.

There for a second. Gone in the next.

“Well I’ve… work to do.” Paltry effort. It sticks in your mouth the way this man has stuck to your mind, lurking and wandering, leaving you wondering what he's doing on the other side of your bedroom wall, your living room. Wondering what he’s like, what he’s really like, under the clipped and caustic words, the churlish airs swirling around him whenever he lays eyes on you. He’s the definition of surly, and the reluctance to interact with you stings, even though you shove it down. Secrets lay beneath his ribs, you have no doubt, protected by his thick coat and wide frame, a mass of tenured muscle and strength visible under the heaviest wool.

He nods.

You turn your back.

"Leave a note, when you're goin' out." He's got Aly in hand, halfway up his side of the porch, breath fogging in the space between your bodies. "Shouldn't be out alone, without anyone knowing, alright?"

Leave a note.

"Alright."

#more vibes and not much else #John price #john price x reader #the ocean anthology

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tangibletechnomancy · 1 month

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Doing It Wrong On Purpose: Episode 1 - The Un-Ship

Today's experiment: What happens if I prompt for something, and then negative prompt all the main keywords, plus various synonyms and related words?

The answer: Some gloriously weird stuff.

For example, let's look at a negative cat:

Positive prompt: A cat on a windowsill during a storm

Negative prompt: Cat, feline, felidae, kitty, kitten, animal, pet, windowsill, window, glass, pane, house, storm, rain, water, lightning, thunder, clouds, torrent, downpour, snow, blizzard, wind, windy

Interesting! Let's get a little more fantasy with it and try for an anti-deer:

Positive prompt: A deer in a peaceful flowery meadow, crystals, midnight, fantasy, colorful

Negative prompt: Deer, cervidae, animal, elk, moose, stag, doe, fawn, reindeer, antelope, cervid, antlers, flowers, night, dark, trees, foliage, bloom, stars, night, tranquil, fantastic, vibrant, cool, magic, blue, moon, sky, crystal, stone, statue, topiary, floral, blossom

Between these two experiments, including a few dozen other generations that remain unposted, one thing I can say for sure is that for living subjects, it's a great way to get the kind of anatomical wonk that older models are (in)famous for - and it makes sense why, the model is trying to make something that looks like a certain subject...but once it starts to look too much like it, well, shit, we told it NOT to do that! Break something up! Given that I love that kind of wonk, I think I've found a useful tool for myself.

One more living subject, and let's get even more abstract with our direction here:

Positive prompt: mind horse

Negative prompt: horse, equine, colt, filly, mare, stallion, bronco, pony, mind, brain, thought, essence, psyche, intelligence, consciousness, imagination, dream, soul, visualization, intellect, wit, cognizance

Now let's try something that isn't alive. One thing I love AI for is surreal settings and landscapes - lets try one now!

Positive prompt: A magic palace garden made of crystal and gold

Negative prompt: Palace, magic, crystal, gold, fantasy, castle, estate, stronghold, temple, garden, flowers, plants, blossoms, bloom, blooms, trees, grass, stems, foliage, leaves, greenery, branches, bush, bushes, hedge, hedges, metal, luxury, stone, glass, brass, rose, polished, jewel, prism, courtyard

I then tried to see if, learning from the animal subjects, I could make it more likely to return one of my favorite "mistakes" - making it impossible to discern the point where a water area ends and a sky area begins. I wasn't immediately successful, but I came up with some results I found pleasing regardless-

Positive prompt: Secret hideout in a cave behind a waterfall in the foggy forest on a floating sky island in fluffy clouds

Negative prompt: hideout, camp, campsite, home, abode, house, dwelling, rest, shelter, waterfall, water, cave, grotto, forest, woods, woodland, trees, fountain, cascade, pond, stream, lake, river, brook, puddle, creek, pool, beach, ocean, sea, cloud, clouds, sky, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus, fog, storm, rain, sunshower, falls

It seems that with landscapes it's got a much clearer and more specific "idea" of what a [SUBJECT] without [SUBJECT] looks like; it's more inclined to invent very specific, very consistent unasked for related elements. With the animals, I was tweaking the weight on the positive prompt to avoid getting straightforwardly just what I had positive (and negative) prompted, but with landscapes, I just get... almost something else entirely.

So how about inanimate objects? Let's try a ship, perhaps?

Positive prompt: A huge sailing ship with brilliant prismatic crystal sails on a stormy, turbulent sea of sunset clouds

Negative prompt: ship, boat, sailboat, sailing ship, pirate ship, galleon, ketch, schooner, sloop, cutter, sail, sea, ocean, storm, wind, rain, water, waves, cloudy, clouds, fog, sunset, dusk, dawn, sunrise, twilight, evening

...okay, I'm in love with the un-ship. It truly does manage to consistently give me results that look like, yet entirely unlike, a ship. It is everything I love about AI as a medium. More than that, it is my friend.

At lower positive prompt weights, they only get even more beautifully chaotic.

I want to live on one of these (in an alternate universe where they're geometrically possible and structurally sound, that is).

Failing that, I will be featuring them a lot from now on.

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

#ai art #generated art #simple stable #stable diffusion

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killedpink · 1 year

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이 펠릭스 | cloud nine.

🎧 masterlist !?

🌀 synopsis: to wind down after an eventful day at the beach, you and felix share a smoke underneath the moonlight and watch the waves collide as the world goes by. one turns into two until you're both giggling and so insatiably horny for the other that you fuck just a few feet away from the ocean.

📖 word count: 4.8K

🌊 contains: unestablished relationship, smoking, drug use, shotgunning (trading smoke via kissing), high sex, beach sex, hair pulling, spit kink, slight handjob, fingering, marking, multiple orgasms, creampie, oral sex, cum consumption.

in the entirety of your memories, you could not recall a single one where you felt the way you did in this moment. the salty, clear ocean air in your lungs, the moonlight on your face, the warm temperature making everything just right. there was an edge of anticipation inside of you, eagerly awaiting felix to finish rolling up, watching as his hands were directly in front of you, his arms pressed snugly on top of yours.

you felt the soft vibration of his bare chest as he hummed along to the song playing, slow paced and dreamlike. you leaned into him, watching intently as his head peeked into your vision, his wet tongue quickly licking the thin paper to make them stick. "open." he mumbled, two fingers holding onto the stick, tapping the thinner end to your lips. they parted slightly, and felix sat it between your lips, his hand groping the sand beneath him to find the lighter. once he found it, he held the flame to the end. automatically, you inhaled, the scent of the smoke quickly overcoming your senses, washing out the scent of salt water that lingered in the atmosphere around you. felix's fingers were still holding onto the joint, taking it away from your mouth, urging you to exhale, slowly breathing the smoke out of your mouth, in wispy clouds and quickly dispersing in the air.

"that feel good, love?" felix asked, pressing a kiss to your hair and wrapping both his arms around your shoulders, his skin still damp from the ocean. his voice was low, both quiet and deep, only serving to give you goosebumps as you felt every rumble of his chest, every swallow of his throat and the unsubtle caressing of your legs. you turned your head to see him properly, watching as he lifted the joint to his plump, sharply carved lips with his index and middle finger, both of which were decorated in rings that glistened ever so slightly in the night sky; as if the silver metal was whispering it's secrets to you through the pale moonlight.

the sound of the flame being coaxed further down the joint was just barely audible to your ears, the crackling sounds emitting from felix's lips. you took it back, twisting even further to reach felix, your lips sliding over his, enveloping his top lip into your warm mouth, following his lead as he opened his mouth, exhaling the smoke into your own mouth, tasting so deliciously sweet on your tongue, burning down your throat and making your mind so addictingly fuzzy. the scent clings to felix's dirty blond hair, still dripping with water onto his shoulders and forehead, water catching in his ear piercings.

even without properly exhaling, the smoke still escaped from between the both of you, expanding around you like fog and pulling you even further into felix, your chest flush against his, the only thing between you being your swimsuit, wet and clinging to your skin like it needed your lungs to forget how to breathe — although they did that in felix's presence regardless if your swimsuit was clutching at your skin or not. your hands wrap around his shoulders, pads of your fingers ghosting over his muscles, tracing his collarbones and spine, shimmying closer to him, the sand beneath you lifting off of the earth and onto your wet skin.

taking a puff, you held the joint to your lips, facing the open sea, appearing black without the sunlight illuminating its waters, constantly swaying with the tides, flecks of sea breeze catching in your hair that swayed in the wind. you brought it to felix's lips, holding the joint for him and being rewarded with a groan of content leaving his lips, lazy and dragged on, doing nothing to help the electric in your veins from dispersing. instead, you giggled at the noise, leaving a slight smoke trail as you leaned down into felix, nibbling at his neck and resting your head on the juncture where his shoulder met his neck. you could somehow still smell his cologne on his skin, citrus and spice and cinnamon on his body. you let your teeth graze his golden skin, hearing him gasp each time you caught on a sensitive spot like his adam's apple, or the base of his neck. he held what was left of the joint in his mouth, your hand descending onto his clothed cock, your palm cupping him through his wet briefs from the swim prior, feeling him harden under your merciful, eager touch.

"you're killing me, angel," felix hissed, his cock twitching as your fingers circled his dripping head, his hips bucking to chase your touch, urging you to touch him more. you hear the bass in his moans from his husky voice, you feel the way his head slowly tilts back, his throat and jaw on display for you to mark with kisses and bites, all the while your open palm fondles and gropes his weeping, heavy cock that caused his briefs to tent up from his erection, the wet material clinging to his cock and almost making the silhouette decipherable. you could never forget his cock, either way. he was beautifully thick, his head a blushed pink at all times, his length impressive enough to see genuine stars when he pushes into you all the way to his hilt.

you straddled felix, fully intending to ride him, gratefully taking the last puff of the joint before the stub was extinguished in the sand. now unoccupied, felix busies his hands with the string of your bikini, making quick work of the knot he tied, his hands gravitating towards every inch of your sea claimed body. his palms travelled up your spine, rounding out and groping your bare, damp breasts, smearing slightly coarse sand onto your skin, just barely noticeable thanks to the cool metal of his rings, following the dip of your waist and the swell of your hips devotedly, resting comfortably onto your ass, palming the flesh into his hands and kneading it. your wet lips trailed even wetter kisses over his chest, taking note of the few freckles that stained his chest, your ears trained to catch every sweet, grin inducing groan felix let emit from his mouth, his pillowy lips almost always parting to let the sound amplify, contesting against the crashing waves of the shore a few feet away.

he tucked a leg between yours, expertly adjusting his weight to tip you over onto the sand, pulling your legs from out under you as he hovered above you. paired with your already spacey mind, it took you a lot longer than usual to adjust to the new position. "oh, fuck you," you grinned, your hands cupping his cheeks as he grinned right back, his nose scrunched, eyes shut and pink lips curved into a smile, accentuating the shadow on his sharp cupid's bow. you both simultaneously met each other as you leaned in to kiss, your bottom lip caught between his teeth, smoke on his breath (and probably yours, too), his damp blond hair brushing against your forehead, his tongue hot against yours, his warm spit just barely leaking into your mouth. his arms caged you in, the curve of his bicep muscles on both sides of your head, giving you a perfect view of his toned, golden body.

you moved not unlike the waves next to you, swaying into each other despite neither of you standing, leaning into each other's bodies and rolling your hips, felix rolling his head — his neck on display, colliding into each other so extremely that the air was knocked out of your lungs, breathless and gasping for oxygen. felix gripped you hungrily, drowning into your touch as if you weaved a heaven of love with your smoke tender mouth, solely made for him to get lost in. and lose himself, he did.

the devotion felix dedicated to you was present in the kiss, tasting raw on his tongue, smearing your lips and mouth with his hunger. everything was warm, and inviting, the sounds of the sea drowning out and sounding so far away from you as if you were floating, as if felix stripped you of your humanity and set you free with an endearing kiss against your lips. his hands explored your body, palms of his sand embedded hands sweetly caressing your bare legs, sensing the way your heart sped up under your skin, tip of his nose nuzzling into your throat, feeling his trembling eyelashes on your damp skin as he blinked slowly. your hand fell to the ground beneath you, trying to find a rolled joint felix made just a few minutes prior.

