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hellishjoel · 10 months

Text

off to the races

6.3k / dbf!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

series summary: You and your parents rent a lakeside cabin, Joel and Sarah Miller are your neighbors. You’re all grown up, and you’ll do anything to prove to Joel you’re a woman now.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20’s while Joel is in his 40’s), alcohol consumption, slight daddy issues lol, cursing, use of pet names, dominant!joel, maybe a lil brat tamer!joel, oral sex (m receiving), a lil praise kink, a lil degradation kink, facial, etc. you know ;)

A/N: needed to get cool slutty daddy out of my system. He’s just a Lana coded man!! I plan on turning this into a series, I hope it get's some love! let me know what you think by sending me an ask!

Your desperate eyes met his, trying to gauge what he thought. You hated how you looked like you wanted him so bad. He was your neighbor, your friend’s dad, but you wanted him to be something for you too. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doin-” His words made your chest go tight and your eyes filled with pure horror. What have you done?! “But you need to be the one to walk away, because I don’t think I can.”

Summers in Danbury were what you looked forward to all year long when you were younger. You would love the long drive to the lakeside cabin, swimming in the dazzling blue water all day, and catching fireflies at night before ending it with roasting s'mores over the campfire.

Now, all Danbury reminded you of were your parents stripping your feeling of independence as soon as you stepped in their embrace and the lack of cell service.

It wasn’t all that bad, though. Who were you to complain about an all-expense paid vacation on the water? Your parents were fine, you just graduated from university, everything was just.. good. It almost made you a little bored, thinking about the impending summer.

The warm sun’s kiss on your skin was a welcomed greeting after spending the past 9 months away at school out of state, your eyes twinkling below your sunglasses as you stepped out of the car. It was good to be back in Texas.

“Look, there she is!” Your dad cooed as he was eager to point out the sign that sat beside the entrance of the cabin that read ‘Life is Better at the Cabin’. Cheesy. It wasn’t your choice of decor since it was just a rental property, but still. You also despised the ‘The Secret Ingredient is Always Love’ sign in the kitchen.

You plopped your bags down at the end of your bed, the one just down the hall from your parents, quick to plug in your phone charger though it made little difference with your lack of a strong signal.

You turned your head to the window, seeing an old, beaten pickup truck turn onto gravel, a small smile peaking on your lips.

“Hey, look who it is!” Your dad cheered eagerly from the living room, appearing to also be gazing out the window at the sight coming down the road and pulling into the house next to yours.

The truck in question belonged to Joel Miller and his daughter, Sarah. Sarah had been your close friend each and every summer since you were little. You two were attached at the hip once your family started vacationing here, despite her being a fair five years younger. You two got along nonetheless.

You stepped outside to greet them, as your mother and father were already out doing, your face lighting up as Sarah made a b-line to your embrace. “Oh my god! Look at you!” She praised, her eyes lighting up at your appearance.

You two didn’t get the chance to spend the past few summers together due to business with school or internships on your part, so her surprise in seeing you a few years grown up was warranted.

“Look at me? Look at you!” You said through punched lungs as she hugged you so tight you were losing your breath.

If you thought Sarah’s tight hug was bad, you weren’t prepared to see what was waiting on the other side of the pickup truck.

Your lips parted at the sight of Joel Miller. He was sort of… handsome. Was that wrong to think that? I mean, he was so much older than you, someone’s dad, Sarah’s dad. You tried not to let your eyes linger for too long but his voice pitched into the conversation and you had been caught.

“Hey, Skids.” Ugh. That dreaded nickname you had yet to wear off. “Haven’t seen you these past few summers. Happy to be done with school?” Joel’s southern drawl was a shock to your system after being up in the Midwest for school.

He was tall and rugged, so unkempt. His hair was tousled everywhere and his beard was growing with salt and pepper stippling through the landscape of his jawline. He looked hot, the faint glisten and stain of sweat marking the collar of his shirt and at the sides of his biceps.

You blinked a few times before a graceful smile fluttered on your lips.

“Hi, Mr. Miller.” You gently cooed. What? If he could call you by that horrid nickname he had given you when you were barely ten, you could call him by his surname. Your eyes caught his own shift, his jaw twitching at his name being called like that. It was just his name after all, right?

“Joel.” He corrected with a raised eyebrow, your eyes finally dragging themselves away from his handsome character as they turned to your parents, who were obsessing over Sarah. She was about to go into her senior year of high school, so of course, they had all of the basic questions to ask her. Are you taking any advanced classes? Are you still on the swim team? Do you know where you want to go to college?

You tried to look interested, but you could still feel Joel’s gravitating stare in your direction.

You were just imagining things, right? He was looking one foot over, to Sarah and your family. Except he wasn’t. You know because you snuck a casual glance over to him, and he was still on you. His gaze alone made a shiver travel up your spine.

While Sarah and your parents were nestled in their own world of conversation, you take a few subtle steps away and join him by his truck. It still felt warm, the engine relaxing after a good drive in the Texas heat.

“You need a new truck. She looks like she’s on her deathbed.” You point out, the one corner of his mouth tugging up as he kept his eye on Sarah and your folks with his arms crossed in front of his broad chest.

“She’s just fine.” He retorts nonchalantly. You hated that about him. You could never figure out what he was thinking, unpredictable but not exactly chaotic.

“She?” You asked with raised eyebrows. “I always knew you had a special woman in your life. Didn’t know she was so old, though.” You egged him on, your favorite pastime in the summers; Grinding the gears of an old man who had a bigger attitude than you most days.

“You still have quite the mouth on you. Glad to see that hasn’t changed.” Joel said sarcastically as he pushed himself off the front of the truck with his hip, his head nodding off to the side in a silent way of telling you to follow him. You watched as he pulled down the tailgate, rust screeching until it stopped with a generous thump.

“Supposed to be Sarah helping me with this, but since she’s busy being Miss Danbury, you can help me.” He said as he pointed to some firewood and other bigger pieces of wood in varying sizes.

“What do you plan on doing with all this wood anyway? I think the Amazon is looking for it.” You huffed but climbed up into the back of the truck bed without him asking you to. His protective hand instinctively guided your hip for stability, and you felt a rush of air pump through your lungs. “Thanks.” You murmur before you start reaching for stacks you could handle.

“Sarah wanted to throw y'all a bonfire with it being your first day back for the summer or what have you.” Before you could stop yourself, you were already cooing at him as you jumped down from the tailgate, watching as Joel gave a tight face of annoyance. Don’t do that, you’re gonna get yourself hurt.

It took Joel all of two seconds to grab two of the larger cut pieces, throwing each of them onto his shoulders. You couldn’t help but stare at his biceps that cradled the wood, the tan skin and muscles popping out of the dark green t-shirt he wore. Focus, focus, focus, focus, focusfocusfocus.

“And the bigger pieces? What are those for?” You asked out of sheer curiosity now once he threw them down in the back of his lawn, the sight of your parents and Sarah long gone.

He shrugged and shook his head, his hands on his hips as a layer of sweat started to build up around his hairline. “Just carvin’ projects. The rest can be used for scrap lumber around the lake properties.” His head finally turned to look at you, his eyes raking you up and down for a moment before nodding to your lake house rental. “Doin’ property maintenance over the summer on the houses ‘round here.”

“So if we need maintenance, we call you now?” You asked with a dubious face, to which he nodded.

This man never stopped. It made sense, you supposed. You reflected on the summers in the past, knowing Joel to manage his own contracting business and picking up odd jobs around town. You remember one summer, he redid the flooring of an old bakery in town and then built custom shelves for the loaves of bread and bagels. Another summer, he repaved people’s driveways with blacktop. He was a laborer, a blue-collar man through and through.

“That’s right, Skids.” The nickname made you scowl at him again, but you wouldn’t mind seeing Joel Miller laid under your kitchen sink or repairing the window in your bedroom so it could finally let in some fresh air. Frankly, you just wouldn’t mind seeing Joel Miller.

After Joel reclaimed his daughter from your parents with a snarky yet subtle, Thanks for all your help, kiddo to Sarah, he said goodbye to you and your family as everyone parted ways back to their own homes.

You were tired from the drive, but you didn’t lack attendance to the bonfire Sarah was putting together specifically for you in a welcome back to Danbury! sort of celebration. She invited the other nearby neighbors, so by the time you finally joined, it was packed with people sitting around the fire. People who lived on the lake loved a good party, anything with beer to keep them occupied.

It was a lot of talking and bottles clinking, marshmallows on sticks, and a crackling fire blazing at the center of everyone. You weren’t one for beer but Sarah insisted on feeding you bottle after bottle.

She liked sharing secrets with you, away from her dad. She considered you someone she could tell anything to. And you felt the same way. So not more than half an hour later, you two were giggling and sitting on the tailgate of Joel’s old pickup truck when you saw him start to saunter over. You saw him coming first, snatching Sarah’s bottle out of her hand and taking a sharp inhale as you hid away your own. Sarah’s secret, right?

“Dad,” she playfully whined when he came over to bust their little party.

He was silent for a moment before he looked at the dwindling flames. “Fire’s gettin’ low.” He pointed out, looking between the two of you.

His face was lit up in a mix of gold hue from the fire and silver from the moon. His face had this intensity, a bucked-out jawline, cheekbone, and nose. It was like he was carved from stone.

Sarah was silent, not wanting to leave behind her friends at the bonfire to shuffle over more wood. You softly nodded as you took a swig of her beer bottle in your hand before setting it down once you hopped off the truck bed.

“I can help.” You offered. Joel looked down at you hesitantly, sneaking a glance to where your parents sat around the growing circle of people.

“Yeah.. yeah, ‘lright.” Joel said as the two of you walked off to the dividing line on his property, the wood you had dropped carelessly earlier in the day now in a neat stack. You certainly weren’t drunk, but slamming Sarah’s beer along with the other ones she ushered you before was now messing with your head, the edges of your vision a little fuzzy, especially in the dark since the glow of the bonfire was at such a distance.

Before you knew it, you were stacking the wood into your arms, too much maybe. Joel called out your name in a warning tone.

“No, I got it! See?” You tried to reason with a cocky smile as he shook his head.

“You don’t like to listen.” He gruffly said as he started picking up the smaller pieces as they fell out of your arms.

You couldn’t help the playful scoff that left your lips, still insistent on stacking more in your arms, going as far as tucking some in your elbows but all they did was drop at your feet once you went to reach for more.

“Stop bein’ so damn difficult.” He piped up again as he snagged your wrist, halting your movements.

“Yeah? I thought you liked difficult women.” Your words were fast like a whip, your eyes challenging his own as the two of you shared unnecessarily long eye contact.

“Drop-- the wood. Stop bein’ a-”

“A what?” You challenged. The distance between you two suddenly felt like it was becoming air-tight, his eyes narrowing on yours as his features hardened. He didn’t look mad, lord knows you’d never want to actually make Joel Miller mad. He just looked-- provoked.

“A brat.” He finally bit, your teeth clenching at the name. The shock of it all made your arms finally burst open like a dam breaching with water, all of them falling to your feet as you let out an involuntary squeal. God, you did not want him to hear that noise leave you like that.

You finally tugged away your wrist from his hand, your eyes leaving his daggered gaze to examine your palm that had a decent size splinter plunged into the center of it.

“Shit,” You swore, feeling whatever heat you had left in your body pooling to your stringing finger.

You heard Joel let out a debated sigh before he took you by your wrist, much more gentle this time, and tried to bring it up closer to his eyes to examine it.

“Can’t see for shit out here.” He grumbled. You couldn’t see it either but you could feel right where it spread searing pain through the rest of your hand.

“I got some tweezers in my workshop, I’ll get it out.” Joel offered as he started walking a few paces but you let out an involuntary whimper at the sound of him taking it out.

“You don’t want that to get infected, do you?” He asked with a true voice of reason, to which you let out a sigh of agreement and followed him to his workshop.

You had only been inside Joel’s workshop a handful of times. You remember once your dad dragged you over so he could talk to Joel about his truck, and you had to wait there and wait there until they finished gabbing. Another time was when you explored it on your own, your eyes fascinated by the little world he surrounded himself in. It wasn’t all wood like you’d expect it to be. He had old guns mounted on the wall, ladders hung up in the rafters, and dusty old fishing plaques that made you disgusted at the sight. It housed his tools, the same ones he had been using for years. He knew where they were by heart, not even looking when he reached for something. Everything had its place, down to the tweezers he immediately found in an old little toolbox.

“Here,” he said as he pointed to an old metal stool as tall as your waist. You sat down on the cold metal, a little hiss of discomfort leaving you as he sighed. “Always somethin’.” Joel shook his head and offered you a spare dusty blanket, shaking your head.

“Just-- fix my hand. Please.” You said as you displayed your palm to him, now seeing it in the light for the first time. Okay.. it didn’t actually look as bad as it felt. Joel actually smiled as he looked at the tiny sliver shoved into the skin.

“..Might have to amputate it.” He said with a half-serious tone, as joking as Joel could sound. But there was a little glint in his eye, one of satisfaction from his own joke.

“Joel Miller has a sense of humor? I’m surprised. And pleasantly delighted.” You teased as he huffed and shook his head, the smile that graced his lips already came and gone. Sort of. He just looked down at your hand so you couldn’t directly see it anymore.

It took you until now to see that he changed out of his dark green shirt from this afternoon and into an old 80’s rock band shirt with a worn dark navy flannel over it. He must have showered after laboring in the Texas heat. The thought made your stomach churn in excitement.

You shivered at how cold you felt all of a sudden, no longer by the warm fire and on this damn metal stool. You shifted uncomfortably on it, cursing yourself for wearing jean shorts.

Joel let out an exasperated sigh as he stood up straighter and shoved off his flannel, your eyes softening at the sight.

“You want me to take tweezers to your hand but you keep... shiftin’ around. Stand up.” He directed, and this time you didn’t debate with him. You hopped off the metal stool and he laid down the flannel. It was a nice gesture and you were grateful. You hoped the goosebumps were from the temperature, not how close he was.

Joel pulled up another metal stool so he could steady himself, reeling himself in as close as he could and holding your palm open in his as his eyes squinted a little bit.

You felt frozen in place, your lips parting as you slowly looked down to one of his knees that parted between your own legs. Fuck. You weren’t sure if it was the little buzz of beer still in your system but something drove you to have enough courage to gently lay your hand just above his kneecap.

His eyes flicked up to yours, trying to read what was behind your thought process right now. He looked so confident, you feared you looked all shifty.

You could feel the worn denim of his jeans under your palm but underneath, he was warm. He was as hot as a furnace as your body craved it.

“The sliver.” You pointed back out, your voice smaller since you two were in such close proximity. You watched his chest heave as he took a deep breath, grumbling something under his breath before he focused back to his initial task.

You pursed your lips as you both watched and felt the tweezers line up to the red and irritated skin, his movements precise and patient until you watched him clench the tool closed.

You let out an involuntary breath of both relief and anticipation, just wanting it out already.

“Hold on, just gotta make sure I..” Joel’s voice trailed off as he slowly pulled the tiny sliver from your palm, an uncomfortable whine leaving the back of your throat.

His thigh twitched under your palm at the sound, not even realizing your hand had sunk higher up his jean-clad thigh.

“Got it.” He finally said, swiping the tip of the tweezer on the table to display the nasty little piece of wood that had caused you all this grief. You let out a breath through your nostrils and nodded.

“Thank God, no amputation.” You joked, to which he awarded you a small smile.

“I’ll call the surgeon and tell ‘em to turn around. We’re good here.” Joel said as he gently released your wrist. You watched his features carefully, seeing his lips part as he glanced down to his leg that your hand still held for balance.

“What’er you doin’?” He finally asked, his voice dropping an octave at the question. Shit.

Don’t read this wrong, or this will be the most awkward interaction you and Joel have had to date. This is worse than when he saw you fall out of the inner tube while boating, worse than when some kid tripped you at the town barbeque, worse than when you fell off Sarah’s scooter so hard that he gave you the nickname Skids.

“Woah, Skids! Better slow down!” God, that was so many years ago. His chuckle still echoed in your ears.

Now you were older, you were a woman. You had long legs and glowing skin, and a smile that knocked guy’s out of the fuckin’ park! But he was older too, older than you, younger than your dad but god, not by much. You were so close to him, you could inhale the distant smell of the bonfire, the one he probably made instead of Sarah. He also smelled like an old spice deodorant and fucking cigarettes.

He was stingy, and greasy, and hot, and Joel.

Your years of anticipation thinking about him like this was over.

You bit down on your lower lip, your mind was foggy with the rushing in your heart, feeling your ears pound and your palm still seared. He was a head taller than you while you sat together, and before you could stop yourself, you were leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his pulse.

Your lips lingered around his neck for a moment, the sensitive skin of your mouth feeling beard stubble and tasting distant cologne. Your breath fanned over the skin, clammy but sweet with his sweat.

He didn’t stop you, his eyes merely watching you carefully.

“What’er you doin’?” He asked again, but this time, his words sounded more-- goading. Do it, I know you won’t. You’re chicken shit. If you know what you want, do it.

Your heart raced as you nearly leaped off the stool, closing the distance between you two as you stood between his legs. Your hand moved higher on his thigh, so close that you were nearly touching the leather of his belt. Your mouth returned to the sweet spot of his pulse while your injured hand reached up to the opposite side of his neck to gently hold him there.

“Joel,” you whispered his name breathlessly, asking him for more, feeling his head drop down beside yours. You feared you embarrassed yourself, he wasn’t reciprocating, he wasn’t--

The thoughts brewing in your head bubbled down to a boil as his firm arm wrapped itself low around your waist, keeping you to his front as he pulled down to look at you with a stern look on his face.. You were so fucked.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doin-”

His words made your chest go tight and your eyes filled with pure horror. What have you done?!

“But you need to be the one to walk away, because I don’t think I can.”

His words surprised you. He didn’t think he could walk away from you right now? Holy shit.

Your heart was pumping so hard under his watchful gaze, seeing his eyes look from yours to your parted lips. But he didn’t kiss you, you don’t think you would let him. It felt too intimate. You just didn’t want another boring summer in Danbury and you were determined to have a fling.

Who knew it would be with Joel Miller. But you wanted him.

Your brave hands took him by the chest of his shirt, your mouth moving to his jawline as you balanced the tightrope of kissing and nibbling on the skin before your hands moved south to find his belt buckle.

His legs naturally parted for you, catching a brief smirk on his lips as you took control of the situation.

“Dirty girl goin’ right for my fuckin’ cock.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, a desperate nod leaving you while your cheek involuntarily rubbed against the stubble of his beard. You didn’t know he talked like that.

You initiated more space for yourself, nudging the inside of his thighs with your own legs as you had his back up against his drafting table with you no longer on his side but standing in front of him.

Your quick fingers desperately undid his belt, feeling the old leather under your fingers. You didn’t have the balls to look at him and frankly, you were afraid you would lose your nerve if you did.

His hands were encouraging for your nervous system, firm palms planted into your hips and even going as far as to squeeze the flesh that sat under your jean shorts. His body warmed you up, his eyes admiring you as you plucked open the button on his jeans.

You pushed your tongue against your cheek in concentration, all of a sudden desperate at the thought of having him in your mouth. You dragged down the zipper, the relaxed denim exposing the black briefs he wore underneath that hugged his tan hips.

You slowly sunk to your knees before him, as if you were worshiping a God. Maybe you were, it was Joel Miller, after all.

“This what you were learnin’ off at school?” Joel belittled, your head doing a few quick nods as a flush stained your cheeks. God. Something about Joel calling you a slut had you in a tailspin. You couldn’t wait anymore.

Your fingers delicately felt over the impressive growth that his briefs held down, biting down on your bottom lip as you let your pointer finger make the outline of his girth.

He let out an audible grunt at the action, his jaw jutted out, and his eyes filled with lust. “Lemme see that pretty mouth.” He practically purred, your chest rising and falling in anticipation as you slowly opened your mouth for him. You felt the intrusion of his thumb, a guttural moan leaving your throat as your big eyes stayed on his. He pinched at the inside of your cheek for a moment, your eyes twinging closed and opening back up with twinkling tears on the brim of flowing.

“Good girl, keep that mouth open for me.” He encouraged as he pushed two fingers past your lips, testing you. And you were more than willing to accept his little challenge. His fingers pushed on the back of your tongue, feeling your lips graze all the way to his knuckle as you worked on breathing through the feeling of his fingers shoved down your throat.

You were determined for him not to get the best of you, to prove how you had some experience under your belt. Your tongue willingly swirled around his digits, humming softly as you suckled. Now it was his turn to look like he was ready to fold. You felt him swell in your hand, the hand still stroking over his erection in his briefs.

He ripped back his fingers, leaving them with a pop to your lips. Holy shit. You took a few deep breaths and swallowed, blinking back the tears that his fingers provoked from going so far down.

“Damn, baby, look so pretty down on your knees for me. Don’t make me wait ‘ny longer.” Joel’s breaths were heavy, his southern drawl exaggerated in his lust-filled state.

A proud smirk laced on your lips, his eyes on you as he watched you pry down the material of his briefs, watching as he lightly lifted his hips off the stool and using the drafting table behind him as leverage to let his jeans and boxers rest comfortably around the top of his thighs. What you had been craving slapped eagerly into the palm of your uninjured hand, an unexpected little moan leaving you.

You studied his cock with anticipation, the glowing pinkish-red tip glistening with pre-cum from all the anticipation. He was generous in size, he would be the biggest you had ever taken. He was just… grown. You let out a satisfied little mmm, smirking up at him as your fist wrapped delicately around the base as you pumped over just the bottom half of him.

Your hand came up to push some hair behind your ear but Joel was quick to handle that for you, stroking the stray pieces back behind your ear and then planting his palm right on the top side of your head. He tried to guide you closer but you just continued to smirk at him, a desperate grunt leaving the back of his throat.

“Don’t play with me, kitten.” The nickname had you fawning, much better than the other nickname he had given you in the past. Maybe this new one would replace the old, the girl he dismissed before now a woman whose attention he craved.

You guided his tip to gently tap at your flattened tongue, using his base to guide him until you generously wrapped your mouth around his leaking head. He let out a satisfied hiss which made you smirk, knowing you were the one making him dance on the line between pain and pleasure.

You let out an involuntary mewl as the fist he had made in the back of your hair forced you further down his rigid member, feeling wet tears threatening to spill over your waterline as his tip nudged against the back of your throat. He said not to play with him and you disobeyed.

Your palms flattened to the front of his thighs as you pushed yourself off of him, gasping for air as you swallowed the mixture of your spit and his leakage that clogged your throat.

“So fuckin’ pretty chokin’ on me like that, such a pretty face.” He sneered, referring to your teary eyes. But the compliment made you blush and the choking and sobbing was all of a sudden worth it for the praise.

After that, you craved to take all of him just like he wanted. Your head worked in subtle bobs, taking inch by inch of him at a time. Sometimes his hand in your hair guided you, allowing you to take him with confidence as he let out disgusting groans and low moans.

Your gluck, gluck, glucks filled the shed, hot pants leaving your mouth around him but not willing to let your head up. Trails of your saliva attached themselves from his balls to your lips, the sight being a trophy for your hard earned deep throating. He was already so close, you couldn’t bear not to taste the prize you had worked so hard for.

All of a sudden, Joel stood up from his seat at the drafting table and you couldn’t help but show a look of disappointment. You thought he was done, going to leave you like a mess on the floor with bruises on your knees from the cold concrete and your slobbery mouth feeling his loss.

Your wet eyelashes fluttered as he returned to fist the hair at the top of your head and angled your face upward, watching as his other hand yanked on his member. The sight made your jaw drop.

“Where do you want me to finish?” His words were pained, stretched thin as he tried to hold out for an answer from you. But you wanted him to finish, you wanted to watch his face contort from the wake of his orgasm that you helped create.

“Mmm,” you hummed out as you purposefully prolonged his finish, watching as his chest puffed and his skin grew rosy from the heat flooding his body. Your cockiness was punished by a tighter grip in your hair, yanking your head closer to his shaft to force a real answer out of you. Your scalp stung but only a smile was on your face.

“You wanna cum on my face, Mr. Miller?” You asked in the most innocent tone you could muster, your mouth parting at the sight of him. He looked heavenly. The glow from his shed lights made him appear as if he had an angelic glow. But you knew he was hellish, nothing close to an angel.

Joel let out a scoffy little grunt at your question, a wicked smile gracing his lips as his hooded eyes slowly fell completely closed as the shock of his orgasm coursed through his body.

You eagerly watched and you hated how hungry you knew you looked right now. You licked your lips, eager for his taste, eager to make the Joel Miller cum. You were desperate.

His cock began twitching in his hand, watching as he methodically yanked out his own orgasm. His eyes lazily glanced between his shaft and to your large eyes, slowly smirking at the sight of you holding out for him.

“Let me see that tongue, darlin’.” His words were breathy, just on the edge of no return. You obeyed, dropping your jaw and flashing him your tongue as you fluttered your eyelashes. At the sight alone, he finished himself off with eager grunts and short moans, you swore one of them was your name.

His hot cum landed on your face, your eyes closing in satisfaction with a cocky smile. Most landed on your tongue, a few piping hot white strands splattered like paint on your cheeks and nose. All the air in your lungs left you as he tapped his pulsing tip eagerly against your tongue, watching with his jaw slack as he let the rest pool onto your tongue and down your throat.

You swallowed knowing he was watching, his hand in your hair relaxing. He tasted better than you expected, a new craving.

Instead of fisting your strands, he started stroking them away from your messy face, praising you as he tucked himself back into his pants.

Both no longer in the hot fantasy you swore you imagined once, you tried to collect yourselves. You shakily stood up from the ground, your knees cold from the concrete. You wipe off any dust or dirt they may have collected, sneaking glances at Joel as he fastened his belt around his waist once more and popping the button of his jeans back into place.

You glanced around for a tissue, your back to him as you cleaned up your face. Oh my god, you were wiping Joel Miller’s cum off your fucking face. As the two of you pieced yourselves back together, he reached for his discarded flannel that he had given you still resting on the metal chair you previously abandoned before settling between his legs.

“Said you were cold. Take it.” He said as he fisted some of the material and looked at you expectantly. You sighed before gently taking the material and wrapping yourself in its warmth.

As he placed a bandaid on your palm to cover your futile wound, you admired the flannel in all of its unknown beauty.

It was one of his older ones, you sort of felt bad because you could only assume it was one of his favorites. It adorned a few minor holes and rips, some of which were badly stitched back together in an attempt to salvage it for another few years. Despite its appearance, you melted into it because it smelled like him. It smelled smoky like his cigarettes or maybe that was just the residual smoke from the bonfire. As you walked outside, you could smell it clearer.

Sandalwood with a hint of cinnamon, you wondered what cologne he used.

Your head was lost in thought as you began to wander back towards the bonfire, a sharp clearing of his throat bringing you back to your senses. You whipped around, seeing as he pointed to the stray wood you had dropped from earlier.

“Oh-” you said bashfully as you returned to the pile with him, both of you knelt down picking up stray pieces. Once you started piling the wood in your arms again, he let out a short chuckle from deep inside him as he held your wrist from stacking more.

“That’s enough for now, just go.” You liked seeing his face lit up like that, knowing you were the cause of it being even better.

“Okay, Mr. Miller.” You cooed quietly, his face hardening at the name of adoration you had given him.

“Okay, Skids. I’ll be seein’ you.” He said with a tight nod of his head, his eyes directing you back to the fire. You set down the firewood by the rocks surrounding it as a barrier, clearing your throat as you returned to the tailgate. You could still taste his cum on your tongue.

No one seemed to notice your trip taking unexpectedly longer than necessary. Your parents were both swaying their heads and laughing, empty bottles by the legs of their folding lawn chairs to explain their obvious lack of awareness.