"light?" you muttered, still trapped beneath him. you watched intently as felix sits up, lighting it for you and staring at your lips, taking note of the way they held the other end of the joint, your chest lazily rising as you inhaled a breath of smoke into your lungs. you let him take it from you, the same way you let him kiss you. felix kissed you so deeply you forgot whose air you were breathing, stealing the smoke from your mouth and cradling it into his mouth, his teeth catching your bottom lip and biting down roughly, licking where he bit with his tongue, tasting the smoke and lip balm mingling on your lips as he did so.

felix's knee caught your cunt, rubbing it against your sex when he heard you gasp upon the impact. his name slipped from your mouth, a warning, "if you do this i don't think i'll be able to stop myself," you said into his mouth, painfully aware it's not just you and he in the world, as much as you'd love for that to be the case right now. "then don't." he whispered, his voice similar to the smoke he inhaled, fleeting and making your head fuzzy with nothing but more of it in mind. he broke the kiss, lips ghosting against the shell of your ear, giving you access to kiss and suck the curve of his neck as if you were coaxing sweetness from his damp, tanned skin.

"just enjoy it, love. you don't have to do anything," his voice was in your ear, purring such sweet promises in your ear that your eyes closed slowly, relaxed and at peace. felix's voice always did interesting things to you — it curved your back and parted your lips and pulled thin, pining sighs from your throat. it made you feel at peace and it worked you up at the same time, seemingly always having the ability to make your legs repel each other and reveal your sex in many different states, but always remaining so needy. his accent was a killer, too, making the words he chooses sound so unique even if it was a simple 'hello'. many times, his voice made you want to suffocate your lips on his and eat his noises whole, because if they sound delicious, and made you feel delicious, they must taste ravishing.

you watched as felix's hands undid the knot on his drawstrings, your own hands coming into view as you helped him paw them off of his waist, your fingers feeling the contours of his muscles and pelvis and delectable hips and his waist. fuck, you needed him. bad. his cock, his gorgeous cock, sprung out from his briefs, slapping his abdomen and smearing precum on his skin, pulled into a thin, semi-transparent cable as his cock sank back down to hang heavy and wantonly where it normally would. you gratefully inhaled on the joint as felix held it to your lips, his other hand busy stroking his length, accompanied by your own, groping and spreading wetness onto his cock as if it was an art; because to you, it was.

the open night sky watched felix unwind into your touch, his head tilting back and his with a lick of the moon on his damp, blond and charmingly messy hair, his hips slowly rutted into your hand, having to use the other to properly please him the way he deserved, his own hand rendered useless and therefore abandoned his spoiled, leaking cock. you wanted to commit the sight to memory, you wanted to take photos of the scene unfolding before you and have the same emotions stir within you when you looked back at them with fondness. the sand beneath you stirred when you moved, your calves folded in on the backs of your thighs as you sat.

felix's lips tasted like smoke, and you kissed him like the breath in his mouth was yours, and you desperately needed it to continue living. a fast wave hit the beach's shore, slamming into the sand and just barely catching on your legs, the cold water startling you, icy on your bare feet and burning cold on your skin, freezing your veins in comparison to felix's warm, sun-devoured body. your lips parted, felix's hands on your face, caressing the apples of your cheeks as you dopily smiled at him, your heart fluttering when his eyes creased into crescent moons and his dark, obsidian-like eyes darkened under his wet, golden blond bangs. your hands left his cock, holding his wrists with your fingers brushing against his seashell bracelet, caressing his tanned skin as felix's intoxicating tongue dips into your intoxicated mouth.

the kiss broke apart again, "i need you," your lips mumbled against his, slightly chapped and endearingly swollen. you needed him in more ways you could ever convey, you needed his touch and his taste and his scent and his voice and his laugh and his smile all in one, all at once and all the time. "you have me." felix spoke like it was a prayer, serious and yielding and tender mouthed. his dark eyes were shining with the glitter of a promise, his long black lashes blinking slow and kissing the swells of his freckled cheeks. "you have me, too." you said, as if you were sacrificing yourself to him. you knew you could trust him with yourself — you knew felix would never bring you harm. you were sure of it. if a war erupted on the shore where you lay, you were certain it would be a paradise in your eyes; as long as he were there to make it seem so. the night was raging, a murky black sky making every touch seem unfathomably more tender and intense, the velvety sea caressed the wet sand, unfolding onto the land in rippled patterns and white foam.

you let felix untie the knotted strings of the bottom half of your bikini, his warm touch stripping you of clothes, as well as stripping you to the bone, free from influence and responsibility and worries. in his touch, you just were. you tasted when you and he kissed, each sweet, smoke-raw press to your lips only lifting you further between worlds, lost in the perfection and romance that was his touch. felix slipped them off of you, his eyes running up every curve and dip and fold of your body, admiring the beauty laid bare before him, his finger experimentally tracing your slit. your breath hitched, heart caught in your throat. felix watched you, observantly taking note of your eyes widening and your chest trembling as you took in a shaky, harsh breath in through your nose, despite your lips being parted.

it couldn't be helped that your thighs shook and your hips chased his touch, torn asunder by felix's worshipping hands as you sobbed out his name — hungry for his love and somehow even hungrier for his touch. slowly, as if he were timid, felix's fingers stroke the soft, wet flesh of your sex, spreading the slick over your slit with his fingers, circling your puffy, sex-engorged clit, using his other hand to take a drag on the joint, until it was nothing but the stub where your lips had stained it with your sheer, barely pigmented lip balm. felix made you feel so alive; as if you could be anyone under his touch. felix always wanted you to be you. the raw, unfiltered you, who didn't apologise or worry about how others perceived you. he loved the you who lived with purpose and without remorse, and in return, you loved him even harder.

and to prove that, you were prepared to follow him wherever he decides to go. you did: you followed felix to the beach in the near pitch black, you followed him to the unloved shore where he lay, watching the sea crumble in on itself and retire, only to do it all over again. you let the sky full of stars watch as he kissed you, and you let yourself fall into his arms when he held you.

your hands grounded yourself on his shoulders, using felix to anchor your swaying body as your orgasm approached you. it didn't take much, thanks to his skill and the smoke in your system making you so relaxed, and so warm it was hard to be in a bad mood. you're almost afraid of the intensity of your orgasm, your cunt dripping and spilling milky white cum onto the palm of felix's hand, the sky appearing brighter before you, your eyes squeezing shut as your body clenched around nothing.

felix leaned back, weight on his forearms and elbows as he watched you straddle him, your thighs wrapped around his and your hands flat on the sand, helping you balance your weight as you sank down on his cock. you watched felix's pink, plump lips part, his brows furrowing as he watched his cock disappear into your drooling cunt with a half-lidded, lustrous gaze. his size was intense — you felt your sex stretch to accommodate him, the impressive girth making your mind hazy, feeling his cock head knock the air out of your smoke filled lungs. you felt him in your chest, in your abdomen and in your head, all the while he unravelled in front of you, in a blurry daze from the tight, almost violently velvety feeling of your cunt squeezing onto him until he swelled and twitched inside of you.

his skin was warm, much like yours, and the mixed sweat from your bodies made you feel as if you were melting together. felix sat up, his hair tickling your jaw, his lips on your neck, his fingers tenderly brushed the dip of your spine, rounding out around the swell of your hips and holding onto you for dear life. he left dips in your flesh from the intensity that he was holding onto you: as if you were passing smoke that could dissipate at any second. as your body lowered further into felix's waiting lap you could feel his cock breaking you open, splitting you perfectly in half. the backs of your thighs melted onto the tops of felix's, his inescapable heat rising into your body. his rounded, swollen head pressed into the deepest part of you, grazing against your cervix, blurring the lines of your separate sexes, sending you into the purest form of bliss imaginable; one that no amount of sex, drugs, or alcohol could even vaguely replace.

your fingers curled around the muscle of his shoulders, the sand sticking to his clammy, tanned skin. the ends of his dirty blond hair brushed against the backs of your fingers, as he pulled you closer to him using the grip on your hips. he guided you to move on his length, your hips finding a slow, shaky pace as your body trembled around him. your throat started to ache, raw from the smoke and your moans, loud and unashamed as there was no-one to hear them except felix. usually, your surroundings would fade out of your head, but this time, you felt everything. you could hear the waves, the sea sensing the spirit you fucked felix with and matching it, slow and loud and hungry as it mirrored the passion that rolled off of your bodies. you felt every grain of sand around you, you felt the way felix's chest shook as he took in a shaky breath, his eyes slowly closing as his mouth hung open in an euphoric haze, similar to your own. his hands tightened around you, his rings no longer cold, but warm on your equally as warm skin, practically glowing erotically.

the citrus, and spicy scent of felix's golden skin settled perfectly into your senses, the ocean rising and conquering the sands like the pulses of your hearts, your bodies made anew. felix's smooth head, leaking precum that flooded your cunt, caught on that delicate spot within you, your hips bucking and your hips stilling, thighs tensing and tears quickly swelling in your bloodshot eyes. his lips brushed against your throat, gliding up your soft skin and kissing you with teeth and tongue and so much hunger that it made you shiver, raking your nails up and down his back like a cat. you're sure he felt your shaky exhale, and the way your back arched further into his torso; you felt his mouth smirk, pleased by your reaction, nudging his nose into the column of your throat as he sucked tender bruises into the vulnerable flesh of your sternum. it was a truly awkward position to have a bite — and felix was well aware of that fact. maybe that's why he chose that area to begin with.

felix pushed you down onto the sand, hovering above you with his cock still sheathed inside of your cunt. your legs quickly wrapped around him, your fingernails digging into his skin as you felt him hit you entirely differently from this new angle. he trembled against your body, automatically rocking his hips against yours, his pelvis aligned with yours so perfectly that you're certain your body would never stop craving a touch this intimate — especially because it was felix who touched you in such a way.

you felt ravaged. where you once were hollow, you were now impossibly full: filled with felix's cock and his kisses and his second hand smoke. his scent was all over you, invading your senses and filling your chest with such a strong fondness that you're worried it can never be replaced. felix could feel your cunt around him, tensing and swallowing every inch of his cock. your hands were urgently wrapping around him, fisting his dirty blond hair and hooking into his shoulders, enveloping his upper body into your chest as if you'd blink and he'd be gone. despite the darkness of the night sky, nothing could be dark when you were around felix; he shone so brightly that you feared that you would drown in the sunlight he emitted.

he became chocked with tenderness, his cadence shifting from steady to erratic, his voice lower and yet he still managed to whine, his hips stilling and instead burrowing inside of your cunt with so much vehemence that it felt as if you had been struck by lightning. a cruel, powerful force of thunder tearing itself from the sky and slamming into your unsuspecting body so intensely that your muscles seize up, your throat suddenly raw from the unfiltered cry that strikes itself from your body. it was intense, it was warming, it was dizzying and it was so intimate. felix let you cling onto him, he let you sob into the smoke fogged air with your eyes closed and your lips parted, and he let your cunt squeeze him and wildly suffocate his cock.

you're not sure who orgasmed first — neither of you were. it seemed you shared one together, melting into one and blending your bodies as if you had seen each other as missing pieces of the other, and by the intimacy you were welded into one. you didn't realise felix had kissed you until he pulled away, your hands having to push him into you so you could kiss him properly, your swollen and slightly chapped lips gliding over each others, his mouth warm and inviting and so gentle it made your heart swell.

with just as much care, if not more, felix pulled his cock out of your sex, swollen and raw from his brutal energy, his brown eyes so dilated that they looked black, his lust-ridden gaze watching as your cunt drooled out your orgasms, starting to leak onto the sand and puddle below you. it was overwhelming, and it was so intense that you felt your tears streak down your cheeks, your chest heaving as you sobbed out felix's name, while simultaneously trying to catch your breath. felix watches you: entranced by your every whimper and quiver of your body, a gentle smile on his plump lips as pride overcomes him.