Sarah had joined up with other friends in your absence, but you didn’t mind.

You finally had a moment to reflect on what had just taken place in Joel’s shed. You let your vacation house neighbor cum in your mouth. Your older, stoic, stubborn ass of a neighbor.

As if on cue, Joel returned to the side of his truck with his body leaning against the tailgate. His jean-clad hip lightly grazed your thigh, glancing over to see him offering you a beer.

“Since you’re all grown up now.” He said with a little spark behind his eyes. You nodded and took the opened beer with a growing smile.

“Cheers.” He offered as he held out his bottle to clink with yours.

“Cheers to another summer in Danbury.” You tell him.

He cocked his eyebrow and glanced over to you one more time before he focused his eyes on the growing fire.

“This one ain’t quite like the rest.” It almost sounded like a promise from him. You hoped it was. Because you were wearing his flannel and you were on his knees for him tonight, you wondered what experience of Joel could offer you this summer.

---

read part 2 - dark paradise!

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here's how to join my taglist!

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#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #hellishjoel #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller

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vivwritesfics · 7 months

Text

Lando Norris HC's

I'm burnt out and exhausted and I just want someone to love me haha

Masterlist

Lando

Where to begin?

He's... something else

Don't get me wrong, he's amazing

What's not to love?

High performance athlete who also streams on Twitch

Every bit the golden retriever boyfriend everybody wanted

Every bit the golden retriever boyfriend Y/N got

This man? Attention WHORE

He doesn't stop

Comes out with the weirdest stuff

It's so much fun

Wants his girlfriend with him for race weekends

Because he hates going a long time without pissing her off

Very important that his girlfriend gets along with Carlos

She's there when they're pissing about

During their McLaren days?

Mayhem

You kind of have a love every minute of it if you're dating Lando

Sitting in while he streams sometimes

Not every time

But being in the room, doing something while he streamed

Y/N could be doing her own work while Lando gamed and streamed

Chief cuddler

But can't sit still long enough for them to properly cuddle

Loves getting his hair played with

Oooooo running your fingers through Lando Norris' hair? Literally can't imagine anything better

Stealing hats and hoodies purely because they smell like him

Lando loves snogging

Kissing by lamp light, hands on her hips, grip almost bruising

Or his hands would be on her face, pushing away her hair

Man loves marking up

Marking up his girl and being marked up

Aka, hand prints, hickies, scratches down his back

Lando loved that the most

Feeling her nails raking down the skin of his back

Plus, it was easy to hide

Unless he was participating in an ice bath

Then he'd mark her up twice as good, since she couldn't leave marks on him

Out in the club, Lando is very touchy

Aka, doesn't let go of her

Holding her hand

Holding her hips or her ass as they danced

Y/N becoming one of the more photographed WAG's

Simply because she didn't want to stay hidden

She wanted the world to see her with Lando

She wanted the world to know how much she loved her man

After a race, when Lando was in the top three, he'd climb of the car, wave to the crowd, run over to the McLaren team at the barriers to celebrate

And then he'd pull Y/N against the barrier and she'd kiss his helmet, where she'd think his lips would be

Holidays with Lando!!

Oh my god, literally the best

Fancy hotels and Yachts

Adventuring together

Holidaying with other drivers

There was one particular holiday

It was very spontaneous, they hadn't booked anything

Just hopped off a plane and off they went

To the Canary Islands

It was difficult to get a hotel

When they landed, they could only get one

It was... hell

Kids everywhere, booming music like baby shark playing around the pool all day

It was all inclusive, with drunk, neglectful parents spending every minute getting burnt on the sun loungers or around the buffet

Y/N and Lando found themselves as far away from the pool and buffet as they possibly could

Y/N would be reading her book as Lando did... something

When parents came and took their kids for dinner, they got a break from it

They could go in the pool without kids swimming into them

The hotel had crazy golf

Happy Lando

Happy Lando dragging Y/N around the crazy golf course, giggling like a child

Driving with Lando

Ugh, simply the best

Driving around Monaco in the Fiat Jolly (before he sold it) with his hand on her thigh

Driving in any vehicle with Lando's hand on her thigh

Hitting every red light

Kissing at the stop signs (darling)

Lando belting out the lyrics to any song that comes on

Having a car playlist so that the both of them could sing along

Going to Lando's parents for Christmas

Traditional British Christmas

Aka, roast dinner, pulling crackers, drinking, playing board games and ending the night with a cheese board

Taking his girlfriend around Guildford while they're in the UK

(I'm pretty sure it's Guildford - a youtube video from five years ago just popped up which said Guildford)

(Guildford is the halfway point between where I live now and where I actually live)

After a year and a half, Lando asks her to move in with him

Six months after that, they get a dog

A Doberman, collie, or golden retriever, I think

The name? Badger

Why? Daniel

Aka, Daniel knew the couple were going to adopt a dog

He had to get himself involved somehow and

He placed a wager - if Lando finished below P5 he'd get to name the dog

Y/N readily accepted

Lando DNFed that race

And so, the dog was named after the honey badger himself

To this day, Lando doesn't know

Lando is such a good dog dad

The dog doesn't come to the race weekends like Roscoe does with Lewis

Either Y/N stays home or the dog stays with a trusted friend if they had both gone

Lando's social media becomes a fan account for the dog

Having oh so many pregnancy scares with this man

Who doesn't love a late night run to the shop to get a pregnancy test or two?

They do eventually get pregnant

Y/N finds out on a race weekend

She was at home with Badger when she saw the pregnancy test in her bathroom cabinet

Video calling her best friend, Y/N took it

She waited the mandatory couple of minutes before she checked the little stick

She had to hang up on her friend

It was just meant to be for fun

Nothing serious

But then it turned serious

What the fuck was she going to do?

When the fuck would she tell Lando?

Should she tell him now, before he's about to go and race?

Yeah no, not a chance

Not with how much she was currently freaking out

She waits until he gets home from the race weekend

The test (and all of the others she'd done) had been thrown in the bin

All she had was herself

This was fine

She wasn't freaking out

(she was freaking out big time)

Y/N stayed up, waiting with Badger for Lando to come home

As soon as the door opened, she jumped up and faced him

Lando dropped his things when he saw her

He'd assumed she'd been asleep when he got in

But no, she was still awake

And he'd been waiting for him

Warmth spread through him

Normally, when Y/N waited up for Lando, she'd jump into his arms

But not this time

She just stood there, staring at him

"I've got something to tell you"

Anxiety spread through Lando

Y/N told him

He dropped to his knees

Well, his one knee

For the longest time Lando had been looking for a sign that he should propose

He wanted to, he desperately wanted to

He was just looking for some sort of sign

This wasn't a sign, it was a slap in the face

With all of the racing, Lando hadn't yet managed to buy her a ring

He'd really meant to

When he got down onto one knee, it was at the very back of his mind

"Marry me?"

Yeah, that was how he asked

Of course, Y/N said yes

Lando began running around, looking for some rope or yarn or twine that he could wrap around her finger until he got a proper ring

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nomorefstogive · 1 month

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Here is another idea. Imagine if we could get to roast the archons. Like a once in a lifetime event, The archon's roast. We get each archon on a panel and we get someone close to them. Even the archons get to roast each other.

Oh hell this is beautiful, I can already picture this happening, maybe courtesy of the Traveler or someone else having pulled them all into the Serenetea pot, one thing leads to another over drinks and soon the roasts start to fly.

From everyone ganging up on Venti about his drinking habits, to them turning on Zhongli over his inability to manage his own finances, to Ei's inability to handle change, to Nahida being too gentle with her people, to Furina's penchant for treating everything like a performance.

Eventually it all just devolves into a constant back and forth that has been spear headed by the likes of Dvalin (Best I could think of for Venti outside of Diluc or Barbara), Xianyun, Miko, Alhaithem or Nihlou, and Clorinde or Neuvilette.

And as this chaos is going on, the Traveler is leaning back in their chair, their face in their hands as they try and suppress a mixture of humor and embarrassment at the scene before them.

What would make it more chaotic is if it occurred during a celebration that includes more than just the aforementioned individuals, with the majority of the Traveler's comrades all being present, each one chiming in their own complaints and roasts, with the Archons retaliating in kind.

"I may be drunk, but at least I don't work till I collapse and have to be dragged away."

"I readily admit that I have issues with my own finances, but at least I am not constantly lying to my family regarding my profession."

"Change is not something that comes naturally to me, I admit. But at least I don't shed fur everywhere when the season changes, or worship a long dead God."

"Gentle I may be, but at least I can express myself openly, and not loose myself to my work. I also don't have a complex regarding my creator, nor have I attempted to be what I am not."

"Oh. You really want to go there? Well at least I didn't kill my friends father in front of her, or loose control over my own element and have to rely on a mere 'usurper' to get it back."

More and more the situation devolves as chaos reigns amidst the roasts and yells, all while Paimon joins the Traveler in hiding her face in her hands.

In a sagau setting, this could occur as a result of a combination of everyone being a little tipsy and a careless word, with the reader simply watching as the chaos breaks out around them, not needing to say a word as all hell breaks loose around them.

At least that is what comes to my mind at the moment, sorry if it is not what you had in mind.

#genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau #genshin impact #nomorefstogive answer #archon roast #this could only end in chaos #and I love it lol #genshin #roasting the archons #and them roasting characters in turn

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kaythefloppa · 2 months

Text

Wild Kratts - Our Blue and Green World: Part 1: Review [Spoilers]

Welp, here it is, the Wild Kratts TV movie (not to be confused with the feature film they've been teasing us with since 2021). There's been a lot of hype around this special and season, especially with how much the latter was being hyped up during the hiatus. Let's see if the blue and green bros were able to deliver: Spoilers under the cut

Well, this is certainly an attention grabber!

This entire live action intro is shot and edited like an animated Wild Kratts episode, it's glorious.

Woah, intro change!

They said the thing! They said the thing!

HELP THIS IS SO RELATABLE. Also, THE BOYS ARE FIGHTING

Lmao I don't think they do it very often, but using animals/nature in their insults is very creative.

Also, whooping crane episode when?

youtube

This entire song is mercifully short. Like most character sung songs in Wild Kratts, it's not good, but this at least is clever in its lyrics and its visuals. It feels like a Disney reference at best and I am content with that. I also ADORED seeing the Draco and Walrus Suit return again. It's arguably the best musical number in the series. No, that is not saying a lot.

MARTIN WHY ARE YOU THE ONE WHO'S MIFFED YOU NEARLY MUFASA'D YOUR LITTLE BROTHER

CHRIS WHY ARE YOU MILDLY INCONVENIENCED YOU GOT ACRAPHOBIA FALLING FROM THAT HEIGHT

When I first saw the clip, I thought that they were going somewhere with this, like they'd activate Peacock Powers at the end when they recognized the compatibility and blue and green. But nope. Wasted potential is an understatement.

Also, where the fuck are they right now? In a previous shot there was Target the Chameleon, implying that they've been to Madagascar, but that is an Indian peafowl, and as far as I'm concerned, they don't live in Madagascar. Were they just having an off-day? These animals have little to nothing to do with the plot when they really shouldn't have, so I don't see why they couldn't have just shown a projector image or something.

Remember when I joked about the Wild Pony Power Suit returning in S7.... fuck you Apollo.

Man, they are eating it up with the animation here. It's hard to tell with screengrabs but man, is it fluid.

The first half of this episode is mixed. While it feels like the brothers are incredibly stubborn, it also does make sense for them to be this fixated on their favorites. So I can totally buy this. It could've been insufferable to watch, but it wasn't.

As if YOU haven't spied on them since the first time your dorito-headed ass showed up on screen

Did you find that funny? Because not only do they do a similar joke like that later on, but they follow through on that joke in the most unexpected way you will shit your pants when you first ingest it.

Oh my god if they make a Creature Power Suit off of that bird, I will take back any diss I've made, that is so beautiful.

Good to know that Aviva put the button near the chest and not near the back.

Maybe it's just me but this is kinda pushing it. Chris is literally getting his organs crushed, I think that should matter more than A) being right or B) trying to get 2 people to stop fighting.

I'm loving the callback and what this leads up to but ew, all this does is remind me about how ugly bright the color pallatte in S6. Really glad they fixed it in S7.

HELL FUCKING YES

This episode finds really unique ways of showing how the two different biomes are interconnected. It's like Rainforest Stew's (very brilliantly handled) message only to a larger degree. Kids can learn a lot from this.

I fucking love this episode, man.

Honestly, the way they write Paisley in the first half of the episode is very in-line with her character. Most shows that do what this episode does has them be out-of-character as a set-up, but here, she's just roasting the fuck out of Zach. Once again, recontextualized entirely in the climax.

HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET TO MADAGASCAR FROM THE GODDAMN AMAZON IN ONE AFTERNOON THAT IS LIKE MORE THAN 1,000 MILES AWAY?? ARE ANACONDAS THAT FAST?????

Also, INDRIS!!!!! :D

I was frankly expecting this to horribly backfire but spoilers, it doesn't. This actually winds up working. Common Aviva W.

To be continued.... will the blue and green rivalry end? Will one prove superior over another? And will they be able to stop Zach and Paisley and save the planet earth? And will this change the adventures of the Wild Kratts team forever? Stay tuned for part 2!

Pros:

The live action segments.

The animation of the earth's model.

The musical number not being ass.

Paisely's catty behavior.

The Anaconda Suit.

The inventive ways they show how the stability of the Earth is complex. There are a lot of ways it functions and thus a lot of ways it needs to survive

The comedy.

Cons:

The villains do not do anything until the second half of this episode. In fact, they're left completely in the backdrop. I expected them to make their prescence known and for Aviva to invent the discs to get them together for the SAKE of fighting the villains. But no. It makes the stakes feel hollow, which is the opposite of what they should be gunning for in an hour long special that they hype the shit out of.