once he's sure you're coming back down to earth, he caresses your sides and kisses both your cheeks. "you feeling alright?" he whispered against your skin, quiet and still managing to sound sultry. you do lag behind, needing a moment to nod your head and hum a 'yes'. "can i clean you up, angel?" felix brushes the backs of his fingers against your skin, his angular knuckles somehow soft on your sensitive flesh. you bite onto your bottom lip, trying to contain your laugh. "yes, lix." you answer, breathlessly laughing as you watch his cheeks flush an even redder pink, tips of his ears practically glowing with heat.

he's not shy enough to resist fucking you until you're sobbing, but asking to give you oral sex is where he draws the profanity line. that makes sense.

his plump lips sweetly kiss your puffy cunt, thumbs on both sides of your slit to part your sex, giving him full access. you're sensitive and swollen and you're sure felix is aware of that fact, as his lips ghost over your warm skin and you feel him smirk when he hears you sigh out his name, and you swear you can taste the stars when his name is caught in your mouth. your cunt gleamed in the dim light, before obscured by felix blocking it from your sex, shielding you from the sky as his eyes focus on your chest, frantically rising and falling as you anticipate where he will touch you next. with soft, feline lips, he kisses your clit, tender and trying to touch all of you at once — as if he were trying to stamp you with his touch. you're sure his kisses stain your skin; they leave warm, tingly, marks on your cunt that are so full of love you feel it pour out of him and onto you.

felix's wet, hot tongue glides up your slit, collecting the cum that's spilled out of your cunt and painted your sex in your shared essence. the flat of his tongue is soft, and his touch is delicate enough that it doesn't overwhelm you nor burn your skin. it's content, it's gentle and it makes you smile at his carefulness — he's sweet enough that it leaves your body tingling, with goosebumps on your soft skin. you let out a soft, dragged out moan, as you feel him softly suck onto your swollen clit, puffed up with your arousal and slick enough to let felix's tongue slip around it, just enough so you're inhaling shakily and your hands curl around the crown of his head, winding his soft, blond hair around your fingers.

he rises up from in between your shaking legs, your sex cleaned and coated in his spit. "wanna taste," you mutter, eyes never leaving his as you slowly lean into him. his hand cups your cheek, the other holding onto your chin as your lips part, waiting for felix to deposit the concoction into your mouth. it's warm, and salty and thick; and the flavours are intensified when felix's tongue brushes against your own, ensuring the taste is truly spread into your mouth. you feel him groan into the kiss, erotic and so unfiltered that your hands fall from his hair and wrap around his neck, pulling him into you.

spit connects your mouths when you break the kiss, your lips parting and your lungs heaving for a breath. the ocean air quickly remedies it, clean and so pure that it almost coaxes you to sleep, with the help of exhaustion settling into your bodies. you figure your small campsite isn't too far away for you to walk on your own, only a few feet up into the forest that you're sure if you turn your head to face it that you'd see it almost instantly. felix's hands find the small of your back, your head nestled into the crook of his neck as he sways you from side to side.

"i've got you, don't worry, okay? just rest, love." he mumbles, his voice so soft you barely hear it. but, you do: and it's the last thing you hear before you're lulled to sleep.

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letters-unsending · 5 months

Text

No. 45

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Hero meets Villain in a dream.

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“How’d you get in here?”

“Through the door?” Hero gestured behind him and then paused. A corridor stretched out past his fingers, meandering into darkness.

“You’re in my mind.” Villain waved down at Hero’s feet. “Treading your dirty footprints all over my thoughts.”

“In your mind? Certainly not.” Hero looked around. The hall had widened into a room with slate-gray walls and oval windows that seemed to slip downward every time he blinked. One window was on the floor. The glass encased a squirming, oily blackness.

“You need to get out.” As Villain stomped over the floor-window, the tiles shuddered, spilling into mounds of white sand. The roof yawned open to a soft, purple twilight. “I was trying to spell you out of my head and I’ve made a mess of everything. You’re sleeping right now, aren’t you? Your soul has a habit of wandering.”

“I do remember going to bed before this.” Hero glanced down. His feet were bare and the wind slipped past his ankles and the wide hem of his pajama pants. Frantically, he reached for his face. Chilled metal met his fingers—his mask was still on.

“Your soul will hide what wants to be hidden. You don’t have to worry about that.” Villain groaned and stomped again, but the scene remained the same. The white sand dissolved into a silvery sea. Though a breezed curled across the beach, the water was still, an infinite mirror reflecting the bruise-blue horizon, and Hero considered it, wondering what would happen if he disturbed its surface. “You’ll go once you wake up anyways.”

“I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” He stepped forward. The sand was too soft and whispered against his heel like silk.

“You shouldn’t remember that.” Villain whirled around.

“I don’t,” Hero murmured, walking toward the water, “it’s just a feeling, you know.”

Villain sighed and followed him. Together, they marched, but the sea never grew closer. “You tried this the last time as well,” Villain explained, “and you never make it far.”

“So, I’ve been in your mind before.” Hero turned, following the shoreline instead. Waves crashed and gulls called faintly, though nothing moved, and the sky was bare. “Why haven’t you attacked me? I’m sure you can expel me from your mind. You feel powerful.”

“The soul will not do what it does not wish to.”

“You want me here?”

“The company is nice. I haven’t seen anybody in a while.” The sand grew sharp underfoot, furling into blades of grass, and pines sprouted up between thick, gauzes of mist. Fog hung on the air and perspired over Hero’s skin.

“You being here, it shouldn’t be possible.” Villain gestured toward the haze and the barest silhouettes of mountains beyond. “Of course, there is always the chance that you could be a figment of my mind, but I have little skill with conjuring sentient things. I can only hope that it’s you and that I’m not alone.”

“You’re trapped.”

“Astute observation.” Rain fell softly as Villain stopped, canting his head toward the sky. “It usually takes you far longer to realize that.”

“How many times have I been here?” Hero stared past Villain, at the pines, whose limbs ruffled like great, dark feathers. From their gnarled roots, the trees twisted upwards. Their crowns pierced the fog.

“You forget.” Villain held his face with his hands. The trees braided, expanded, and domed over where they stood, till everything was emerald and reeked of mulched earth and spruce. “It doesn’t matter. Everything I tell you, you always forget, but you always come back. You never remember me and I’m tired of meeting you, for the first time, every time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You wouldn’t be, if you remembered me.” The green turned black, into roiling nothingness. “We knew each other in the waking world, but it seems you’ve forgotten me there as well.”

Hero strode through the abyss and wrenched Villain’s hands from his face. He had a nose, cheeks, lips, jaw; he had everything that should compose a face and yet Hero couldn’t arrange it, couldn’t piece it together. His eyes were the only thing that didn’t swim and when Hero looked into them, he tumbled forward, onto the cold tile of the grey room.

He staggered to his feet. The windows were gone, but a door replaced them. It was simple, white, and had a shining brass handle, but Hero never reached for it.

Turning back, he called out a name.

“[Villain]?”

#writeblr #villain #writing prompt #hero #prompt #villain prompt #writing #hero prompt #hero x villain #drabble #im sorry if this is too trippy #and hard to keep track of

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 6 months

Text

gojo always seems to be off in a world of his own.

a little detached, you think. awkwardly long limbs constantly on the move, eyes stuck in a direction no one else can follow, a trajectory you don’t think even he knows. one blink and he's gone, just like that. too far ahead, too far above, even on the occasions he slows down and lets you catch up.

flimsy, maybe. like he’ll get carried away by the breeze when spring rolls around. like he’d turn into seafoam if you reached out and touched him.

satoru gojo is an anomaly, a blurry cluster of stars. or maybe more like a planet, big and blue, spinning around its own orbit, out of reach for every single star in the sky.

high and mighty, cocky and cool. silly and bright. but there's a softness to him when he's alone, you’ve come to learn; something that almost seems fragile, under the light of the moon, when the dark sky casts a shadow to obscure the contours of his face and no one’s around to notice if his smile isn't as big as it should be.

no one except for you, anyhow.

(you wonder if your presence is really that inconsequential to him.)

the beach is entirely empty, save for you and gojo. and summer’s ending, burning into little cinders, sputtering out before your very eyes.

tokyo is just beginning to dip its toes into autumn, the frost and chill, the hiss of the biting wind. the rusting of leaves, contaminated by a muddy hue, turned orange and brown and red beneath your heavy feet; littering the murky, empty streets of the rainy towns you cross. smelling of rotten apples and cinnamon, old books and burning wood.

it’s dark out. painted a thick gray, the sky is blanketed by heavy clouds, the entire world hidden behind that coating of wool. not a single sliver of starlight slips through, but there's a comfort to it, that feeling of being cocooned — safe and warm. a feeling cruelly stripped away by the nipping of the wind at your bare skin, but you digress.

everything smells of saltwater. a little like rotten fish. every breath you exhale turns into a flurry of vapour, mingling with the breezy seasalt of the open air; scattering away into the thin layer of mist all around you, until you can’t tell which is which.

and a sense of foreboding sinks into your veins.

(you look out at the jagged rocks piercing the surface of the sea, and dully wonder how they’d feel piercing your skin.)

something shivers, to your right. a flicker of movement, a barely audible chatter of teeth. and then, a white puff of vapour.

”man, it’s cold.”

gojo looks displeased.

only vaguely, a little crease between his eyebrows as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his puffy baseball jacket. moving his feet a little, to warm up, snowy tufts of white hair tousled by the ocean breeze. his shoes are muddied by the wet sand, but he doesn't seem to mind.

a soft scoff leaves your lips, mostly harmless. maybe just a little smug. ”told you,” you click your tongue.

gojo whines. his sunglasses are starting to fog up, you notice. ”it’s still summer!” he pouts. ”i thought the sea would be nice and breezy!”

an unimpressed look smooths over your features. gracing him with a raise of your brow, you don’t fully manage to bite back the soft smile that follows. don’t even really attempt to.

it’s been a long day. evidently not long enough for gojo, seeing as he dragged you down here — even though he knew it meant missing the train you were supposed to board after successfully finishing your mission. he just had to get a closer look at the sea. just for a moment or two.

and he was insistent, persuasive. awfully whiny. assuring you that he’d be quick, that you wouldn’t miss the next one.

(what made you agree was simply the thought of spending some more time with him. not like you could ever tell him that, though.)

so there you stand. two juveniles, shivering and shifting from foot to foot, on the brink of nightfall, the edge of summertime. watching the sea stretch out into infinity, across the gap between this world and the next. a murky blue. easy on the eyes.

the noise of the sea fills your ears; waves crashing into sand, the whistling of the wind, seagulls crying out in the distance. and faraway, the chatter of a rattling train. a cacophony of sounds, buzzing and crackling, melting together. scattered across the beach are countless tiny white seashells, and the occasional green glimmer of drift glass — mermaids’ tears, shed for lost sailors, or so you’ve heard.

you wonder if the mermaids ever shed tears for lost sorcerers. probably not.

a shiver runs through your body, down to your cold hands, the tips of your fingers. reddish and itching for warmth. you tuck them into your pockets with a breathless exhale, still shaking a little.

in truth, you and gojo aren’t very close. you’d like to call him a friend, but it's kind of hard; when he's so enamored with suguru, so animated around shoko. with you, he always seems kind of —

stiff?

or maybe more like bored.

he doesn't laugh as loudly, doesn’t act as cocky. doesn't flaunt his knowledge on sorcery, and isn't as clingy as he is with the other two.

(you've never liked people touching you. it's not hard for others to discern, with how you flinch away when they get close.

still, you can't help but feel a little jealous when you see him tugging suguru and shoko around.)

deep within your chest, like a stunted seaweed, sprouts a tiny pang of disappointment. it’d be nice if you could grow closer, you think. just a little would be fine.