CONCLUSION:

It was an "okay" set-up. It did live up to some of the hype it had, but not all of it. Honestly if it wasn't for the second half of this episode, this movie would be mediocre or slightly above average, but no. They do pick themselves off the ground and... they do jump the shark. But we'll get to that next time

#spoilers #season 7 spoilers #wild kratts #wild kratts season 7 #paisley paver #zach varmitech #kratt brothers #2d kratt brothers #2d martin kratt #2d chris kratt #I lost sleep over this episode istg #Youtube

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percervall · 7 months

Note

Trick or treat!

the devil's in the details

Dominik Szoboszlai x fem!reader

warnings: AU, mentions of domestic abuse, hinting at loss of virginity, stalking, Catholic guilt, implications of purity culture

In which you made a deal with the devil

At first it was just a feeling, this raising of the hairs on the back of your neck. Surely it was just your mind playing tricks on you, Halloween was right around the corner and thus you chalked it up to that. However, the feeling wouldn’t shake even after Halloween came and went.

And then you started not only feeling eyes on you, you began seeing him. He’d be there in the background of your reflection of shop windows, in your peripheral vision whenever you crossed the road. It was unnerving to say the least, and yet you also couldn’t help but swallow thickly whenever you spotted this dark stranger, looming in the shadows, as your thoughts became sordid. Every time you caught yourself fantasising just a little about being hunted down by him to have his way with you, you would cross yourself and whisper the act of contrition under your breath. He was… Enticing. Beautiful even. But there was an aura of caution as well; his dark hair and gaze combined with the beard and glint of silver rings as he adjusted his black coat should have been enough of a warning to stay the hell away from him. Oh, but where’s the fun in that? a little voice inside your head would whisper whenever you got caught staring back at him and he’d smirk before disappearing into thin air. And then you stopped seeing him for two days. A week. Not having his eyes on left you feeling unmoored at first until it became just another thing you accepted. Which meant that when it was his face you looked up to when someone handed you one of the apples that had dropped out of your bag, you were rooted to the spot at first.

“Uhm, t-thank you..” you managed to stutter out, quickly grabbing it from his outstretched hand. He just smirked at you, keeping his eyes on you as you reshuffled the contents of the totebag to ensure the rest of its contents remained inside.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

His question rattled you, making you take another good look at him to make sure you did in fact not recognise him.

“Should I?” Your reply wasn’t meant to come across as deviant but judging by the quirk of his lips, he was somehow expecting this reaction from you.

“You wound me,” he said, a hand clutching at his chest in mock-pain, “Ten years, and this is how you treat me?” He tutted at you, grinning now.

“I-I am really sorry.. I don’t think we’ve met?” It wasn’t meant to come out as a question.

“Allow me to refresh your memory, sweetheart,” the tall stranger said, his fingertips brushing against your temple. The noise of the city fell away, the street morphing into a dimly lit park, leaving just the two of you. You were about to ask him what in God’s green earth was going on when you saw a young woman –a teenager really, approaching a bench with a mix of determination and apprehension written all over her face as she wrapped her parka tighter around herself. It took another second before you realised you knew that girl –you used to be that girl; A girl consumed by worry every time her sister came home for Sunday roast while trying to hide the bruises he had left her.

“So can you help me?” you heard your younger self ask, pulling you from your memories.

“That depends. You know a deal like this comes at a price?”

“I- I don’t have money.. All-..” You watched your teenage self’s confidence falter as she scrambled to come up with something worth bargaining, “All I can offer is m-my virginity.” It came out as a whisper but you didn’t need to hear in order to remember exactly how you felt when you uttered those words; the white hot shame tinged with something else you couldn’t quite name at 16 but you now recognised as lust.

“Mm, judging by the look on your face you know exactly who I am, don’t you sweetheart?” the man next to you said.

“Lucifer,” you whispered, a sense of panic crawling up your throat.

“I go by many names, but you can call me Dominik.” The grin he gave you made you swallow hard and clench your thighs together –much to Dominik’s amusement.

“You made me a promise, and darling you better have kept your end of this bargain or I am going to be very upset,” he almost cooed in your ear, brushing your hair back. It sent shivers down your spine and you were quick to nod.

“Mm, good. Please know that I intend to collect with interest, sweetheart.”

The implication of his words had you whimpering. Your chest tightened with guilt at the image he painted for you; at how he would most likely ruin you in more ways than one, and whether Father Michaels would allow you back into the church if he ever found out.

“Please, forgive me Father…” you began whispering, crossing yourself almost on autopilot. You had to close your eyes at Dominik’s laugh.

“Oh, he can’t save you now. You made your bed, now lie in it.”

Welp, it only seemed fitting to give you the Dominik AU. It's technically not finished but I have no idea if it ever will become more than this. Thanks for feeding this brainrot Amy, I had a lot of fun exploring this dynamic

Wanna go trick or treating?

#football fanfic #football oneshot #football drabble #dominik szoboszlai x reader #dominik szoboszlai x you #amy asks

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halloiambored · 10 months

Text

Random Snippet

CW: kidnapping and suffering, the works.

Ethan isn’t a hero.

He’s just an average guy who lives in a modest apartment on the East side of the city. He has a cat. It’s nice.

Okay, yeah - he knows things that could cripple the agency in minutes, but that doesn’t make him a hero. If anything, he’s just a liability.

“Large black coffee, please.”

This cafe is always busy around noon, conversations and kitchen clamor bleed together with the muffled chaos of the city streets.

“Sure thing. Would you like our medium or dark roast?”

“Dark would be great,” Ethan smiles weakly, thumbing through his wallet. As he pulls out a ten, his focus catches on the casual tapping of the cashier’s nails.

“Do you want room for cream and sugar?”

“Ah, nope, no thanks. Do you take cash?”

Whatever she says is lost to the ringing in his ears. A few dazed heart beats later, he remembers how to breathe. God, his life is a mess.

“Sir?”

“I uh, sorry, what did you say?” How she manages to be so kind is beyond him.

“We do! It’ll be—”

“On me! Thank you.” A gloved hand on his arm makes Ethan jump, eyes darting to the man - nope, hero - beside him. Ironically, he doesn’t recognize their suit. Ethan, the designer of every super-suit in the city, doesn’t recognize their suit.

“Really?”

“Don’t worry about it! I haven’t checked in on you in a while, it’s my treat. Hey, how’s your cat?”

Completely at a loss, Ethan stares. Something is eerily familiar about his crystal blue eyes, but he can’t place it.

“Are you okay, man? I’ve been worried about you, after everything that happened last week. Here - let’s get out of the way.”

Draping his arm across Ethan’s back, the stranger subtly shoves him toward the pickup counter.

“Look, Ethan - it is actually Ethan, right?”

“Who—”

“Oh c’mon, you don’t recognize me? Wow. Here, I’ll jog your memory.”

With a smirk, the man sends a spark of electricity racing up his spine. And sure, it’s jarring to feel his muscles flex and flutter involuntarily, but the discomfort isn’t what makes his stomach drop.

No - it’s because the villain beside him is Aaron fucking Whitehall, the ex he spent years trying to forget. Since he mentioned last week, it means he’s here because... not to…

“Oh my god.”

Like a switch, Ethan tries to squirm away. To his dismay, his strength seems to be evaporating by the second. All he manages to do before he’s slammed against the wall is knock over someone’s lunch, their plate shattering on the tile floor.

For a beat, the tension in the room is palpable. Then reality crashes back into place.

Naturally, someone’s screaming as the crowd tries to escape the henchman at the door. Ethan, though - he’s begging, eyes wide and filling with tears, hands pathetically pushing at the gloves holding him in place.

“Look, now you’ve made a scene. I was trying to be subtle, y’know. Nice. Hell, I caught you off guard in broad fucking daylight and you’re stupid enough to try to run. Aren’t you supposed to be good at your job?”

“Pleaseplea,” he chokes, breath hitching, “don’t do this, please, I don’t understand why you’re her—”

Without warning, fire. Ethan’s world is on fire.

Gasping in shock, his struggles turn frantic, panic clouding his every thought. Desperately, he coughs out, “StOP!”

“Mmm no,” Aaron continues with a malicious grin. “Instead, three things are about to happen. One, you’re going to get in my car. Two, you’re going to cooperate unconditionally. And three, you’re going to spill all of the marvelous little secrets in that pretty head of yours.”

“N-no—”

“Yeah, you will. Because if you don’t…” Aaron leans in, his breath ghosting over Ethan’s ear. Somehow, the pain gets worse, ripping a scream out of his already sore throat.

“You will suffer. I will make your life hell on earth and I will enjoy every second.”

As the rush of artificial electricity fades, Ethan falls. Even free, the designer’s lungs burn for air that doesn’t come, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“So, shall we?” Startlingly polite, Aaron turns on his heel and walks away, clearly expecting Ethan to follow.

Fuck fuck fuck, this is not going to end well.

Without missing a beat, two of the henchmen step forward to drag him along, effectively cutting off his weak protest with a knee to the gut.

“You got the wrong guy,” he wheezes, voice hoarse and charged with emotion.

After all, Ethan isn’t a hero, he’s just a liability. But if he can make Aaron believe him, if he can get out, maybe the city stands a chance.

“Yeah, sure I do.”

“No really, Aaron,” the goons throw him in the backseat, and he gracelessly scrambles away from the open door. “I work at the agency, but I’m not - they don’t trust - what secrets?”

With terrifying ease, the men drag him back to lock shackles around his wrists, the metal unforgiving.

“Oh, you don’t know anything? Seriously? After your agency leaked your name, you really think I’ll let you off that easy?”

The villain’s cruel smirk leaves nothing to the imagination. Obviously, he isn’t going to be convinced that easily. No, Aaron will ruin his dearest captive, and then some, to get what he wants.

But when Ethan finally sobs, he’s still surprised when Aaron laughs.

Why did he have to be the one to find him?

“Dam-mnit. Please, at least — I’m trying,” his already warbled voice cracks, “I trying to tell you the truth. Please. You’re going to make me go through this, you’re going to… it’s… oh my god, please let me go. I-I can’t give you information I don’t have. Aaron, plEAse!”

“Bullshit.”

At that, the car door slams in his face.

#original #writing snippet #hero x villain #whump #I want to continue this one #cause plot ideas #but man does it take me forever to write a ‘quick’ lil snippet

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bretongirlwrites · 10 months

Text

News reaches Leyawiin much as anything else does: hobbling along the battered old road; repulsed at the first when the lounging Count and all his surrounders do not listen; and fading at last with the dark sullied rainwater, falls into perilous bachlein, and goes back into the swamp-lights. These to the Imperial City are the backwaters, border-lands which do not matter; and it takes so damn long to ride even to Bravil, that were something to happen to Bravil, – and things do on the alarming regular, – then those in Leyawiin may perceiving flickering over the horizon, sit tight and half-happy, in the knowledge that a marsh is as good as a barricade; and that even whatever is interested in Bravil, – should not find anything worth taking from Leyawiin.

That is how the Count sees it: when unmoving as his city, he does whatever he damn well wants, because news in the returning sense will meet a similar fate, and Leyawiin will still be an island in the marsh. He does not listen to messengers, or more outwardly inclined nobles, and most especially not to falsely-titled upstarts telling him to muster a blighted army or face destruction by thrice-damned fire-born bastards from the city-roasting hell-spit pits of Oblivion. Something about Bruma. Bruma is hundreds of miles away. Maybe thousands. It doesn’t matter. Except to the upstart gnashing her tusks at him and tiresomely un-arrested despite the sword.

It’s Mazoga. Sir Mazoga. And she has a bone to pick again. Leyawiin doesn’t get an imaginative expletive like Oblivion. Just this fucking hell-hole’s gonna be slurped into the ground and bloody disappear. Colourful as the marshes.

‘It has not been slurped into the marsh,’ says Count Caro, ‘for thousands of years. I hardly think, –’

‘No, you’re right, you don’t,’ says Mazoga, who has in his place done so much thinking, that her hand itches to do. ‘Bruma doesn’t lie. Does a whole bunch of other bloody things, but if they say there’s daedra, there’s daedra. We need a damn army.’

‘I have things more important to be worried about,’ says the Count, ‘than ludicrous things that will probably not happen. I might just as probably, prepare for the High Chancellor to put on a tutu and dance a jig on the roof of, –’

The Count like anyone else, actually has no idea what the High Chancellor does in his free time; and though he calls Leyawiin an island, fears the man’s judgement; so falls silent. A silence which, naturally, is filled by Mazoga’s outpourings.

‘Look, stuck-arse,’ she says, – the Count flinching, cannot quite bring himself to do anything, lest that sword come out, – ‘if you don’t do anything, I will.’

‘Oh! will you now.’

‘I did something,’ says she with feeling, ‘when my friend was killed; I did something, when I found their fucking camp. Got that little stranger to do something, too. Remember that? Remember that? I can get stuff done, I can persuade people, –’

‘You are entirely failing,’ yawns the Count, ‘to persuade me.’

Because he is on an island, because he’s always been on an island. Because he can do what he damn well wants, and what he wants, is a hot bath and a racy novel and about one hundred percent fewer orcs in his throne-room. – On reflexion, the burly one guarding his crockery-collection can stay. – Because he has heard the news from Bruma. Bruma was weeks ago. The news got here by the usual route; damn near sank on the way, judging by the messenger; he’s always said, – because he doesn’t want to move, because he can’t believe it lest he be obliged, – that even a creature from the bowels of Oblivion would turn up bedraggled and covered in pond-weed at the gates, and collapse like a Five Claws drunkard into a bachlein. Wouldn’t even need stabbing. Mazoga’s sword is remarkably close, –

Mazoga’s finger in his face. Would prod him, slap him, gods know what, if touching his Lordship, – and he sometimes, gods damn it, wished it extended to Alessia, – weren’t as punishable as pissing in the damn crockery-cabinet. – Which has its own law for a reason, apparently. – Mazoga says something more, it’s mostly expletive, –

‘All right,’ says she at last: ‘all right.’

Takes a step backwards. Marius breathes more easily.

‘If you won’t do it,’ says she, ‘then I will.’

Though she is trembling, though her face is darkening, she does not reach for her sword. Rather she looks about the room, this wondrous stagnant room, and shouting, rouses all the guards.

‘I’ll do it. I’ll raise an army. I’ll go into the fires of Oblivion, I’ll come back scorched and battered and gods know what, but I’ll do it. If the daedra attack Leyawiin, they’ll fucking regret it. You can stick your arse to your gods-damned throne all you want. Pretend it’s some bloody island, –’

Now that he sees her more clearly, he notices for the first time, the horse rampant on her armour. Is it new? She clutches it naturally, when she puts a hand to her breast. The guards pay more attention than they ever have.

‘It’s my city as well, – Count.’ The Count knows what insult she meant to put in the word, but does not react. ‘I’m not doing this because I’m some dumb-arse hero. I’m doing it because, – because it’s worth defending. This mess. This hell-hole. It’s my city.’

She’s run out of words, – at last. Lowers her hand from the horse. Stumbles a bit on the carpet, looks half reverently at the banners that quiver in her wake; then scornful, back at the Count on his ancient unshifting throne.

‘For what it’s worth,’ she adds, quietly.

‘If you are going to make all this racket,’ says the Count quite voiceless, ‘then you can do it outside.’

‘I bloody well will,’ says Mazoga, – thinks of Leyawiin damp and ugly and filled, and filled, with people it doesn’t deserve, – ‘I bloody well will. And when the daedra are defeated, –’

It might not come. But it might. It might. It damn well might. Mazoga, as bidden, goes outside. Marches out, Leyawiin-green cloak fluttering; and even in the gloom, her armour shining, – her armour shining.

#breton girl writes #oblivion #mazoga the orc #didn't know how to put bachle in english. have only ever seen them in freiburg. idk why i thought they needed to be in leyawiin #i suppose they're just drains #also like. ive never put so many swear words in a piece. it's kind of dangerously fun

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sweaterkittensahoy · 2 months

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hey! if you’re still doing prompts—i saw how you said that you take on any ships sort of like a challenge and everything so may i offer you this incredible crackship: douglass/harding in which harding catches him with his ridiculous amount of rubbers and teaches him how to actually use it right

ignore this if u want, or change the ship if u prefer :)

[This grew feelings. I blame feelings.]

Douglass is on his third "welcome back from the dead" whiskey when Colonel Harding comes up to him at the bar and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Sir," Douglass greets.

"How you feeling, Douglass?" Harding asks. He's got a whiskey in his own hand, his cigar in the same hand. His hand lingers for another moment on Douglass's shoulder, then he takes his hand away so he can retrieve his cigar and take a drag.

"Some bumps and bruises," Douglass says, "but the cuts are the worst of it, Sir."

Harding nods. "Good. Glad to hear it. He leans a little closer, his shoulder brushing Douglass's for a moment. "I do have a question regarding your personal effects, though."

"What's that, Sir?" Douglass asks.

"Why in the hell do you have so many goddamn prophylactics in your footlocker?"

Douglass snorts whiskey up his nose. Harding gives him one sharp smack on the back as he wheezes. His vision and airways clear after a couple of moments, and he realizes they have an audience. Crosby and Blakely and Hambone and a few others. "Well, Sir," he says, and flashes Harding his most winning smile, "it's been awhile since I had leave."

The boys laugh, and Harding smirks as he sips his whiskey. "For fuck's sake, Douglass, pick a pretty face and get your dick wet before we can float your damn footlocker back to the States after the war."

Douglass leads the laughter this time. "Yes, Sir," he says. "If that's an order, I'll see if I can't trick Blakely right here into a little something tonight."

"I'm still not over the clap you gave me last time," Blakely retorts, which causes even more laughing.

"Hell, I assumed he just never wears a rubber because the social disease eats through 'em before he even gets started," Hambone adds.

As the boys keep roasting Douglass, he cuts a quick look to Harding, who takes another sip of his whiskey, then taps his glass three times. Douglass nods once, and Harding steps back away, giving them their space to celebrate again.

"I don't know how you kept laughing like that after the Colonel busted you for those rubbers," Crosby says a few minutes later. "I think I'd have drowned myself in my drink."

"That's where you and I are different, Croz," Douglass says, giving Crosby's a little shake. "I glory in being a pervert. You prefer to keep it between you and the missus," he waits for Crosby to take a sip of his drink before he adds, "And Bubbles."

Crosby spits out his drink. "He told?" he hisses.

Douglass stares. "No!" he says. He covers his mouth. "Holy shit, really?"

"Oh, god," Crosby says.

"Hey, look, first of all, you know no one fucking cares, right?" Douglass asks. "Wait. I remembered who I'm talking to. So, okay, first of all, Croz, no one fucking cares. We're the fuckingest and suckingest base in the whole fucking ETO. But also, good for you. And Jean. And Bubbles, honestly. If it works, it works."

"I have to go throw myself into an engine," Crosby mutters, putting his hands over his face. "We're gonna–Jean wants to tell her family first, so there's no surprises."

"What? Like a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Crosby?"

Crosby stares at him through his fingers. Douglass heaves a huge sigh. "Okay, that's a yes. So, look, I'm gonna go get your man to come and talk you down from this ledge, and then I'm gonna shut my fucking mouth until the two of you say a fucking word about it, got me?"

"You love gossip," Crosby says.

"Oh, I sure do," Douglass agrees. "But you're not the only one trying to figure out when to make a relationship official." Crosby glances at Blakely, which makes Douglass snort. "Nah. Love him like a brother." Crosby looks at Hambone. "Tried it. He bites harder than I like." Douglass watches as Crosby's eyes get impossibly wider.

"Wait," Crosby whispers. "The Colonel and your foot locker and–"

"Yup," Douglass says, and it's nice to say it to someone, even if Crosby looks like he wants to crawl under the table and never talk to a human being ever again. "So, I know what you're up to, and you know what I'm up to, and we'll both keep our mouths shut until otherwise notified, yeah?"

"Yeah,' Crosby says. He clears his throat and sits up straight, dropping his hands from his face. "I mean, yeah. Obviously. You can trust me."

"I know," Douglass replies. It's true. Crosby's an overthinker, but he only talks too much about his own shit, not anyone else's. "Feel free to tell Bubbles if you want. Only seems fair."

"So, you're gonna tell–" Crosby presses his fingers to his mouth. "It's fine," he says after a moment. "I trust you, too."

"Great." Douglass stands and gives Crosby a grin, then walks over to Bubbles, who's caught in a conversation with a couple other navigators. Douglass doesn't know how the man is managing not to be at Crosby's right arm right now, but he supposes everyone's different when they witness a resurrection. "Crosby needs to talk to you, and for the record, I apologize if he's a little incoherent."

Bubbles gives him a look but doesn't ask, just walks over to Crosby. Douglass watches as Crosby whispers in Bubbles's ear, then watches Bubbles react without words, simply staring like Crosby must be crazy. Crosby nods sharply, and Bubbles laughs, then shrugs, then whispers something back to Crosby that has him laughing, too.

Yeah, Douglass thinks as he slips out the door of the officer's club, those two and Jean will do just fine.

He takes his time walking to his destination. He's going to be incredibly early when he gets there no matter, but it feels good to have the air on his face after what he's been through. The fear when they were hit, the crash, the sitting around and waiting for someone who could help them. Then coming back and finding out everyone had thought he'd died. Which, he doesn't blame them for assuming. Everyone saw them losing altitude in a fire fight. He'd have assumed the same.

But still.

He looks up at the sky, watching the patchy clouds move for a few seconds before he breathes out hard and looks towards his destination. It's Chick's hut, set a few yards behind the control tower. The lights are on, and Chick's outside, leaning next to the door and staring at the sky like Douglass just was. Douglass gives a low whistle, and Chick meets his gaze. He's mostly done with his cigar, but the ember is still bright on the end, and it shows him the upturned corner of Chick's mouth.

"I said thirty minutes," Chick greets.

"Didn't want to wait," Douglass replies. He doesn't stop walking until he can feel the warmth of Chick's body. He's usually a little more careful even though no one ever wanders this way at this time of day. Any possible interest in fucking on, in, or near the control tower is immediately doused by the fact that the CO's hut is within hearing distance.

Chick takes the last drag of his cigar, and Douglass goes up on his toes, lifting his chin and opening his mouth. Chick holds his chin as he breathes the smoke against his lips, and Douglass feels wild and settled in equal measure. "Come on," Chick says, then just barely touches their mouths together.

Douglass wants to grab him by his blouse and hold him still while he kisses him until neither of them remember their names. But he remembers their ranks, so he lets Chick open the door and gesture him inside.

Chick's hut is as classically masculine as he is. A leather couch and chair in front of the wood stove. Simple, dark green curtains on the windows. A small table and two wooden chairs bought from a craftsman in the village next to a low bookcase full of novels and classics. The bed–an actual, real bed–done up in military green with a proper nightstand and dresser but tucked behind a wooden privacy screen that matches the table and chairs. His footlocker acts as the coffee table in front of the couch. There's a single bulb lighting up the whole hut from the middle, but there's also a standing lamp in one corner, angled to reflect the most light from the rafters of the hut, brightening the whole space.

"I thought about this," Douglass says as he looks around the space and notices the changes from just the last few days. There's clean laundry on one of the wooden chairs, and a brand new book on the footlocker. It has a bookmark in it. Chick hasn't gotten very far.

"Thought about what?" Chick asks. He walks over to the bookcase. The top of it also serves as a small bar area. He opens the whiskey and pours a double-shot into two glasses, then carries them over to Douglass.

"This," Douglass says, taking the glass with a nod. "The couch. The fire. Your books." He waggles his eyebrows at Chick. "Your bed."

Chick snorts. "Cheeky."

Douglass purses his lips in a kiss. "You've never complained. Not in here, at least."

Chick gives Douglass a considering look, then steps in close. "You were thinking of my quarters while you were crashing?" he asks.

"Yeah," Douglass says. They've never said much about their relationship, not even to each other. But he's nearly died and was then presumed dead, and then walked back in to a resurrection welcome, and well, that makes a man consider things. "I was scared shitless, and I wanted to think of something safe."

"Jim, goddamnit," Chick says, looking shattered. "You can't just say that sort of thing without warning." But there's a shaky smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, our navigator shouldn't have steered us into a fucking tree, but here I am," Douglass replies, and the surprised laugh from Chick makes him feel good.

Chick holds up his glass. "To making it back," he says. "I'm fucking glad."

"Me, too," Douglass agrees, and they tap their glasses together. He takes a sip of the whiskey, then steps forward so he can wrap an arm around Chick's waist. "Now," he says, "let's talk about why you know how many rubbers are in my foot locker."

"I do the final sign off on the inventory slips," Chick says. "I don't usually even read them. Kidd signs off before me, and I know he does. I'm just the final bit of red tape to get them sent. But…" He pauses for a long moment, but he doesn't look away from Douglass. Douglass doesn't look away from him. "I know some things about you, but I wondered what I was about to miss. So, I read it."

Douglass can't help his chuckle. "And there they were. 200 rubbers."

Chick grins, wide and pleased, the way Douglass always tries to make him grin when they're together. "204, actually."

Douglass throws his head back and laughs. Chick cups the back of his neck like he doesn't want him to get too far away. "They counted?" he says.

"Wouldn't want anyone to think we stole your rubbers," Chick replies. He leans down and kisses Douglass's Adam's apple.

Douglass shivers and feels his knees go weak. "Chick," he whispers. Chick mouths his Adam's apple, and Douglass nearly drops his glass. "Fuck." A dragging kiss from his Adam's apple up his throat, across the underside of his chin, then onto his mouth. Douglass's whole body goes tight and wild, and then Chick slips his tongue into Douglass's mouth, and a hint of cigar smoke comes with it, and it's all Douglass can do not to tumble to the floor.

Chick pulls away, but he keeps his hand on the back of Douglass's head. "Drink your whiskey. I'm taking you to bed."

Douglass nods, lets out a shaky breath, and slams his drink. He wouldn't usually. Chick's personal preference is above and beyond anything in the officer's club, but Chick is staring at him like he plans to eat him alive, and Jesus Christ, he's fucking alive.

Chick throws back his own drink, then takes Douglass's glass and sets them both on the footlocker. He turns back to Douglass and reels him in by the belt, kissing him messy and desperate, his dick hard against Douglass's own through their trousers.

"Race you," Chick mumbles, and Douglass laughs as they shove each other away at the same time and see who ends up naked first. For all the difference in rank, it's the same amount of clothes, but Douglass has never actually beaten Chick at this silly game and doesn't mind that he loses now.

"Come here," Chick says, stepping back towards the couch. He sits and reaches for Douglass, pulling him onto his lap. "Let me check on you."

Douglass bites back the urge to say he's fine. He is, really, but they've been doing this awhile, and Chick is just the type to check on bumps and bruises. "I told you," he says because he can't be silent on the matter, "the worst of it is on my face."

Chick makes a considering sound and lightly touches the bruises on Douglass's ribs. He finds the ones on his legs, and his chest, the little knot on his shoulder where he'd slipped and jammed into the bomb site. When he presses, Douglass hisses, and Chick pulls him in so he can kiss where he's caused pain.

"Softie," Douglass murmurs against Chick's ear.

Chick smacks his hip, which makes Douglass laugh, and then he checks the rest of the bruises. Once he's satisfied Douglass is just fine, he grabs Douglass's ass in both hands and squeezes hard. "How do you want it?" he asks.

"How do you want it?" Douglass replies. Chick's fingers dig in, one finger just brushing his hole. Douglass arches forward and bites Chick's lower lip. Chick responds by smacking his hip again.

"I don't want to hurt you, but I want to give you whatever you want," Chick says, mouth pressed against Douglass's ear. "I always want to give you what you want."

Douglass groans and presses his lips against Chick's temple. "Fuck me," he says. "Fuck me so long and hard I feel fucking alive."

Chick holds Douglass's face in his hands and stares into his eyes for a long, unstoppable moment. "You're alive, Jim."