”i like the sea.”

you turn your head.

gojo looks a little lost in thought. gaze trained on that expanding ocean before you, those splotches of blue and gray, the waves that bruise the edge of the sand. forlorn, maybe.

a hum buzzes in your dry throat. ”do you?”

”mm.” little white breaths slip from his lips. you wonder if they’d taste as salty as the air. ”’ts nice.”

a silence stretches out before you. delicate, like a sheet of glass. gojo picks at a piece of lint on his sleeve, and you shift from foot to foot. then he closes his eyes — a flutter of his dewy eyelashes.

”kinda makes you feel like everything’s about to end, huh?”

you look at him, but don’t see anything. a single glimpse of his closed eyes is all you gain from the glance you cast his way, but it’s not enough. not enough blue to fall into, no expression to savour. he looks the same as always.

but you’ve never heard his voice sound like this before.

”… end?”

and with that, they flicker open. there it is, you think. that vibrant blue. only to be obscured once more, when he turns to you fully, a smile playing at his glossy lips. ”don’t think so?”

a second passes. you look forward.

what you see is as follows: waves upon waves upon waves. the same blue and gray, as far as the eye can see. a sea big enough to drown each and every one of your worries.

something comes over you. a sensation of loneliness, something close to longing. a feeling of being rather lost. searching for something. your heart feels heavy, an anchor sunk to the bottom of your gut. little fish nipping at your ribcage.

your eyes trail over those jagged rocks, again. the mermaids’ tears, that all-consuming sea, right in front of you. like it could open its maw and devour the world.

you think of the lost sailors.

(one jump and it’s all over.)

a breath. salty on your tongue. ”… i guess i get it,” you whisper. a soft murmur, mingling with the mist.

silence.

out of the corner of your eye, you see gojo shift. one moment he’s looking at you, the next he’s staring at the sea. in tandem, the two of you, stuck within that shade of blue. and you think he looks a little mesmerized, like he’s seeing something not even he can fully comprehend.

(maybe he just hasn’t had many chances to go to the beach before. something to do with being a clan kid, maybe?)

but then he clears his throat, hands moving to brush some sand off his puffy jacket and jeans. turning on his heel, hair ruffled by the breeze. he tries to sound chipper, but there’s something else there. you don’t know what it is, but…

”anyway,” he chirps. ”let’s go. we can still make it to the next train if we hurry.”

you look at him. his retreating figure, a head of white hair, surrounded by mist. a little like an apparition. then you turn towards the sea.

”… nah, that’s fine.”

a pause.

gojo stills, just about to take the first step forward. but you stay rooted in place; unmoving, staring at the blue before you, a deep longing reflected in your eyes.

”let’s stay a little longer,” you hum, unsure of where the words came from. but you know you aren’t ready for the moment to end, just yet. that you aren’t quite ready for summer to pass.

…

all he does is stare, for a second or two. attempting to find some humour in your voice, you assume, any signs that you might just be joking. but he doesn’t find it. uncharacterstically silent, gojo stays frozen in place.

then he puffs out a breath — amused.

”you wanna freeze to death?” he grins, and you can hear it in his voice. you turn to face him, almost smiling. a little cheeky.

”you’ll warm me up, no?”

the words fall from your lips before you can think to reel them in. meant to sound a little snarky, you think, something akin to a chuckle — but instead come out sounding a little too much like an honest request.

the tips of your ears feel a little warm, suddenly.

a sense of surprise smooths over the contours of gojo’s face, and his grin falters. you can’t see his eyes, can’t tell if they widen or not, but his lips part, and you note that they look soft.

and it’s back. that grin. toothy, boyish. his cheeks are rosy, from the chill of the air, or so you assume. then he’s taking a couple strides forward, broaching the distance between you.

he throws an arm over your shoulder. a heavy weight against you, grounding, causing you to stumble. friendly, tugging you close. into his orbit.

(no infinity, you note. you can feel his body heat seeping through the fabric.)

it's nice. he's tall, and he's warm. cozy, protecting you from the bitter cold, like your own personal furnace. no wonder suguru never catches any colds, with someone like this draped over him all the time.

gojo speaks. there’s a sweetness to his voice, a mellow kind of contentment; bubbling up like seafoam, spilling from his glossy lips. you can feel his warm breath on your skin.

”well, duh.”

when your gaze falls on him, he's already looking at you. leaning closer, sunglasses slipping a little further down the bridge of his nose — enough to expose the blue of his eyes, the tiny splotches of white scattered across his aquamarine iris. like a cracked marble. or a summer sea.

he’s speaking again, and you almost don't hear it. distracted by those cracked marbles, the strawberry red of his cheeks, the warmth shared between you. the pitter patter of your heartbeat, like waves crashing against the sand. mesmerized. not daring to look away.

almost like you’d cease to exist, were he to close his eyes. like your existence hinges entirely on the blue of those irises.

(and maybe it does.)

he nods towards the sea, and grins. a mischievous glint in his eyes. ”wanna take a dip?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not. it makes you laugh, either way.

”do you want to freeze to death?” you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. subtly angling your body closer to his, hoping he won’t notice.

gojo honest to god giggles, at that, and you fear your knees might give out beneath your weight. fuck, has he always had dimples? why are you only noticing them now?

”hehe. i just think it'd be fun!” he chirps, still draped over you like an overgrown cat, and you almost find yourself saying yes. just to keep the summer from ending, keep him from being swept away by the breeze.

but summer is ending. slipping away, second by second, like two juveniles drowned by an ocean wave. never to be found. and in comes autumn, the smell of rotting apples, the crunch of sand beneath your feet; an arm over your shoulder, an intake of breath. the taste of nice, crispy air on your tongue.

a chuckle flows from your lips. all you see before you is blue, a murky shade, a vibrant hue. you think you could drown in it. you’re not sure you’d mind.

”maybe next time,” you whisper.

gojo’s eyes widen. ever so slightly, barely enough to even notice, until they bloom — with a kind of bubbly excitement. unconcealed giddiness. there’s something awfully precious about it, like a child buying cotton candy at their first fair. it makes you want to tuck him into your pocket. keep him safe.

you like him, unfortunately. inevitably. you think you may even like him a lot, a little more than you should. a little more than he could reciprocate.

satoru gojo. high and mighty, cocky and cool. silly and bright. a seaborne boy with his very own orbit, born to carry the weight of the world, spinning so close that you can almost delude yourself into thinking he feels the same.

almost.

(gojo glances at your lips. he wonders if they’d taste as salty as the air.)

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murdrdocs · 1 year

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i need cute domestic fluff w finnick and like him and reader like living a cute little life after the rebellion and like them just living together and being happy

this is like the only life i can associate with finnick.

slow days where you both take it easy. sometimes, there's this mental fog that takes place over your minds, especially finnick's, but you've gotten used to living in harmony together, especially in these moments.

these are the mornings when the bed is extra comfortable and inviting. there's nothing urging either of you to get out, so even when you wake up the first time, there's a second and third awakening before you're truly awake. you know finnick can't sleep like that, but he refuses to shower without you, and he doesn't want to take you awake from comfort, so each time you wake up he's sitting with his back against the headboard, a worn book in his hands and a concentrated look on his face.

the showers during these days are long, drawn out, filled with the excessive use of water and products that scent your skin and hair with aromas adored by both parties.

the breakfast is eaten late, bordering on lunch, and it's kept simple, too. sometimes pancakes, waffles, maybe a sandwich. it's usually eaten outside with the sound of waves crashing against the shore as a background. you tell him of your dreams, he silently envies how innocent and pure they are.

"we had a kid, named him mikey."

"mikey?"

an excited nod from you as you sip your juice. "mhm! short for michel."

finnick's lips turn up as he lets your dream take the place of his nightmares. before, the thought of them would make a chill run down his body, but with the image of what mikey would look like in his head, he feels warm, even with the sea breeze blowing across his tanned skin.

afternoons are spent in each other's company. there's a walk sometimes, maybe a bike ride. sometimes you do garden work, planting flowers, taking up ones that've already grown to make a bouquet for the counter. usually, you're both on the beach, finnick fishing while you peacefully lounge on a large navy blue and white striped towel.

then you're back home, the TV softly playing an old sitcom that's bearable by your standards while you paint your nails and finnick cooks dinner, the new bouquet a perfect center peace on the island. the smell of your favorite dish is comforting, and you have the urge to go join him in the kitchen. the nail polish bottle is left half open on the coffee table and you're standing behind finnick with your arms wrapped around his torso, letting the heat of his body and the stove dry your probably-already-ruined nail art.

the nights are quiet. another shower shared, two bodies standing close in the large space. you're usually wrapped in one of finnick's shirts. he typically dons a pair of loose pants. you settle into bed, finnick with the same book from earlier, you finishing the episode from earlier, and you're curled into his side. you fall asleep before the episode ends, leaving it for another day, finnick finishes his chapter.

the lamp is flicked off, your breathing is soft, the window is cracked to let in a breeze and the same sound of the ocean. the mix of finnick's two favorite things –– you and the sea –– is what lulls him to sleep.

his arms around your body, your head against his chest, and a general stillness in your shared home.

#i rlly like this #i think its beautiful #i also rlly want him #finnicksworld!#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair #celeste writes thg

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accio-victuuri · 10 months

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Reasons why we think the 26th bday message was from bunny laoshi. 🗒️

I know that a lot of us don’t need “reasons” to even cpn that xz made this letter, but it’s still fun to look at the clues that make the conclusion much stronger. a lot of us just knew once we read it, who the author is. as with all other candies, if you believe it, you do. if you don’t — there is no amount of evidence that will change your mind.

i’m so happy that the bday letter is back, last year was understandable (considering what was going on) so to have it this year made everyone emotional. as usual, it’s a beautiful letter. i am thankful that yibo is loved. that aside from us fans, he has someone close to him, who adores him that much to write something like that for him.

this post is only for the letter, not the bday photo/art. that will be a separate discussion.

A HISTORY,

As with most candies, context is key. We don’t usually react this much without it having some story behind it. There is almost always a pattern. The “birthday” message first popped up for Bobo’s 23rd bday. Then 24 and 26. You could say anyone can make a birthday message — but this is different. It’s way too personal and the way it’s written, to us who pay attention, is very xiao zhan. There were already CPNs for the past 2 years, so we were actually just waiting for the 26th bday letter — and boy did it not disappoint!

• They all start with saying hello to the *age* Yibo. It’s like this person wants to be the first one to greet WYB in his new year of life.

• The way it’s constructed is very similar. It starts with a recap for the year, what WYB has gained from the past and wishes for the future. I have to say that the 2020 letter was the start and then it evolved into what it is today because of the time they spent together. XZ now has more and more things to say.

• The message of growing up slowly is also there. I think XZ really wants this for him, that even if WYB had to “grow up” faster than other people his age, even if he has so many responsibilities — that he still gets to enjoy his youth. 🫶🏼

Even if you let someone else read this letter, and you tell them, “it’s from their s/o”, they will believe you. To those who look at it and think it’s an employee, i don’t even know what to say. You don’t even have to believe that it’s XZ, but it is most definitely WYB’s significant other. Look at UNIQ_OFFICIAL weibo account birthday caption, that’s what employees do.

Now onto the “reasons”. I have listed a couple and I know there might be more out there but here are the ones that made us 😭😭😭😭:

1. My absolute favorite part of the letter:

In the past year, you've gradually learned to relax while working hard and understood how to face the world with a gentler attitude. You've been willing to watch the stars while hurrying forward. You've been willing to enjoy a pouring rain happening one afternoon. You've been willing to quietly see the horizons at the other side of the sea. You've been willing to stop for a beautiful sunset.

A person who knows you will only be the one to write this. The level of understanding XZ has for WYB is just. I can’t. He really loves him. The things he decided to use : stars, pouring rain, sea and sunset is so THEM. He might as well add the moon to have the whole cpf symbol set completed. 😂😂😂

And for comparison, XZ wrote these words in his Oasis for the DC wrap-up:

There are two pictures that I really like, one is the beach outside of the Xiangshan hotel balcony, another is the scenery from the highway in the middle of the Hengdian Xianju forest where we frequently ran. These two different places and different views are both places that comforted me when I was lost and helpless. When I was down, I would sit on the balcony, and the sea breeze, the beach and the moonlight would give me the answer; when I was tired, I could rest on the path in between the forest scenes, and upon opening my eyes I would see the raindrops and the fog that would also give me the answer: in each and every moment, I chose to not complain or be negative, I put my all towards each choice and decision I make;

It’s how freakin descriptive he is. He has a way with words that make you “feel” what he is saying or even see it.

2. This part too, about stopping. Slowing down. It’s the same thing XZ said before. Plus in a couple of XZ’s videos, you will see shots of him admiring the sunset.

Time never pauses, but you seem to know the secret of making the world stop occasionally. You use your calmness and poise to welcome and get in touch with the world. Yibo, sunsets are beautiful, just like every dusk that you missed when you focused on forging forward.

AND THE “Yibo,” OMG. I can hear XZ’s voice in my head saying it. It’s too intimate. I know it’s his name but the way it’s written here — Are we even supposed to read this? It feels too personal 😭😭😭

But my answer is always, WYB wants to show off. He wants us to feel single. I’m in a long term relationship and even I felt single 😂😂😂😂

3. “The small number has changed again” referring to his age. There might be no hidden meaning, but some cpfs interpret this as the person who wrote it is older than him. Because he considers yibo’s age as “smaller” than his. Hello to their 6-year age gap. 👋🏼

4. There is 🎂 emoji in this letter compared to previous years. We think it’s because WYB is at home and they are celebrating together, no need to send a virtual cake. There is also some talk of XZ not being photographed today (8.4) on set. I won’t go to that part of Weibo but the fact that some people are nervous that he is suddenly MIA so close to Yibo’s bday is 👀

5. WYB went online for a bit, we thought he was gonna pull the same stunt he did last year and remove the automatic weibo bday post. He didn’t. What did he look at? The love letter? 🤔

6. Someone asked where was the quote “"stay cool, grow up slowly" on Baidu and the most popular answer is it’s from a book 君生我已老. We know XZ is fond of reading. I found a synopsis, and well, interpret it as you will…..

Excuse the google translate but you get the gist. It’s synopsis is also kind of similar to his drama SUNSHINE WITH ME. The part of age gap. Meeting and falling in love then having to separate, only to meet again. So if I’m to speculate that XZ got it here and liked it, maybe that’s why he chose to film SWM even if he has lots of scripts sent his way.

7. Similar with GG, who does not look at challenges in a negative way. How he regards it as a part of life and something he has to overcome.

Just regard all the adversities as the numerous mountains you have to climb and the endless waves you have to ride.

8. I don’t have to explain it that much. They both have a thing for “living with no regrets.” It’s all over their interviews.

As a young man full of mettle, you have no regrets.

I will stop right here. Again, to a lot of us, Xiao Zhan might as well sign his name at the end of the post and we would be like — Okay, we knew that. LOL.

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY KING YIBO! ♥️👑

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #DONT TOUCH ME IM STILL NOT OVER THAT LETTER 😭😭😭😭

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empresskylo · 9 months

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you are talking to ghost on the way to a mission, and you’re explaining to him how every anime has a beach episode. it doesn’t matter if it’s a depressing show, they have that one episode where they go to the beach and pretend everything is fine. you tell him that a trip to the beach could do you and everyone else a world of good. ghost thinks it over a moment and mumbles “i’ll see what i can do about that.” you look up at him and smile, imagining him, soap, and you in bathing suits, laughing as you race down to the water.

after the mission, ghost finds himself on the beach, hands in his pocket, jacket pulled on tight and his hood up as the ocean wind blows. beside him sits your tombstone, tucked into the side of a hill, right before the transition where the dirt turns into sand. it’s a desolate cemetery, only a few soldiers buried there, you included. he kicks the sand in front of him and looks down at the stone and freshly buried earth. “you lied to me. this beach thing isn’t doin’ me any good at all.” his voice is pained as he speaks. he looks out into the sea. even though it’s chilly, a slight fog floating over the sand, it’s rather breathtaking. “you woulda loved it though.”

[based heavily on sofimchi_ on ig who made a little reel of this scenario. go check it out!]

#simon riley #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2

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emilybeemartin · 7 months

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Inktober Days 19-21

Day 19: "Plump"

Fat! Bear! Week! It’s perhaps the most beloved modern tradition to come out of a national park, when enthusiasts around the globe tune in to the Katmai webcams to see the results of a summer of brown bears gorging on salmon. We root them on, following their progress as they go from springtime skin and bones to mega-autumn chonk in just a few months. Watching these immense bears prowling Brooks Falls for leaping fish is so captivating that at some parks, during slow moments in the visitor centers, we would switch on the webcam feeds at the information desk. Rangers come from all different backgrounds, with all different affiliations and alma maters, but few things bring us all together like cheering on a wild bear eating wild salmon.

Day 20: "Frost"

One of the privileges of working in northern mountain parks is the early coming of cool weather. Born and raised in South Carolina, few things make me feel more alive than a brush of autumn in August. I remember that first welcome moment in Glacier, when I climbed out of the government truck at Logan Pass for my shift in the high country. There was frost on the mountain slopes and a snap in the air. My breath fogged in front of my face, and the wind whipped through my park green sweater and jacket. Back at home, it was ninety-five degrees and humid, but on that morning, I swapped my flat hat for my fleece cap and spent the day bundled up on the Highline Trail, noting the huckleberries taking on their first tinge of crimson. I remember coming back to the tiny ranger station to find the woodburning stove crackling away, and I thought this must be what paradise was like.

Day 21: "Chains"

My first thought for this prompt was a chain of islands, but as I brushed up on Channel Islands, I realized it fits even better thanks to the chain of life that stretches from sea to land to air. Underwater terrain creates huge upwellings of nutrients that form the base of a food chain in the kelp forests, where vivid orange garibaldi and massive seabass swim among the waving fronds. Seals and sea lions spin and dive before hauling out onto beaches in noisy rookeries. Above them on the headlands, rare island foxes—only found on six of these islands and nowhere else in the world—scamper after mice and insects, occasionally coming to the shoreline for crabs. And in the skies, bald eagles, storm-petrels, and cormorants swoop down to pluck fish and other meals from the sea. And so life goes around and around on this scrappy cluster of islands.

Like these? Want extra illustrations and national park travel tips straight from the ranger's mouth? You can preorder Thirty-One Days of Inktober: The Artbook! It's a limited run--- snag yours now before they're gone!

Incidentally, I'm trying to keep international shipping down by eating a bit of the cost myself, so I hope folks outside the US don't feel left out!

#31 days of national parks #national parks #katmai #glacier #channel islands

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1d1195 · 3 months

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Sun-Kissed Extra I

You can read Sun-Kissed here

~3.1k words

Warnings: None; fluffy, sweet stuff. Thought it would be nice to add some sunshine to this winter season. Hope you like it 💕

With sand between her toes, she headed back to Sun-Kissed Cabana. Only seven days until Harry’s arrival separated her from what was sure to be one of the best summers of her life. *

“I love summer,” Harry sighed dropping his head back against the pillow.

Fifty days separated from the end of summer until the wedding weekend. Another month until the holiday break for Thanksgiving. Another month until Christmas. The longest drought was Christmas to their break in February—sixty days exactly. Fifty-six from that break until their Spring break.

Somehow the remaining two weeks of their school years, until they would be living in Sun-Kissed Cabana and Sea View, was approximately, without exaggeration, three years long.

This is torture, Harry 😭

I know, baby. Just a few more weeks.

An entire summer. Seventy blissful days of sun, sand, and sex with Harry. Her brain was fogging over inputting grades for the term into her computer while simultaneously thinking over the next bout of review for the finals for her two classes. She worried about a few students that were struggling and hoped they would get enough points so that she could justify bumping them if necessary.

The idea of not working for seventy days was very exciting. It had been a long year. She was very lucky she made money off the rental process and the little over-the-summer tutoring she did. Harry was going to do some tutoring himself but with a place to stay for free (although Harry felt guilty about mooching off her. “Guess you’ll have to pay me in orgasms,” she had giggled to him over the phone when he told her of his worry) his paycheck covered any summer costs for sure without needing to work.

She would get a week head start to make the little cottages presentable and ready for the first renter. Harry would be arriving a week later. His school started later than hers. But he planned on leaving straight from school, packing his car the night before and hurrying as quickly as he could to the shore.

“Miss! Do we have to take a final!?”

She shook her head of the thoughts of Harry. Bending her over the sofa in her little cottage and making her see stars was not a good idea to think about when she had a whole bunch of twelve-year-olds coming into her room to get a science review lesson.

The smell of salt in the air was like heaven. The anxiety, the stress, all of the frustration that came from the end of the school year was washed away by the ocean. She arrived before the traffic, before the tourists, and before even the locals were awake. “You can call yourself a local,” the man at the grocery store told her. “You’re here all summer...since you were little. No one would mind.”

She didn’t even unpack her car. The moment she was in park, she stepped onto the sandy road and hurried the short distance to the walkway for the beach. Her heart felt so heavy and happy at the same time. It was home. Truly. She kicked her sandals off and scurried down to the water. She lifted her skirt up a bit to bunch in her hand so the water would get the ends of it. It was freezing still. The kind of cold salt water that made your feet numb and your skin ache. But it was so welcomed. Like if she were brave enough to do one of those ice bath dips that were so popular. She understood it. But only from the ankle down.

The sea breeze chilled her skin giving her goosebumps. It was too early for the sun to throw any real heat. It was barely eight in the morning and June always had cool mornings down by the water.

Are you there, baby? 😊

In the excitement of getting to the beach she completely forgot to text Harry that she was there. Guilt plagued her. She turned her phone to face her, the water, the sky, and snapped a picture to send to him.

Can’t tell if you’re there or not. Too busy looking at you 😍

You’re insane.

About you, kitten. Don’t work too hard. I’m excited to help when I get there.

I won’t. Have a good day at work. Call you later 😘

She knew he wouldn’t have time to chat until later when school let out. With sand between her toes, she headed back to Sun-Kissed Cabana. Only seven days until Harry’s arrival separated her from what was sure to be one of the best summers of her life.

There was a mix of anxiety and excitement bubbling in her chest. She had a hand on her heart trying to feel the erratic rhythm. It was like the muscle was trying to escape her chest. It was so hard to focus on her book knowing Harry was less than an hour away from being in her arms. Her foot was wiggling impatiently. All her senses were wonky.

The breeze was filtering into the cottage, bringing the salty air through along with the sounds of laughter. In the short week she had been there, the number of people had multiplied by five at least. Still not a lot, many were waiting for their children to finish the school year. But more than that peaceful morning she arrived and dipped her toes in the water.

She reread Harry’s message. Three hours, kitten 😘 She redid the calculation again. As if somehow, he would arrive earlier—or later. She wouldn’t blame him if he stopped for lunch. Her mind was going a little crazy, switching over to his location that he kindly gave her after their summer together. You can know my every movement, kitten.

He was still on track, which she was very grateful for. It felt like the last two hours had trailed even longer than the last two weeks. She twisted her neck every which way, her book no longer making any sense, she just tossed it on the floor and put her arm over her eyes trying to calm herself further. She would have to restart it when they read on the patio later. If they made it to the patio tonight. Part of her wondered if they would eat or leave the bedroom. Or make it past the living room for that matter.

She was wearing a pair of the popular boho pants that slipped on and off—they were red with a floral print that she selected mainly because Harry wouldn’t have to fuss with any buttons or zippers with a black tank top tucked into the elastic. It was comfy and easy to get on an off which she was hoping the off part would be the moment Harry walked through the door.