Douglass feels something tight and hot tie up in his chest, and all he can do is nod. Chick presses his thumbs to the corners of Douglass's mouth, and then the corners of his eyes, and then he drops his hands to Douglass's thighs just under his ass and stands up from the couch, Douglass held secure in his grip.

And the fear and terror and death wipe away, and he's Jim again. Chick's Jim. Because his parents call him James, and his friends call him Jimmy, and brothers' in arms call him Douglass. And it's Chick, only Chick who calls him Jim. And Chick's name is Neil, but it's not. Not to Jim. Who saw him in a London pub two days before Harding showed up as Thorpe's Abbot CO and said, "My name's Neil, but my call sign's Chick," and Douglass, bombardier to Blakely's pilot, had laughed that of all the men to meet that night, he'd met a fucking pilot.

Chick lays him on the bed and nuzzles his neck, then his chest, then his belly. He grips Jim's thighs hard before he pushes them open, and Jim arches his back at the way the touch goes through him.

Chick splays a hand wide on Jim's chest before reaching over to the side table. Jim touches Chick's jaw before he can move more and uses a single finger under his chin to lead him up to his mouth.

They share a shivery kiss, Jim cheating by licking the corner of Chick's mouth, which always drives him wild, and then Chick breaks aways. He comes back for one more, brief kiss, and then he actually turns his head like he has to or else he'll just kiss Jim again.

Jim tilts his chin upwards and smiles at the rafters in the ceiling. His skin is buzzing with being alive, and then Chick drops the open tin of Vaseline next to Jim's ribs, and he arches in anticipation of what's next.

Chick isn't coy. He rubs two fingers over Jim's hole in a rough caress, and then works both fingertips in at the same time. Jim gasps and grunts, then grabs tight at Chick's wrist before he can pull out. Chick grins, leaning down to kiss Jim's stomach, and then works his fingers in another inch.

"Fucking take me, Sir," Jim says, then laughs when Chick uses his free hand to drag his nails down Jim's thigh. "You're so fucking easy," Jim adds and pushes himself up with his arms. Chick shifts his weight and lifts his hand off Jim's thigh so can can wrap his arm around Jim's lower back and hold him in place for a hot, desperate kiss as he pushes his fingers in another inch.

Jim sees stars and grabs Chick's bicep. His other hand he uses to cup Chick's face and deepen their kiss.

They spend several minutes kissing, Chick methodically working his fingers deeper into Jack. When his fingertips press hard on Jim's prostate, he whines and falls back onto the bed. He clenches his muscles around Chick's fingers and groans loudly when Chick leans down to drag his stubble along Jim's dick.

"Please," Jim grits out, pulling at Chick's hair because he can cup his head and clench his fingers.

Chick chuckles and kisses Jim's slit. "Not enough for you?" His voice is a delicious rumble, low and vibrating.

But Jim's not easily swayed into admitting what he wants. "I've got 204 rubbers in my footlocker," he says. "I can find someone." He laughs and jerks when Chick rubs against his prostate with unquestionable intent, then pulls his fingers out with perfect roughness.

"Don't you dare," Chick growls.

Jim watches Chick scoop up Vaseline and grease up his dick. "Well, get on with it," he goads as the fact that he's alive sings across his nerves and Chick's sharp, threatening look of getting fucked into the ground heightens the feeling of it all.

Chick grabs Jim's hips and lifts him into his lap. He lets go of Jim's left hip for just enough time to line his dick up with Jim's hole, and then he pushes in, hissing through his teeth as Jim grunts and reaches out to grab Chick's forearms and keep him as close as possible as Chick starts to fuck him hard and deep and beautiful.

Jim pants as Chick fucks him, staring into his eyes as Chick refuses to look away. Jim feels taken apart in a same but different way as he was contemplating his mortality the day before in the fort. The adrenaline is the same. The want is different. Dropping to his death the day before, the want was to survive. Being fucked now, Chick leaning forward with his arms on either side of Jim's head, Jim wants to survive and survive and survive.

He groans, and it turns into a sound he's never made in his life. A combination of being alive and needing to know he's alive and feeling in every pore how alive he is. Chick sucks hard at his Adam's apple, then kisses his neck and his cheek and finally his mouth.

"Come on," Chick says into Jim's mouth. "Make a mess."

Jim grabs Chick's shoulders and holds on. He presses his hips upward and whines when Chick grabs his ass and holds him in place so his cock rubs over Chick's stomach again and again.

"Make a mess," Chick says again. "Make a mess, Jim."

He comes even as Chuck keeps fucking him at the same tempo. Relentless and perfect and devastating until he pushes his mouth against Jim's ear and comes.

Jim wraps an arm around Chick's head and holds him close. Chick's own hands press perfectly into Jim's hips as they pant into each other's ears.

"I thought–" Chick swallows loudly in JIm's ear.

"Me, too," Jim admits. He digs his nails into Chick's scalp and kisses his temple. "I…" he can't finish the thought, not when they're wrapped up so close.

Chick breathes in and out. He uses one hand to press Jim gently to the right so they can share a kiss, and as it happens, he pulls out. "Shh," he says when Jim whimpers at the loss.

"Stay. Stay," Jim says. Something he always wants to say but never has. But he survived his own death yesterday, so he feels like it's okay.

Chick kisses his mouth and his cheek and his collarbone. "Jim," he says.

"I love you," Jim blurts because it's been caught behind his ribs since he realized he was going to live. "I know we agreed this was a fuck and suck–"

"Hush," Chick replies and his kiss is gentle but certain. "Jesus, when I thought I'd lost you," he murmurs against Jim's mouth, then carefully brushes his thumbs over each of the cuts on Jim's face.

Jim stares at the rafters and breathes slow and deep. He rubs his hands up and down Chick's back. "Hambone puts those rubbers in my foot locker," Jim says. "He thinks I don't know it's him, but I saw him do it once. It makes him laugh."

"I don't fucking care," Chick says and presses kisses to Jim's chest and arms.

"It's been rough," Jim says, the closest he can come to admitting the war's fucking exhausting. "And it kept making him laugh."

Chick is taking over his entire line of sight suddenly, so close Jim can't see anything else. "I didn't think you had them to fuck around on me," he says. "If you'd be using them, there'd be less."

And Jim laughs, brash and loud and maybe a little uneven, but it's genuine, and it makes Chick smile at him. They kiss again, slow and easy. But Jim's never been the type who can let something land on soft ground, so when they pull apart, he gives Chick his brashest grin and says, "Hey, so did you know Crosby and Bubbles and Mrs. Jean Crosby are fucking?"

"You might have the worst pillow talk in the entire Air Army," Chick mutters, and Jim laughs and laughs and pulls him as close as he possibly can. When he calms down, Chick is smiling at him like he's wonderful, and Jim takes his chance. "Would you tell everyone about us?"

Chick pushes Jim's curls off his forehead. "Would you tell me you love me?" he asks.

"I love you," Jim answers instantly.

Chick kisses Jim on the mouth. "I love you," he replies. It's the first time they've ever said it, but it feels exactly right. Honest but sharp, a little mercenary even. "But at least let me have you all to myself for the rest of the night."

Jim laughs and presses his face into Chick's neck. "Okay," he says. "That feels fair."

#douglassharding #smut #mentioned crubbles #mentioned jeancrubbles #masters of the air #prompt fill #oh this one had a whole journey #james douglass #chick harding

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tenebriskukris · 17 days

Text

Oshi No Ko Chapter 148 - My Thoughts/Analysis

I don’t think I’ve been more disappointed in an Oshi No Ko chapter as much as I have for Chapter 148, but there’s still some stuff to talk about despite said disappointment. As always, spoilers for Oshi No Ko Ch148 below.

A beach chapter??? After the absolute gut punches that were the last few chapters? No follow up to Aqua or Ruby or Hikaru at all???

Please explain to me why Minami is showing up here after being tossed like garbage for the past few dozen or so chapters? She hasn’t even been plot relevant in this arc! I know it’s because she’s connected to Ruby in some respects but if she’s not going to do anything interesting for the narrative why the hell is she even coming back to the spotlight? Really, I could say this about a bunch of side characters on the movie set but at least they actually showed up for the arc, even though they barely did anything that we could see.

Taiki mourning his car is a running gag that is funny but completely useless in the grand scheme of things. After the horrible pacing of this arc is this bit really necessary? No, and the fact that it still got pushed through when there are several other things to dwell on irks me. This is what side characters have been reduced to—comic relief.

Oh hey Gotanda! Been awhile since we’ve seen him at least. And once again Kana’s tongue strikes the director’s weak spot. Ouch. Ruby also doesn’t help things, but at least she’s known the director for longer than Kana has in order to say such things. It’s the difference between when a friend or someone you know roasts you versus someone who you’ve only met once or twice does it.

Ack! Aqua’s black star eyes. Well, I guess it was too much to hope that he’d lost them permanently.

Huh, so the movie arc’s finished filming? I suppose that makes sense considering what we had last chapter, but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow considering that the movie barely gave us anything about Hikaru and Ai that couldn’t have been extrapolated beforehand.

Frill is a beast, as always. She takes two months off her schedule because She Can and her popularity’s going to be fine afterwards. I dunno how accurate that is to real life, but usually big shot actors and such choose which jobs to pick, but even then they also have to follow the schedules of their manager? Though with enough pull even that’s something that can be leveraged, I suppose.

Taiki oh my god. Does incest run in this family or something? It must be something in the Hikaru genes.

And Frill in a full diving suit! The gap moe is real. Melt having mixed feelings is a sign of his bad taste! Look at her legs!

The Akane-Kana interactions are gold as always. It’s always funny to see how they both seem to change their behaviors when the other person is around.

There is an entire page dedicated to unnecessary beach scenes, but I’d like to point out the fact that Aqua is barely in any of them and Crow Girl of all people is. It’s obvious why the former isn’t there but the latter being Here At All throws me for a loop. Oh, to be a fly on the wall to hear Aqua explain why it’s so necessary for Crow Girl to be here on this outing at all.

And then there’s the eventual Akane-Aqua conversation. For all of her talk of “I’ll stop your plan, Aqua-kun.” she never really interfered with the movie. She’s just content to stalk Hikaru and hope that Aqua doesn’t decide to stab him himself. Which feels like the wrong move—if Aqua wanted Hikaru dead by his own hands, he’d have done it by now after he knew his identity.

Akane trying to talk about Aqua’s revenge scheme and trying to persuade him otherwise is something both funny and a bit too late. She’d already thrown her shot during their breakup so it’s interesting to see why she thinks she can get through to Aqua again when there hasn’t been much change in his circumstances. The movie being produced is certainly one big change, but I don’t think that this whole “social sanctions” that she’s referring to are going to take root when Hikaru has an eye on the movie through Kaburagi. Perhaps she’s just saying that to try and convince Aqua.

The movie in-universe feels alot like a nothingburger, really. Ai wanted to be understood through this movie and Aqua used it as a vessel for revenge. And his “attempt” at revenge only dredged up a little controversy. As soon as the next fad comes around, the public’s attention is going to drift from whatever Aqua’s put in front of them. He should know this. Even Ai’s death was eventually cast aside and forgotten by the masses. Why would Hikaru being the twins’ father be any different?

Not to mention the fact that they still can’t prove that Hikaru manipulated things so that Ryosuke could kill Ai. The movie might lean into that direction, but that doesn’t amount to anything—even businessmen and corporate executives will look the other way at illegal and morally reprehensible behavior if it benefits them. Why does Aqua think that this movie will change anything about Hikaru’s life besides letting him know that Aqua thinks he killed Ai?

Welp, that’s Kana formally bowing out of the Aquabowl. Akane hasn’t been in the running for ages now so this conversation between them might as well be her resignation. Her giving up Aqua and asking Akane to get together with him is almost certainly not the behavior of someone who’s going to win Aqua’s hand. It would undercut so much about how everyone else has struggled for the Aquabowl since the start.

Akane’s face as Kana says all this is just brilliant. She must feel so poleaxed by Kana, especially with her previous thoughts leading her in the direction that Aqua likes Kana even though at the time Aqua was in a relationship with Akane herself. Who’s in the right here? Both of them and none of them, really. Aqua likes both of you, but romance hasn’t ever been his priority since he’d been focused on his revenge plot. Trying to fix him by pushing someone else to get together with him isn’t the way to go.

This chapter was not necessary. I think the presence of a fucking beach chapter wasn’t necessary just to set up these Akane-Aqua and Akane-Kana conversations. This conversation could’ve been around the movie set, or done through a variety of flashbacks—it’s not like the manga isn’t shy about doing that sort of thing. Though maybe we’ll be getting a followup on this scene in the next chapter, but with the manga’s garbage pacing right now I doubt it.

Of course, all of this is just avoiding the elephant in the room—Ruby’s confession. I’d mentioned previously that if Aqua pushed Ruby away she wouldn’t have reacted the way she’s been multiple times after Ch143. Leaving that up in the air when both Akane and Kana are making their own plans to help Aqua and try and help him just makes this entire love triangle garbage feel even worse than it already is.

Realistically speaking both of them have already shot their shot and failed for various reasons—so attempting to string the reader along by dredging up the love triangle angle is such a tone-deaf narrative decision. Yes, Akane wants Aqua to be happy, yes, Kana wants Aqua to be happy too. But laying it out narratively Like This just serves as a proxy to serve up this love triangle plotline that we’d already got stuffed with earlier in the manga. Bringing the spotlight back on this topic when there are already so many other more relevant topics in the movie arc that weren’t explored for some godawful reason is a kick in the teeth. I’m just hoping that we don’t get anymore screentime for these girls meandering around Aqua and instead do something that’ll actually affect him in some manner.

#oshi no ko #onk #oshi no ko analysis #onk 148 #getting this analysis out of the gate by the skin on my teeth

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petchricor-creates · 4 months

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Final sneak peek of my fic Pieces of Him, coming soon to Ao3!

“The fire’s a’catchin’ and it’s time for some s’mores, damn it!” Sarge shouted.