To keep herself busy and her mind occupied long enough for the remaining minutes, she started to fold some laundry while watching TV. Towels for Sea View. It was mindless and the show was too. She put her phone facedown so she wouldn’t watch the final minutes tick by so agonizingly slow.

Apparently, she did too good of a job because the moment she heard a car door slam she didn’t realize that the final moments had flew that she missed the sound of him pulling into the driveway. In seconds she was flinging herself out the door, right as Harry made it to the bottom step and she threw herself in his embrace. Her legs wrapped around his waist and his arms wound around her body. Anyone passing by their reunion would have thought they were insane. Two grown adults acting like the tweens and teenagers they taught. Tears pricked her eyes as she inhaled his familiar scent barely getting a look at him and he kissed the side of her head.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered breathlessly against her neck, kissing her skin—anywhere his lips could reach he wanted his mouth on her body. He never understood the analogy until he met her. Never imagined being so in love, so wanting for someone until her sun-goddess self-appeared in front of him. He was a starving man, and she was the most delicious thing he had tasted in months.

“I missed you,” she answered. The sound of her voice was lost in the air he was pulling from her with all his kisses. She released her leg-hold on his hips. Not for long. She thought to herself. “Do you want to get your stuff?” She asked.

“No,” he murmured ushering her inside and slamming the door shut a little too loud for a touristy little cottage area. “Need you,” he nearly groaned as he pulled the tank top from the pants she wore. “Been thinking ‘bout you all over this place...all over me,” he cupped her chin and brought his lips a breath away from hers. He didn’t kiss her, finally gazed into her eyes. “I missed you,” he repeated.

“I missed you too,” her breath barely getting out of her lungs. In the next moment, his hands were all over her body. Searching for something that he didn’t seem to know what he was looking for. Her heart rate was somehow higher than it was while waiting for him. She was right about the pants coming off easily. They were easy to get off and she was right about the sofa too. All those inappropriate thoughts she had while grading and in between teaching classes were correct. Harry bending her over the living room furniture (and the dining room furniture and the kitchen counter) was exactly as she imagined but, of course, even better.

They eventually did make it to the bedroom. A better part of the late afternoon and early evening was spent between the sheets with kisses and touches that they were so desperate for after so many days of missing one another.

After what seemed like ages, Harry ordered her favorite pasta dish and food for himself while she was in the bathroom. She returned with a pair of lounge shorts and an oversized T-shirt on that made it look like she wasn’t wearing shorts at all. He groaned. “Kitten, m’gonna have t’go get the food at the door,” he reminded her as she walked over to his side of the bed. His arms wrapped around her thighs; his nose buried into the soft T-shirt. “Y’look too good t’get out of bed.”

She giggled and threaded her fingers through his hair. “I can get the food.”

He scowled against her shirt. “And let someone else see y’like this? No way,” he grumbled. “Mine,” his voice was possessive in the cutest way possible. “Y’lucky I don’t handcuff y’here.”

“That sounds like fun,” there was a teasing tone in her voice.

Harry actually growled. It was low in his throat and somehow made her core ache more—even after a well spent afternoon of touches and more. “Don’t tease me, love. Missed y’way too much.”

She laughed again and pulled gently from his embrace. He kept a hand on the back of her thigh. Like it was too much to not touch her in some way after all the time spent apart and knowing he would have an uninterrupted summer of being at her side. She tossed the covers back, her cheeks flushed with a red color at the sight of his sculpture-worthy form. “Better take care of that before the food gets here, yeah?” She asked sinking between his legs and tantalizing him with her fingertips working up from his knees to the tops of his thighs.

“I love summer,” he sighed dropping his head back against the pillow.

After eating (and maybe another hour spent in bed to get a head start making up for all the lost time they spent apart) they did head onto the patio for a reading session. But Harry was getting impatient. Now that the arousal hormones had simmered to a manageable level, he had only one thing on his mind, and he was almost bursting to share it.

“So, kitten, I have some good news and bad news,” he told her about a half hour after their reading session started. Her feet were in his lap, stretched across the space between the seats. Harry had one hand holding his book while he read (but not really reading because he was thinking about delivering this news so many times over, he couldn’t focus) the other hand had his fingers dancing across her shin, swirling little imaginary patterns on her skin.

Apparently, for all his thinking about it, he didn’t deliver the sentence well, it seemed. Immediately, she frowned, her heart breaking right before his eyes. He almost wanted to take it back. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he could see the worry in her eyes. He almost felt bad for making the sadness appear. Maybe it was too mean. He was hoping it wouldn’t be—he thought maybe she would’ve guessed immediately by the excitement in his voice.

“I have t’leave a week earlier than expected,” he was smiling.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. The excitement didn’t translate. Her gaze dropped to her thighs.

How could he be smiling? She didn’t even rationalize why he was smiling. It hurt so much. The seventy days. Only sixty-three. It hurt so much. How could he be smiling?!

“Please tell me that’s the bad news,” she whispered looking at her lap. Her book fell to the side, off the chair she was sitting on. Sand was going to get in the spine if they left it there too long. Harry hoped he could hurry the process up. She sat upright, creating more space between them. He leaned forward pressing his hands on either side of her legs on her seat. She couldn’t seem to look him in the eye.

He chuckled. She envied him and his casualness of the situation. Maybe he wasn’t as in love with her as she thought. “Of course, kitten,” he rolled his eyes. “Leaving y’for any length of time is the worst,” he promised and reached out to grab her fidgety fingers playing with the end of her T-shirt hem. “But m’new school district has new staff orientation at the end of the week I need t’leave. Before the year starts. And m’moving into m’new apartment the days before.”

“You got a new job?” She asked curiously. The surprise getting the better of her thoughts. Ignoring the fact that he was leaving her...and he was happy about it. He hadn’t mentioned a new job once. What was with all the secrets all so suddenly?

The poor thing was so sad she wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously. Harry thought this would be more obvious that she would know. The surprise was a good thing. He shook his head at her and rolled his eyes. “Yes, kitten,” he nodded waiting one last moment for her to put it together herself. “We have our first district meeting on August 26th, right? Eight in the morning?” He asked squeezing her hand.

Her head snapped up from her lap and she finally looked him in the eye. Her expression was unreadable. Like she wasn’t sure what to do with the information. It wasn’t fully processing. “What district meeting?”

“Your district,” he whispered, a smug little smile on his lips with the knowledge he knew he tricked her. It made her heart flutter. “Or I should say... our district.”

Her lips parted. “Our district?” She repeated dumbly.

“Yes, kitten,” his smile was going to melt her.

He watched her mouth gape open and close. The cutest little angelfish he had ever seen. “You’re—”

“Yes, baby,” he repeated, interrupting her.

There was a pause while he gazed at her. Silently begging her to process and understand what he was saying to her. “We’re going to be together?” She whispered, her voice cracking. “No more—?”

“Every day if y’want, kitten,” he promised. She burst into tears and Harry stood, pulling her up along with him to stand. He chuckled as she sobbed against his shirt. She clung to him, her arms squeezing around his waist. “Aw, baby. Please don’t cry. S’okay, kitten. S’a good thing,” he reminded her kissing the top of her head.

“You got a new job for me?” Her breath caught on a hiccup as she asked against his now tear-soaked shirt.

“Well, for us, love,” he chuckled.

“But you loved—”

“Kitten,” he shook his head, cupping her back of her neck and kissing the top of her head at the same time. “I love you, I love us, and m’sure m’gonna love this district more. Jus’ because you’re there. S’what I want. I want t’be closer t’you. It was easy.”

“But I could have changed—”

“No, kitten,” he shook his head. “S’nothing. There was an opening. I was waiting for it. M’okay,” he promised. “S’a good thing,” he reminded her.

“So where’s all your stuff?” She sniffled and pulled away. Harry cupped her face in his hands brushing away the tears. He smiled his perfect beautiful smile.

“Storage. It’ll be get delivered t’my new place when I move in.”

“You could move in with me,” she suggested, her voice soft. Like she was nervous to say it out loud. Fear of rejection. As if he could ever reject her. After he just took a job to be closer to her.

He grinned, looked at her lazily. His eyes scanning her sweet face, tear-stained but nonetheless beautiful. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Of course. Why would you get an apartment when we’re going to be going back and forth between—”

“Well, s’a lot t’spring on someone.”

“I love you,” she promised. “Of course you can move in,” she rolled her eyes. “We already live together in the summer.”

He nodded, unable to stop smiling. Somehow smiling bigger with every word she spoke. “Now we’ll always live together, too. Now, no more crying for the rest of the summer,” he tilted her face up again and kissed her cheek with a few little pecks several times over. “S’endless now. Gonna have my sweet sun-goddess for the rest of m’life,” he winked and tugged her inside. “But I think we should celebrate,” he noted, squeezing her hand as they made it to the living room.

“How so?”

“Mm... well, s’been ‘bout four hours since your last orgasm,” his voice was low and gravelly. It reached the pit of her stomach and made her feel faint. She was still red eyed from sobbing, and she was sure she didn’t look very sexy. “Think I owe y’one after making you all upset,” his hands pulled her t-shirt over her head. “Or more. Y’deserve s’many as y’want.” She smiled, shaking her head at him as he wrapped an arm around her and dipped her until she was back on the sofa. “I love you, m’sweet sun goddess.”

She giggled. “I love you, too.”

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @kissitnhekitchen @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever@harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus

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darth-mortem · 4 months

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Here is my another one fix-it COD fanfic translated by @g8se.

ATTENTION: This fic contains COD MW3 spoilers.

After Johnny's death, Simon loses his desire to live. Having avenged Makarov, he leaves the army but doesn't know where to go. It's then that Captain Price shows him the way. A long journey leads Simon to a remote island where he rediscovers the purpose of his life. 3455 words.

Post-canon, fix-it, angst, fluff, Ghost/Soap, love

I advise you to turn on this and this music while reading.

Simon stood at the deck of the ferry, leaning on the railing with his elbows, watching as ahead, through the dense morning fog hovering over the strait, emerged the outlines of his final destination - the isle of Islay. The cold wind stirred the waves, crashing against the ferry's blunt steel nose, seeping through clothing, making tears well in his eyes and leaving a salty taste on his lips. Seagulls circled above the ferry, their desperate, piercing cries making his heart squeeze in an indescribable yearning.

Simon smoked, with the edge of his ever-present balaclava lifted over his nose. He hadn't approved of this foolish habit before, but had picked it up after Johnny's death. At first, cigarettes disgusted him, but eventually he got hooked. The bitter smoke filling his lungs triggered memories of times when he could still feel happiness, when he could feel something other than the dull, oppressive pain that had now become his constant companion.

You can read on Ao3 or here:

The outlines of the island became clearer. The wind blew the fog away, the white-capped waves repeatedly clashed against the ferry's sides. Simon felt a kinship with the ever-restless sea, as now, just like the sea, he will never find peace while his tormented heart is still beating. After finishing his cigarette, he tossed the stub overboard and immediately fetched another from the pack. He had no plan, no aim, nothing except the enigmatic words of Captain Price, spoken during their, probably, last encounter.

...”I'm leaving,” Lieutenant Riley said, placing his resignation report on the captain's table.

Price took it, silently glanced over the papers, then raised his head to see Ghost, standing still and staring blankly somewhere past him.

It was over. Vengeance had been achieved; Makarov and all his henchmen were dead. Yet, it brought Simon no solace. He was utterly hollow, dead inside, and he no longer wanted nor could continue his service because he saw no sense in it.

“Where will you go?” Price asked, puffing on his cigar.

“I don't know,” Simon replied indifferently, shrugging his shoulders.

“Then allow me to give you a piece of advice,” the captain nodded towards the chair, and the lieutenant obediently sat down, putting his hands on his knees. “Head to Scotland. There's an island, Islay. Go there, to a small village on the coast, Port Ellen. There's a little pub right on the beach called 'Slice of Peace.' Find it, but don't rush. Observe before entering. Perhaps there, at last, you'll find peace for your soul. At least, that's what I would truly wish for.”...

The ferry arrived to Port Askaig right on schedule, but Simon didn't linger there. Port Ellen was situated almost on the other side of the island, about nineteen miles away. This distance could be covered by car in about forty minutes, but Simon didn't have a car. He had practically nothing except a small backpack with his belongings. Without much appetite, he ate a sandwich at the gas station, then left Port Askaig and, without any hurry, began walking along the road toward Port Ellen. Nineteen miles is a considerable distance for an average person, but not for a retired lieutenant. He understood that the journey would take him five to six hours, but that didn't daunt him. He was capable of walking without stopping for much longer if necessary, and right now, it was more necessary than ever.

About two hours into his journey, near Bridgend Woods, a farmer picked Simon up in a small truck. The truck bed was filled with sheep, and the driver was heading to Laggan Farm, but he offered to drop this strange, silent man in a balaclava off almost at Glendale. The good-natured and compassionate farmer could see that his passenger was consumed by profound sorrow, so he didn't pry into anything. As they bid farewell, he left his address and phone number, offering a visit if Mr. Riley needed a place to stay. Simon thanked him, but as soon as the truck disappeared from sight, he crumpled the piece of paper with the address and threw it away before continuing his way to Port Ellen.

Arriving at Port Ellen, Simon did as Captain Price had instructed him. Not because the retired lieutenant wanted to fulfil his commander's final order, no. Just on his first evening in Port Ellen, upon finding the pub mentioned, Simon saw Johnny there. He was as beautifully fit as ever but had let his hair grow a bit; now he had to tie back his mohawk to keep it from getting in the way when he’s working. John no longer wore military uniform or heavy gear. He was wearing jeans, a high-necked knitted sweater, and a bartender's apron with large pockets. The tattoo he got in the SAS were no longer on his hand, but he had visible scars on his temples.

For nearly a week Simon observed him from early morning until late at night. He didn't stay in the local hotel or anywhere else, spending the cold nights in the docks or in someone's unlocked barn. Simon watched and listened, and after a few days, he knew that John MacTavish had showed up around a year ago with a strange story of awakening in a hospital with no memories of his past life, but with documents and a certain sum of money in his account. After treatment and rehabilitation in Glasgow, MacTavish moved to the Isle of Islay, bought a small house on the coast. He opened a pub on the ground floor and arranged his dwelling on the first floor. Being a Scot, John was eventually accepted into the local community after a couple of months.

Of course, Simon Riley wasn't credulous. He observed and noted any matching characteristic - gestures, expressions, words, and body language that resembled Johnny's usual mannerisms. The retired lieutenant watched how MacTavish worked, solved work-related issues, and interacted with his pub's customers.

Simon really wanted to believe that this man was indeed Johnny. His Johnny, the one who once restored his ability to feel joy, happiness, love; his Johnny, with whom it was easy to work and spend leisure time; his Johnny, who managed to see beyond Ghost in his skull-faced mask, not just a soldier, a killing machine, but a human being. Injured, scarred, broken, but nonetheless - a human being. Simon Riley.

The final straw of these observations was an incident that occurred one evening at one of the tables by the pub, standing right on the sandy shore. John, as always, smiling, full of energy and life, brought four pints of beer to some grey-bearded fishermen. One of them was in the middle of telling a joke, and the cheerful pub owner naturally stopped to listen and laugh along with them.

“ Hey, John, how aboot sharin' a joke wi' us?” one of the fishermen asked, tipping his beer.

“Why no’?” MacTavish's lips lit up with his dazzling smile. “Well, for example... dae ye know what haes two legs an’ bleeds?”

“Mebe it's Lars whan he stabbed himsel' wi' the fishin' huke straicht in...” one of the fishermen started, but another one, the infamous Lars, jabbed him in the side with his fist.

“ Or mebbe it's yer wife on certain days o' the month?” he exclaimed in offense.

“Easy, lads,” the eldest among them thumped the table with his fist and looked at MacTavish. “Sae, whit's the craic, John?”

“Half a dog!” cheerfully replied the man and chuckled, but quickly fell silent, noticing no one echoed his response.

“That's a braw odd joke,” Lars said, shaking his head. “Whaur did ye hear that, John?”

“I... I don't know,” MacTavish said, bewildered, raising his hands. “Maybe it's somethin' from my past life that I don't remember.”

“Maybe it's fer the best tha ye dinnae remember,” the eldest fisherman shook his head. “ It's chilblaining tae picture how it wis wi these jokes.”

That evening, Simon quietly entered the empty pub just before closing. The bell above the door announced his arrival, and John peeked out from the kitchen - no longer wearing his apron, with his hair down, surprise in his remarkably bright blue eyes.

“We're ‘bout to close, sir,” he started, but then suddenly fell silent, catching the look of unspeakably sad brown eyes surrounded by long and blonde lashes. “But, ye know what? Come on in! Ye're not a local, right? Yer lookin' like ye seriously need to doon a few glasses o’ whiskey. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Simon hesitantly approached the bar counter and added, “I’d kill for some whiskey.”

Most of the lights in the room were already off, but the lamps over the bar were still lit, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise as he peered under the hood at the stranger with the skull-printed balaclava.

“What's the getup, sir?” he asked and cheerfully, amiably smiled. “Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite,” Simon replied automatically, and they both suddenly froze, looking at each other.

“I'm sorry,” John finally spoke, slowly pouring two glasses of whiskey; he placed one in front of the peculiar visitor and took the other one. “Have we met before? What's your name, sir?”

“Simon,” he replied, and in his hollow dead eyes, for perhaps the first time in a year, flickered faint sparks of hope. “Simon Riley.”

John looked curiously at the late visitor's face as he lifted the edge of his balaclava to take a sip of whiskey but averted his gaze upon realizing his curiosity was noticed. Swirling the glass in his hand, he took a sip and quietly asked:

“Ye're military, Simon Riley?”

“Retired,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “Why do you think so?”

“I don't know,” John said, puzzled, and gave a shy smile, “it was just the first thing that came to mind.”

They sat in the dimly lit pub till the late hours of the night. Simon saw that Johnny was at ease in his company, feeling a sense of trust, although a person who didn’t remember anything from his past life would typically cast suspicion on the stranger in the skull mask. Eventually, the bottle was emptied. The pub owner poured the last drops of whiskey into their glasses and looked at Simon with a tinge of regret.

“So, where are you staying?” he asked, wanting to prolong the parting in every possible way.

“Nowhere, really,” Simon shrugged and let out a quiet yet deeply mournful sigh.

“Ye know,” Johnny spoke slowly, “ye might think I'm mad, but I have a comfortable sofa at home.”

“You're very kind, but I have no money at all,” Simon shook his head and smiled bitterly. “I can only hope what little I have left will cover paying you for this bottle.”

“Oh, no, leave tha’!” John protested, even his hair stood on end. “Ye've been great company, tae be honest, I havenae had a conversation like this with anyone for a long time... not like with you. So, I'm repeatin’ my offer, and as for the money... I wouldnae mind a hand in the pub. What do ye say?”

And Simon agreed.

Over the next few weeks, the retired lieutenant was learning how to live a civilian life. He quickly adapted to his new responsibilities and managed not only to assist John in the pub but also took care of him - preparing breakfast and coffee, tidying the house, buying groceries from local stores. However, Simon did all of this automatically, almost without thinking. The most important thing was that he was once again close to Johnny. Yes, the latter didn't remember him at all, but they spent a lot of time together, discussing everything under the sun. The only thing the retired lieutenant refused to talk about was his military service. However, John didn't insist. He saw the terrible scars on Simon's neck and face when he lifted the edge of his balaclava, perfectly understanding why he didn't want to talk about it.

One misty, cold morning before the pub opened, Simon and Johnny stood on the beach, smoking, watching the restless sea. Somewhere in the sky, seagulls circled, and their cries remained piercing and desperate, but they no longer held power over Simon Riley's soul. Johnny had just leaned against him, and Simon, in a familiar gesture, put his arm around his shoulders, shielding him from the gusts of cold wind that pierced to the bone, leaving a salty taste of the sea on their lips.

“Simon,” the retired lieutenant heard a quiet, bewildered voice and turned his head towards it, looking closely at Johnny, “We've met before, haven't we?”

Riley looked down, took a drag from his cigarette, and remained silent for almost a minute before replying:

“Yes.”

“I've thought so,” Johnny's voice held no anger or offense. “Ye knew what I liked for breakfast, what coffee I drink, which cigarettes I smoke. Ye knew I like my whiskey neat. Ye knew... a lo’ of things that I didn't notice right away.”

Simon fell silent, looking out to the sea once more. Johnny slowly rested his head on Simon's shoulder and felt his fingers rake through his mohawk, tousled by the wind. Raising his hand, MacTavish slowly touched the scar on his temple and spoke again.

“Was I military too?” He asked. “Did we serve together? Were we friends?”

Simon remained silent. The wind snatched the cigarette butt from his fingers, but he remained absolutely still, stare fixed straight ahead, and seemingly not even blinking. John lifted his head from Simon's shoulder, took a step forward to face him, and held his shoulders. His other hand rested on Simon's chest. Simon finally lowered his gaze, looking into MacTavish's eyes.

“Will ye be surprised if I tell ye I seem tae have fallen for you?” John said. “Tis madness ‘cause I've only known ye for a few weeks, but... I'm drawn to ye. From our very first meeting when ye walked into my pub. That's why I’ve invited ye over, not because I pure needed an assistant. Please, Simon, tell me something!”

“Let's go inside,” Simon finally spoke and very gently, carefully touched John's cheek with his fingers.

The pub should have opened by now, but at this hour there never were any customers, so MacTavish didn't change the sign “Closed” to “Open.” They sat at the bar facing each other, just as on that first night when Simon finally mustered the courage to enter. Johnny poured them a whiskey each, carefully and unsurely covering Simon's hand, laying on the counter, with his.

The retired lieutenant gulped down his drink and then reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out two photographs. In one of them was Johnny in his uniform and gear, with a rifle in hand and his ever-present smile. It was his last photo taken before that fateful day when, as Simon thought, Johnny was killed. The second photo was a group shot, displaying all members of Task Force 141. Gaz and Soap were smiling, the captain looked stern, and Ghost, as always, was in the background wearing his skull mask. Johnny stared at these photos for a long, intense moment before looking back at Simon.

“I never stopped loving you, Johnny,” he said quietly. “I was with you when you were shot in the head. I held you and saw the life fade from your eyes. I don't know anything about how you survived, where you were treated, or what happened to you after that day. I remained in service only as long as it took to find your killer and seek revenge. Then, when I brought the captain the report of my discharge, he told me how to find you. He didn't give any specifics, and I came here not knowing what to expect.”

“Why didn't ye tell me this straight away?” Johnny asked, gently stroking Simon's arm.

“You were so happy, not remembering the past,” Riley replied in the same quiet tone, wrapping his wrist around Johnny's fingers. “I didn't have the courage to tell you about our service. About everything we had to go through. About how that scumbag shot you in the stomach and head while you were trying to protect our captain.”

“But that's not all that happened,” MacTavish shook his head and looked into Simon's eyes again. “There was us, not just comrades-in-arms or friends, right?”

“Yes,” nodded the retired lieutenant. “Not just that.”

Johnny lowered his gaze back to the photographs, trying to comprehend that the tough guy in the bulletproof vest covered in gear was himself; trying to recall the features of the other two fighters. That one in the hat with fancy sideburns was probably Captain Price. The name of the young and cheerful black guy in the cap was not mentioned by Simon, but they were probably friends with Johnny at some point. MacTavish frowned, trying to remember something, trying to find even the smallest breadcrumbs of memories that could lead him to the rest of them, but... In vain.

Doctors told him that with such brain damage, especially in the frontal lobe, memory loss was the least of all possible consequences. They said that MacTavish was lucky to remain functional and mentally stable. Memories might eventually return, but it was more likely that they wouldn't. Johnny accepted all of this. He had started a new life and believed he was completely happy until a mysterious stranger in a skull-print balaclava appeared on the threshold of his pub.