“Yeah!” Caboose said, throwing his arms up. “What’s a s’mores?”

“Excuse me!?” Grif shouted. “You’ve never had s’mores!?” Caboose shook his head. “Dibs! Dibs on showing Caboose about s’mores!” Wash chuckled as Grif hurried over to the table with the makings, all excited now.

Wash watched as everyone got up and grabbed a stick and a marshmallow or two for themselves, Grif pulling his seat up next to Caboose to show him how, carefully explaining how to roast the marshmallow just right.

Tucker sat back down beside Wash, holding out a marshmallow on a stick. “Here.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Wash said, taking it from him. He leaned forward on his knees, holding the marshmallow over the fire. There wasn’t much fire yet, but it was getting there. Tucker copied Wash, hovering his marshmallow a little closer to the fire than Wash was. “It’s gonna catch fire.”

“I know, I want it to,” Tucker said with certainty. “I like these babies burnt.”

“Of course you do,” Wash muttered. Tucker was odd, he always liked his food just a little burnt for some reason. Something about crunch, he had said a few times. Wash thought it was a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t about to argue. He was a grown man and he knew what he liked, even if it was weird as fuck.

“Carolina, aren’t you gonna have some?” Donut said as he grabbed some for himself.

“Um,” she said, almost looking nervous. “I dunno.”

“Something the matter?” Wash asked.

“I, um,” Carolina muttered, shifting her feet. “Also, don’t know what these are.”

“Oh my god,” Grif said slowly. “This is the best day of my life, I get to show people the best thing ever made. Grab a stick, grab a marshmallow, and pull your seat over here lady, I’m about to show you some shit.”

Carolina laughed a little, making her way over to the table. “Fine, fine.” Wash smiled, glad to see her managing to enjoy herself. He knew all of this had hit her hard, so even a small amount of happiness made his heart warm.

“Hell yeah!” Tucker shouted as his marshmallow caught fire. He pulled it away, letting it burn a moment before blowing it out. “See? Perfect.”

“You’re so god damn weird,” Wash mumbled, shaking his head. “You and your burnt food.

“He likes his food burnt?” Simmons said, sounding appalled. “Tucker, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It’s crunchy!”

“Freak!” Grif shouted. “Just say your mom never knew how to cook.”

“Excuse me!? You motherfucker, I will kick your ass!” Tucker shotued back, standing up. “My momma knew how to cook, you bitch!”

“Did your dad?” Simmons asked.

“No, but he never cooked, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Grif said, shaking his head. “That explains so much.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Grif said, waving him off.

“Ugh, I just like the crunch!” Tucker muttered, making his way over to the table to make his s’more. “You guys are such bitches.”

“Sorry, I have standards when it comes to food,” Grif said. “I like it cooked correctly and uh, burnt ain’t it.”

“Then don’t burn your food, jackass,” Tucker retorted.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Caboose shouted, pumping his fists in excitement.

“Caboose, shut the fuck up,” Tucker said with a laugh. “Jesus Christ.”

#fanfiction #my writing #writing #fanfic #petchricor posts #red vs blue #agent washington #lavernius tucker #dexter grif #agent Carolina #dick simmons #Sarge #pieces of him #poh

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brother-genitivi · 2 years

Text

So I saw this post and decided to jot down every ambient line I heard during the party in Anderson's apartment. I haven't got any of Ashley's, but I may update when I do a new playthrough. I chose an energetic party. I'm not sure if it changes if I have a more relaxed party.

Also you may notice there aren't any for EDI or Miranda; I could've been silly and not heard it but I didn't notice any ambient dialogue from them. And the lines I do have written down, I may have misheard. In any case, here they are. Enjoy :)

Garrus:

Looks broken, I'm sure Shepard won't notice.

Any chance I get.

Wouldn't you like to know?

Won't be going back to ryncol anytime soon!

Then the hanar says, 'get out before I strangle you!'

*wheezy old man laughter*

Every chance I have.

I told them I was Archangel... end of discussion.

Okay, that did it. Where's my sniper rifle?

Don't make me come over there.

Grunt:

Give me one, too.

I'm hungry. :(

Get the stronger stuff.

HEHEHE.

What's this?

DRINK.

Jack:

You guys, I love you guys. No, listen. No. Really.

The kids? They're kicking ass.

Reminds me of Omega. Good times.

Didn't think I'd see you here. You not dead yet?

Yeah, yeah. Just kiss and get it over with.

Oh, yeah. Work it!

Hell yeah!

Not bad.

Get me two. What? Cause I got two hands, dumbass.

This is dangerously close to actually being a party.

Jacob:

That's what I'm talking about.

Shut up! Haha, seriously?

Here, let me get that for you.

I love you, man.

Cerberus? Ha!

Hang on, wait.

Then he says, 'I was talking to the duck.'

Now this is just the best. I mean, best.

If that's the way you wanna play it, I'm game.

You are NOT serious.

James:

No. No, no, no, no. Noooo!

That is NOT what I mean.

Ha, I love you guys!

I danced at my sister's wedding.

Checking out the waterfall. Who's in?

Javik:

Hah, not if I can help it.

*actually laughing*

The Prothean will rule all of you once more.

You can with four eyes.

Joker:

Back when asari were creepy.

They'll never know what hit them...

Glad you're on our side, man.

Damn, this is good.

Hell yes I'm having another.

I'll let her know you said that!

Kick ass.

Now THIS is shore leave!

Why didn't I think of that?

Kaidan:

Glad you came up for air.

And then she says, 'I was talking to the goat!'

Hah, you're absolutely right.

Forget I said anything...

Own it! Embrace it!

Pizza? Pizza? Hey, you want pizza?

Anyone else?

*dad laughter*

I love you guys!

I-I need another one of these. Anyone else?

Who's humbered? I mean hammered?

I could talk weapon optimisation all night. All night!

Hey, who's starving?

I need another one of these. Anyone else?

Kasumi:

Love it.

*in a bathroom* Occupied!

*materialising on a bed* How many bedrooms does this place have?

*outside the front door* You should really upgrade the security.

Liara:

At least they're clean.

Exactly.

I saw one on Illium.

I'll have one!

You... love it.

If you say so.

Samantha:

What did you think it was?

Look, look, look! He's doing it!

Bottoms up!

Oh, bugger!

Lovely.

Help! My glass is empty!

Okay, I drank.

Ohoho, I'm going to remember that.

What was that? It was good.

Quantum entaaaanng... god, I'm drunk.

Samara:

Yes, I will have some of that.

I was saying how good it is to see everyone.

You're hilarious.

Please, I've asked you to step back.

Steve:

This is unexpected... and fun.

No, he's like a brother to me!

You got it!

Good to see you.

Whoa... did this apartment just bank hard to starboard?

I do, I mean it!

Oh, come on!

I'm gonna feel this in the morning!

What the hell? Why not?

*old man laughter*

Now that's a tasty shot!

You could roast a whole pig in that fireplace.

Tali:

What? You're crazy.

*witch cackling*

WOOOO!

I'm going to regret this later.

Wrex:

Don't stop on my account!

Krogan sex. Best in the galaxy! Just saying.

If I took that the wrong way, it's your fault.

That tickles.

*dad laughter*

Come closer and say that.

I ought to SMASH you.

To Tuchanka!

Shut up and punch me! Harder!

Zaeed:

I've had fifteen. How about you?

Now, you, I like.

GUDDAMN!

I'm not as old as I look.

Oh, shut it!

Come here and say that.

Hey, sweetheart.

I said, you're beautiful.

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years

Text

He Might Not Look Like He Gets Bitches (But Honey That Dick Was 11 Inches)

Keith/Lance (Voltron), Team as Family, 1.1k Words

Summary: Keith and Lance have maybe gotten pretty close in the last few months. The team gets to find out in an... interesting way.

--- --- ---

“Allura, please,” Pidge begs, “let’s cut training short today or I am going to roast. Just today! Just until Hunk and I fix the heat! Please.”

Allura is shaking her head before Pidge even finishes her sentence. She isn’t even sweating a little, because of course not.

“We cannot simply cut training short if the temperature is not ideal! I would even suggest that the heat is helpful to us, reminding us that conditions will often be even worse in battle situations.”

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge all groan, flopping backwards onto the blessedly cool tile of the training room floor. Keith and Shiro aren’t so vocal about their complaints, but neither brother looks particularly happy about continuing on, either.

“Oh, come now, lads!” Coran exclaims. “Only a varga left! You’re all chipper young people in your best health, you can make it!”

The Garrison trio groans one more time, before reluctantly getting to their feet. Shiro chugs the rest of his water patch and gets up as well. Keith shrugs off his shirt, exhaling a deep breath and standing up with everyone else.

Suddenly, Coran gasps in horror, making the rest of the group whip around to face him.

“Keith! Your back! It’s scratched to ribbons! Oh, you must have been attacked by a Drootbat on our last mission!”

“Keith, why didn’t you tell us as soon as it happened?” Allura frets, looking frantically over his back.

“It must have been a Drootbat, Allura, look! He’s turning redder than his lion.”

“Coran –”

“Oh, you’re right, Coran, that must be the fever –”

“Allura – it’s not –”

“And there’s the denial! His case has set in deeply, now, we must make the antidote at once –”

Allura and Coran rush out the door, presumably to the MedBay to make the antidote in question. The rest of the team surges forward, except for Lance (who sits on the floor with his head in his hands) alarmed voices stacking over each other as they all ask nervous questions.

“I didn’t get scratched by a Droo – whatever!” Keith yells after them, fruitlessly. “It was –” his face flushes deeper – “more recent than that.”

A collective sigh of relief rushes through the room. Pidge peeks around Keith, glancing at his back. She raises her eyebrows.

“Damn. If it wasn’t a Droot-whatever, then what the hell was it? You pick a fight with a werewolf?”

Keith sends a panicked look to Lance. “Help me,” he mouths.

Lance curls up tightly, still hiding his face. His ears are flaming. “I was the one to give Keith those scratches,” he admits meekly.

Shiro turns a scolding gaze towards him. “Are you two fighting still? I thought you were finally friends!”

If at all possible, both Keith and Lance get redder. Hunk is the first to clue in.

“Oh, my God,” he says gleefully.

Lance coughs. “We weren't fighting.”

There are several beats of silence.

“Oh my God!” Pidge screeches. “Is that why you’re sleeping better? I was wondering why I never saw you up at night anymore!”

Shiro collapses into giggles. Keith shoots Lance a look, eyebrows raised and lips quirked up. He looks satisfied with himself.

“Have you really been sleeping better?”

“You shut the fuck up. This is your fault,” Lance snaps.

Keith holds his hands up placatingly. “Sorry! I forgot they were there!”

Shiro shrieks with laughter, and Keith turns to glare at him. “Oh, fuck off! It’s not that funny! It’s not!”

But Keith’s ire only makes Shiro laugh harder, which makes him angrier, which makes Shiro lose his shit, on and on. Shiro is writhing on the floor, struggling to breathe, and Keith is standing over him, yelling, arms waving all over the place. It’s a hell of an image, that’s for sure.

Hunk sidles over to where Lance has made himself as small as possible, turning mortified eyes to the wall. A little ball of humiliation, he is.

“...Is he really that good?” Hunk asks. Pidge is pretending to look away in disgust, but her body is turned towards them and her head is tilted. She is absolutely listening in. The little shit is just as nosey as the rest of them, and she isn’t fooling anyone.

Lance groans, but uncurls to face Hunk fully. He spreads to fingers apart, showing a… significant distance between them.

Both Pidge and Hunk gasp.

“No way.”

Lance nods frenziedly. “And, like, I would never hype up a man, but oh my God, he knows how to use it.”

“Uh, yeah, no shit,” Pidge scoffs, “he really does look like he’s been attacked by a werewolf. He must have had you seeing stars.”

Lance flushes again, but nods. “Yeah. And holy shit, he treats me like a princess, after. Last night, he drew a bath and put flower petals in it. I don’t even know where he got them!”

“I would bet everything I own that you jumped him again immediately,” Hunk teases.

“Um, fucking obviously. Flower petal bath, Hunk. Unprompted. I’ve literally –”

“Will you quit fucking laughing!” Keith shouts. “You dickhead!”

The Garrison trio glances over to the brothers. “Is Shiro gonna, like, suffocate?” Pidge wonders. “‘Cause it’s been at least twenty minutes, yeesh.”

“I – I’m sorry,” Shiro wheezes. “It’s just –” he barks out another laugh, prompting another sharp glare from the Red paladin. “Whew, holy shit, okay. Sorry. It’s just that the same damn thing happened to me, and it’s endlessly funny to see you suffer like I had to.”

At the suggestion of an embarrassing Shiro story, Keith’s annoyance flees him immediately. “What happened?”

Shiro grins at him. “When I first met Adam’s parents, they damn near rushed me to the hospital the second I walked through the door because they thought I got mugged. I had bruises all over my neck and chest, and I was limping. I didn’t get mugged. I was just sore from the… early morning activities, and forgot I had hickeys and wore a low-cut shirt. Explaining that particular scenario was a nightmare, I swear.”

Shiro’s not the only one giggling anymore, everyone getting a good chuckle out of that.

“Oh, that is rough. Meeting the parents, jeez. At least it gave you guys something to laugh about?”

“No, actually, Adam’s mom fainted –”

“We have the antidote!” Allura announces, holding a bright green phial in the air. “It unfortunately has the taste of unwashed socks, Keith, but you have to –”

“It’s all good, Allura, Keith actually isn’t hurt,” Pidge interrupts. “He and Lance are just fucking.”

“It’s a little more serious than that,” Lance mumbles.

“Oh?” She looks over to the two in question, who are pointedly looking away. “Oh,” she says, grinning mischievously. “I see. Well, in that case, I suppose I can cut training short. Keith and Lance, it seems, have been exercising all night long.”

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marythegizka · 6 months

Text

WIP Word Search Game

Tagged by @mxanigel, thank you!! 😊 I was given the words NIGHT, COMFORT, and TREE.

Now, two of those aren't actually WIPs because CTRL+F has informed me that I do not, in fact, use the word 'comfort' a lot (I'm not sure what that says about me), and the one instance of 'night' I found is honestly rather disappointing, so I'm just bending the rules for this one.

Night - From Dreaming of Home (Not a WIP), a one-shot from my Mass Effect/Dragon Age crossover series, in which the Warden who killed the Archdemon (who happens to be Loghain, because I just have to put him in unpleasant situations) wakes up in Shepard's body after their reconstruction by Cerberus.

Dark. All around him is dark, unfathomable as a starless night, or a thick coat of tar spread over his vision, and he tries to move his hand to rub it against his eyes, but his limbs are heavy, stuck under the itchy cover that traps him like a coat of ice - cold, and inescapable. There are footsteps in the distance, and as they grow closer the distorted echoes that surround him become clearer. More human. Voices. Erin and Wynne's, he realises as a door creaks open, and, though he still cannot see them, he is now certain they are in the same room. “Surely you realise another grimoire is unlikely to hold the key to our problem.” "And what would you have me do?" Erin snaps. "Tell her Majesty the truth, for one. Maker knows I have little respect for the man but she ought to know..." "That her father remains unconscious. And she does." Past his closed eyelids, a faint, yellowish glow pierces the darkness, and he tries to open his eyes once more. To no avail. "Unconscious does not even begin to cover it. The man is cold as a corpse. It has been..." "Three weeks, yes, but he’s breathing,” Erin cuts her off again. “They both are. And that didn't stop anyone from trying to cure Arl Aemon, now, did it?" "You know this is different. The Arl is… everything Loghain is not. And you cannot expect the Circle to dispatch what few healers they have to spare for the benefit an apostate and a traitor to the Crown. Not after what happened.” “Oh, trust me,” she huffs. “I do not expect the Circle to dispatch anything for the benefit of anyone. That I got Irving to relinquish this book is a small miracle in its own right.”

Tree - from The Bear, in which Tav and Astarion have a run-in with - you guessed it - a bear (no, not that bear, as they will soon find out)

Outside the tent, Scratch barks in alarm. Urgh. Of course. It's in moments like this that he curses himself for not letting Shadowheart keep the dog. "We're fine, Scratch!" Tavalyn exclaims, but the barking doesn't stop, and soon enough, a growl follows. Astarion doesn't bother repressing a groan as he throws the flap of the tent open, ignoring the rays that prick at his exposed skin like so many ants busying themselves about a piece of carrion. He doesn't dwell on the image, blinking at the beast before him instead. "What in the Hells ... Halsin?" he hazards, knowing full well the man is half a continent away petting bunnies, feeding orphans and hugging trees. Not that he is particularly eager to have the druid play gooseberry, mind you, but the prospect is somewhat less daunting than fighting a bear naked while the sun slowly-but-not-that-slowly roasts him to a crisp. Gods, the sun... Astarion dives back into the tent, finding cover in the shade. The bear, however, does not lose interest. One roar, then it charges. Not Halsin. Definitely not.

Comfort - from Long Live the King (not a WIP either), in which Erin and Loghain join Alistair on his journey to Tevinter to rescue Maric. Things are going swimmingly (no).

“Maker damned rum,” he groaned. “I’ll be feeling this all day… A word of advice: if Isabela tries to ‘comfort’ you with a drink, do yourselves a favour and say no. I’d rather have darkspawn blood again. At least you expect it to be foul.” Loghain extended the bucket to him. “This might be of use,” he said. “But your advice is noted.” “Oh, wonderful. A bucket to barf in. Way to turn around a lousy day. Never would have thought of that myself.” Well, then. Loghain picked up the bucket and made for the cabin-door. Alistair caught his arm. “Wait! I’ll take it.”

Tagging (as always, only if you feel like it): @dairine-bonnet, @deedeemactir, @illusivesoul... and I think everyone else has already been tagged, but if you haven't and I forgot you, don't hesitate to pretend I tagged you too! Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find the words: light, friend, and danger!

#tag game #my fics #loghain mac tir #erin amell #wynne #astarion ancunin #tavalyn silversong #scratch #alistair theirin #dragon age #bg3

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tour-de-pants · 7 months

Text

Guys, I did a thing...

Just a quick alt meet RPF of Watson and Holmes... You know I ship it, don't @ me! Let me know if I should do more :) -Pants

If he’d been paying any attention, Watson would’ve noticed the aggravated stare from the woman one table over. He’d been tapping a slim wooden stir stick against his mug for five minutes that must’ve felt to her like fifty. He wasn’t the sort to annoy strangers, or anyone, intentionally. Usually he didn’t even mind someone else running late to a meeting. But if Lestrade didn’t turn up soon he might just lose his mind.

Training diets were a hell he put himself through willingly, and after fifteen years, the strain was fairly easy to take. Without much of a sweet tooth to speak of, he had it better than many—especially poor Anderson, who harbored a desire for pain au chocolat to rival his want for a mountain win. Not a lot got to Watson anymore, but the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans in this place… damn if he wasn’t about to crack and down a massive hazelnut concoction worth half a day’s calories.

“‘Ugh, honestly,”’ the woman one table over grunted, drawing Watson’s attention away from the door. He frowned as she met his eyes with a look of disgust. A lifetime in London wouldn’t be enough to understand these people.

“‘Hey John, sorry ‘bout that. Perils of mass transport, you know how it goes.” ’Lestrade slid into the seat across the table, the bizarrely small size of which Watson was noticing for the first time. They really didn’t want folks to hang about, he guessed.

“‘It’s alright, Coach,”’ Watson answered, gulping his unexpectedly still hot tea.

“‘Aw, don’t you do that, mate. Makes me feel like an old man in charge of a bunch of teenagers.”’

“‘I know.” ’Watson smiled. Lestrade was a good guy—and a good coach. Maybe he was jumping the gun with this whole retirement thing. “‘So what are we doing here? Besides testing my resolve against the Kenyan roast of the day?”’

“‘Need to let you in on something before the Prologue, being team captain and all. I wish I could tell the whole group, but it’s a bit sensitive.”’ The clasping and unclasping of Lestrade’s fingers told Watson this wouldn’t be a time for jokes, regardless of what he was about to hear. Something distinctly non-chamomile turned in his stomach.

“‘What’s up? Is someone injured?”’ He leaned forward the few inches it took to bring their heads close. “‘Worse?”’

“‘Oh, no, no. Nothing like that, thank God. No, it’s…you’re getting…it’s a new teammate.”’

Watson leaned back in his chair. Of course it was a new teammate; it’d have to be, what with Sholto out. After that crash last year, the doctors said he would never mount a bike again. He’d managed to stay out of the media once he’d stabilized and been transferred to a rehabilitation facility. It’d been a big hit for the team in terms of the Tour and fears for their own safety out there. Few teams in recent years had been as cohesive as Speedy’s; the idea of bringing in someone new was hard enough, but—

“‘This close to the Prologue, though? Why can’t the other guys know? And why didn’t you just ring me about it?”’

“‘John, it’s…”’

Watson waited, stir stick tapping against his saucer now. He heard the woman next to him mutter a curse as she scooped up her laptop and walked off. Some people were just grumpy, he supposed.

“‘John, it’s Sherlock Holmes.”’

It was Watson’s turn to curse under his breath. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes who rode the Tour ten years ago? Sherlock Holmes who left the race and the cycling world in a cloud of cocaine use allegations and rumors about a tryst gone bad with his own teammate? Sherlock Holmes whom no one had heard from since?

“‘Sorry Greg.”’ Watson blinked hard in an attempt to make sense of the news. “‘I thought you said Sherlock Holmes.”’

“‘You can’t tell anyone, mate. And sorry for laying it on you like this. There are more things beyond my control than I’d like, but I can assure you he’ll be riding clean and is physically fit for the job. Listen, I hate surprises as much as the next guy, but my hands are really tied with this one. I’m letting you know now because I anticipate I’ll need your help.”’

Watson ran a hand through his hair, short and light despite it only being late June. He still couldn’t figure out why he’d had to come out all this way to hear about this, but Lestrade always had reasons for what he did and he was usually right.

“‘Ok. Yeah, alright. Thanks for the heads up. Whatever you need, I’ll back you.”’

“‘Great.”’ A relieved smile flashed across Lestrade’s face as he rapped his knuckles on the tabletop and stood to leave. “‘Now get yourself out of here before temptation wins the day.”’

“‘As if it ever could.”’ Watson nodded and returned the smile, waiting for the door to close behind Lestrade before moving to add his cup and saucer to the mounting pile of dirty china above the trash bin behind him.

“‘Ceramic,”’ intoned a deep voice behind him.

“‘Pardon?”’ Watson asked, furrowing his brow but not turning.

“‘The dining ware isn’t china. It’s ceramic.”’

Watson stepped toward the bin, tossing in his stir stick and paper napkin before precariously balancing his ceramic cup and saucer on the returns shelf.

“‘Are you my conscience?” ’he asked, laughing lightly as his own joke and holding up pleading hands in front of his mug until he was fairly certain he wouldn’t be the one to send the whole lot tumbling to the floor.

“‘Unlikely. Though I suppose we’ll see how the early stages go.”’

Early stages? Watson turned slowly, eyebrows rising and jaw dropping as recognition dawned. Holy hell, you’re—

“‘Sherlock Holmes, yes. Kind of you to remember me, though perhaps the memory you’re recalling is not in itself so kind.”’

“‘What are you doing here?”’ Watson looked around suspiciously, feeling as though he ought to be paranoid though he didn’t know what he might be trying to spot.

“‘Seeing as how it is a coffee shop, one might suppose I stopped in to purchase coffee. And as much as I do hate to be predictable, in this particular case, that supposition would be the correct one.”’

“‘Well yeah, ok, but I mean why are you here, in this coffee shop? Now?”’

“‘I take it an odd experience has befallen you in the past hour—no, half hour—and you haven’t yet processed whatever it is. News of some kind, I should imagine. However, blocking the bins with your jaw wagging like a goldfish, while apparently a natural choice for you, is in fact not typically the most productive one.”’

“‘Oh, sh—sorry, I’m very sorry,”’ Watson said to the miniature queue of patrons waiting to deposit their china.

“‘Ceramic,”’ Holmes noted impatiently. “‘Sit down at that set of chairs there. The place is emptying, I should return with my order in three minutes.”’ He cast a glance at the register. “‘Four, it’s the cashier’s first day.”’

Watson didn’t see him walk away, nor did he feel himself cross back to the small dining area and settle into a surprisingly uncomfortable armchair. It was impossible. Sherlock Holmes had been missing from the public eye, from the entire world as far as he knew, for nearly a decade. Now within minutes of being told the man had spontaneously resurrected to join Team Speedy’s/Sussex Honey, here he was in the flesh. Watson looked around the cafe. He didn’t believe in magic or kismet or any of those mystical type things. After forty years of life, he was sure he’d know by now if there were weird crystal-swinging forces at play. But what were the odds?

“Three thousand seven hundred and eighteen.” The tap of a paper cup on the low table by his elbow punctuated Holmes’s statement. “‘Of course that’s not the actual percentage chance of us encountering each other here and now, simply the approximate number of coffee shops available assuming we were both entering one at the same time.”’

“‘That’s one massive coincidence.”’ Watson eyed Holmes in the chair beside him, sipping slowly at his own paper cup’s contents.

“‘The universe is rarely so lazy, or so Big Brother says.”’

“‘Big Brother?”’ Watson was now only ninety percent certain he wasn’t in a movie. Or a simulation. Or whatever the thing was you were supposedly inside of.

“‘My big brother, Mycroft. Though if he had it his way, the capital letters would be spot on. The chances of us meeting here are slim indeed, but there’s something more…why is it you—oh. I see.”’

“‘You see?”’

“‘You’ve only just found out that we’re more than distant former colleagues of a sort. Quite the coincidence after all, then.”’ Holmes took another long sip of his drink. “‘Do make a start on that before it goes cold,”’ he instructed, pointing at Watson’s cup. “‘Wasting it would be a crime.”’

Heat radiated through Watson’s palm as he wrapped his hand around the cup. The scent of fresh coffee reached him halfway to his mouth, allowing him a moment to brace himself. He never was able to drink it black, but this was hardly the time to cause offense. He could almost hear Holmes smirking from a foot away. He can’t really read minds, I must have some rude look on my face. Wouldn’t have to if he’d only asked before he went ahead and ordered for me. Haven’t even properly introduced ourselves yet.

“‘You’ll have to trust me sometime. Might as well start with my impeccable taste in coffee.”’

“‘Right, yeah. Thanks. Cheers.”’ Watson took a careful sip. Then another. Whatever this was dancing across his tongue was like no coffee he’d ever tasted. He tipped his head back a moment, unsure whether he wanted to consume it all instantly or draw it out as long as it would last.

“‘You’re not being shipped to a desert island, it’s only the Tour de France. You can have another one of these in hand in a matter of weeks.”’

“‘This is the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life. This…what even is this?”’ He strained to see the board over his shoulder. “‘That Tanzania blend thing?”’

Holmes scoffed. “‘As if a blend of the day could produce such a depth of flavor. No, John—may I call you John?”’

Watson nodded. Day was already weird, why not.

“‘No, John, this is not a blend. Look at the wall behind the baristas, over to the left.”’

“‘I didn’t even see that before,” ’Watson said, squinting at a large apparatus.

“‘You do see, but you do not observe. That,”’ Holmes gestured with the cup in his hand, “‘produces this. Kyoto Slow, by name.”’

“‘How does all that even work?”’

“‘Perhaps if we both make it home from Paris,”’ Holmes said, sighing into another sip, “‘I’ll walk you through it.”’

------------- //irl author's note: Kyoto Slow is an awesome Mystrade fic, highly recommend. read on AO3.

#fan works #john watson #johnlock #johnlock fanfiction #pro cycling au #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #sherlock x john #tour de france au #slipstream #fanfiction remix

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