“I can't remember,” Johnny finally said, sadly looking at Simon. “Those people in the photo... We were probably close, bu’ I don't remember. All I can say is that even without remembering ye, I've fallen in love with ye again. And I don't want ye to sleep on the couch or go somewhere... I don't know, where your home is?”

“My home is where you are,” Simon replied, lifting Johnny's hand and lightly kissing his knuckles. “So if you still need an assistant...”

“Actually, I need more of a partner,” Johnny said, openly and warmly smiling at the man he didn't remember but loved with all his heart.

Simon spent several more weeks delving into the intricacies of managing the pub - learning how to plan and manage purchases, make cocktails, froth milk, cook simple dishes from the menu, work the till, and more. The pub closed on Mondays, and on those days, they would head out to the sea on Johnny's boat - they would fish or just circle around the island. Simon no longer slept on the couch or was a guest in MacTavish's house; he became its rightful owner. Johnny felt completely happy, falling asleep in his strong and warm embrace, resting his head comfortably on his chest.

Simon was happy too. It was evident how he gradually became less reserved, started to communicate more with the pub's customers, and increasingly more wore his balaclava raised to his nose. This allowed a glimpse that the retired lieutenant began to smile, doing so more and more often.

On a cold morning when the first snowfall covered the island with a white blanket, Simon and Johnny stood on the beach, smoking, watching the restless sea. Wrapped in a single blanket over their shoulders, they embraced each other, their lips displaying serene and happy smiles.

“I wanted to propose to you,” Simon broke the silence, stating this as casually as if it were something utterly inconsequential.

Johnny coughed, choking on cigarette smoke, and looked at him in astonishment.

“Yes, I wanted to,” Simon confirmed, continuing to gaze at the sea. “I even bought a ring for you, but... I never dared to. I thought we would have more time. When you, as I thought then, passed away, I left the ring on your grave. The cemetery worker who found it was probably happy; it was quite expensive.”

“Simon,” Johnny started, but Simon shook his head, turned to him, and, discarding the cigarette, covered his lips with his fingers.

“I can't afford to buy you the ring you deserve,” continued the retired lieutenant. “But maybe you'll agree to this?”

He pulled a ring from the inner pocket of his jacket—not golden or silver, but clearly antique, finely crafted. Johnny raised his hand, and Simon put the ring on his finger. He then kissed Johnny, lowering his head, and the piercing salty wind no longer had power over them because their hearts burned with a fire hotter than the epicentre of a nuclear explosion.

“I still couldn't remember anything,” Johnny said as they returned to the pub and prepared for opening. “You must be sad because of it.”

Simon looked at him, then pulled off his balaclava, smiled openly and sincerely, and replied:

“Quite the opposite.”

#call of duty #fix it fic #they deserved better #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap cod #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghoap

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synintheraven · 7 months

Text

Okay let's clear some things out; 1) I don't write smut bc I suck at it 2) this is part of a bigger story where the main character/reader gets to know Sihtric throughout several situations, so this is perfect if you want to read about Sihtric & reader's little made-up adventures but not so much if you're only here to read naughty stuff 😅 3) I have no idea what I'm doing :p

pic credits to myself, feel free to use them too/ask for originals (:

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary/small introduction: reader (she/her) is a Norse, Sihtric is a (actual, as in born there) Dane. Sihtric & reader meet each other for the very first time, but I kept it simple and kinda short so you'll have to keep on reading to find out how this goes (; [Side note: Yggr is one of my ocs and the Jarl/Chief of the group, but will not be a current character other than to accompany/give orders to Sihtric and reader]

✵tw: mentions of violence

✵word count: 1,5k

characters info | part two

We were near; the tall cliffs once casting shadows over the sea were far behind us and the fog was getting thicker over the marshes. East Anglia was a land of fishermen huts, distant trees and bad weather: yet somewhere in this muddy land, a band of fiery fighters were hiding and getting ready to fight for their lord.

I recognized the stranded ship half covered in sand, which Yggr had described to me, surrounded by muddy rocks and a small spot of land untouched by the sea waters. Near the rocks, among tall reeds, the camp was set and a handful of men were sat around the bonfire in an attempt to fight the cold wind.

Except for one man.

A tall, dark haired man, covered in a fur cloak; his left hand was resting over the hilt of his sword as he stood near the coast, staring cautiously at our ship as if he was trying to tell who we were. But, as we approached the small island and the fog revealed Yggr’s wild hair, the mysterious man prepared to greet us.

The sail was taken down and the crew started to row against the current, sliding through the rather calm waves to take the ship towards the land. It didn’t take long for the prow to reach the sand and before we were fully beached, Yggr jumped off our ship to meet with the dark haired stranger.

He had a concerned expression and his hand remained over the hilt of his sword, ready to fight should the need arise. Yet, unlike him, Yggr was quick to smile and open his arms, embracing the now smirking Dane like a brother.

The man was Sihtric Kjartansson, a warrior that served the long haired blonde, though he treated him like a big stupid brother rather than as his lord and jarl. Both Danes had grew up together, sticking to each other as their parents seemed to care little next to nothing for the young boys, making it no surprise the concerned stranger was in command during the jarl’s absence.

I didn’t know much about him back then, only that he was a fine warrior and a loyal man; but I had also been told he was rather friendly and welcoming, yet Sihtric looked at me with wary eyes. I stared back at him, almost trying to decipher what was going on inside his mind: studying his gaze, the storm brewing inside his blue eye and the dancing flames around the pupil of his brown eye.

He had the face of a warrior, with scars running down from his forehead and marking the flesh over his deep cheekbones, making me wonder if he was hiding any other under the strands of hair over his temple or under the scarce beard around his rather full lips.

I had jumped on the wet sand of the island shortly after Yggr, however being the only woman among all those men, suddenly the warriors resting around the fire seemed eager to welcome our crew. Everyone but Sihtric, who embraced his lord for a while but pushed him away as his men came along with curious looks.

Unfortunately for everyone else, I was not to be touched or harmed: for I was there merely to help build the camp and eventually, should the strings of my destiny allow it, find the man that killed my family.

The first birds of the day were singing their songs and the sun was setting, the land slowly revealing itself from the fog. It was a cold morning and it got worse as we had to get our feet wet in order to cross from shore to shore, but we were to stay unnoticed and therefore not to use our ship.

We were scouting the surrounding area, following the shore in hopes to find a bigger place to set a new camp. I was walking beside Yggr, with Sihtric a few paces before us to guide our way around; the rest of our group were either guarding our current camp or exploring other areas, though all of us were after the same goal.

The best hiding spots were among reeds, trees and muddy rocks, but those often surrounded water and the rising tides could be treacherous.

We saw stone ruins, abandoned churches and half burnt farms, all a consequence of folk escaping their homes in order to keep their lives, to escape the horrors brought by the monsters from across the sea.

Danes like us were plundering all of Britain; they came with the promise of riches and vengeance but stayed to become kings and killed anyone who opposed them. They had come here to do what that mad man had done to my family, my people.

I trusted Yggr’s words when he said he didn’t care about a title. He lost his chance to be king and decided to embrace a simple life, only hoping to find a nice place to thrive and stay unbothered by Saxons. Or so it was until the Great Heathen Army decided to terrorize the country, turning our heads into targets for anyone who caught us, Danes and Norse alike, wandering around.

We had stopped, suddenly. We were standing atop a small hill that went deeper in land, hoping to get a better view; the wind was blowing hard and the sun shone upon the land, easily revealing all areas of the territory.

Yggr remained silent, his mind lost somewhere in the dark blue waters from the ocean as the cold wind blew on his hair and beard. Sihtric stood next to me, his eyes narrowed because of the sun while he pointed his finger towards the tall roman ruins to the north.

—That looks like a good spot. —He said to Yggr then quickly looked my way, noticing I was the only one truly listening to him. It was, probably, the very first time he wasn’t eyeing me as if expecting me to take a knife to their throats. —I saw it before, but rain soaked the mud. It will take some work to stop that from happening again.

He had a very calming voice and explained all the work that had to be done for that old ruin to be a proper camp, though in truth all I could think about was the scars on his face: suggesting the man had been in many battles, despite being only a few winters older than Halfdan’s son.

—You two can go. —The blonde man interrupted, resting a hand on mine and Sihtric’s shoulder. —Find some horses and secure the camp, I’ll go find the men and meet you there with the ship.

—Just the two of us? —Sihtric sighed, despite trying to hide his discomfort. —What if the place has been taken? I can’t fight them with, no offense, a woman. —He glanced at me for a split second then stared back at Yggr, hoping to be released of my company.

—I am Norse. And my father raised a warrior, not a weak girl that needs some Dane’s protection. —I snarled back, watching as my words damaged his pride and brought a wide smile to our Jarl.

The only horses we could find belonged to a group of Danes camping in Theotford, a small town with thatched roofs and a run-down church that once sheltered Saxons.

There was about twenty of them, maybe more, standing watch in every corner and every small gap they could find.

—I am not “some Dane”, I’m a warrior too. —He finally added, remembering our earlier conversation.

—You’re the son of Kjartan, right? —I let out and he gave me a grim look then proceeded to avoid my glance, still walking between the tall grasses.

—We’re never going to make it out alive if we try to take one of their horses. There’s too many of them. —And he was right, those were trained warriors and we were merely a pair of lost dogs to them. —The ruins are not too far, we should get there before Yggr if we walk in a straight line and avoid following main roads.

And just like that, our short journey through the autumnal forests of East Anglia began. We walked through shrubs, trees, short walls made of stone and saw a few deer, but there was no sight of other people anywhere. We avoided getting too close to farms or church ruins, trying to remain silent whenever our surroundings were suspiciously quiet.

—So tell me, Dane, how did you end up in Norway? —I interrupted, getting a judging stare from him when he caught me walking closely by his side.

—He told you we should get to know each other, right? —He asked dismissively, moving a few steps ahead of me.

—He suggested we should get along if we’re to live together in the same camp, but you’re not as friendly as he promised.

A hint of a smirk showed on his face, though it didn’t last long. —My father sold information to Halfdan and left me in Alrekstad to either die or be raised by the king’s servants. —He admitted after a while, looking troubled as he spoke.

—There are worst destinies than to be raised with Yggr, I suppose. —I said and saw him grinning at my comment, finally showing some sort of emotion in my presence.

—What about you, Stavanger? —He taunted, making it obvious that our fool of a Jarl told him about my homeland and, therefore, my newly acquired nickname.

—That’s my homeland, yes. But I come from the Isle of Ikke, a once thriving city to the north of Stavanger.

—Then what brought you to Alrekstad?

—Vengeance. —I said cheerfully, but he gave me a concerned look in return.

Some bonus fun facts:

✯Yggr is the son of Halfdan, King of Alrekstad (modern Årstad, in Norway). He's not inspired by any TLK character, though he has a similar personality and looks to Ragnar The Younger, with some of Cnut's silly sense of humour. Yggr was to inherit his father's throne, but has no issue embracing a simpler life - even though his former position as a prince and charisma turned him into his Clan's Jarl (basically an english Earl, but a Jarl can also be someone trusted by its people and chosen as a chief).

✯Reader was born in a small island in Norway (Ikke, which is totally made up hehe) but her family was massacred when she was a baby, so she grew up seeking vengeance.

✯Sihtric isn't a bastard but his mother died giving birth to him and so Kjartan despises him/never properly treated him as his son (nor did he to Sven but he grew up to be just as his father and so Kjartan eventually accepted him as his son).

✯As this story is unrelated to what happens in TLK, I had Kjartan vanished from Denmark; though he became wealthy again by playing the pirate in other territories and selling information to kings as Halfdan, Harald Fairhair and few more across the sea...

#sihtric x reader #sihtricxreader #sihtric x you #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #my writing #rtv #road to valhalla #okay bye I'll disappear now

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