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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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9/9 Peace in a Lifetime of War

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He didn't call, didn't text, didn't explain himself.

She wrote dozens of texts, mostly with one sentence, Where'd you go?, Could we talk this through?, I'm sorry, would you please come back, but never sent them.

But she was also being ripped apart by the feeling that this simply couldn't be happening. It couldn't end like this. There was something real here. There had to be.

Pride got in the way. He didn't deserve her begging after leaving her like that without even an explanation as to why. He cared about his job more than her, and she would no longer beg for leftovers. She would not be the girl he could come and fuck in the dark when he had the time for it.

Let's make this work.

That's the sentence she wrote the most, to reverse the last words she had said. A nervous voice inside her told her that she had driven him away. That Simon was somewhere out there thinking she didn't want him in her life. After all, she had shouted that he should go and do his job… Practically, get out of her life.

But how could a few words spoken in anger drive him away? How could he just cut her off after everything? Player or not, she had thought him a better man than this.

He still had the key. He hadn't left it on the table or mailed it to her. He might still walk through that door when she least expected it.

But days turned into weeks, and somewhere in her heart, she knew a decision had been made. Simon never half-assed anything. If he had left, he had left. End of fucking story.

After three weeks, she threw away the shower gel. It reminded her of the time she had come from the shower to a dark room filled with him. When she had teased him, and he had sent her to heaven, when they had confessed their love to each other. It stared at her from the bin until she went and took out the trash with not much else but that single men's shower gel bottle in it.

He had left one of his hoodies in her apartment, and she almost threw it into the bin too. Then she crawled inside it like a child who had lost her parents.

It smelled of him, and it was so big that half of her disappeared inside it, and she felt warm, and safe, and devastated. That hoodie and her bedroom walls twisted the knife by whispering the words Marry me, laced with an echo of his laughter. Every day she decided to throw it away and start a new life, and every night she curled inside it to cry herself to sleep.

Bolognese was ruined for her. Motörhead was ruined, bourbon was ruined; the smell of tobacco brought tears to her eyes. She walked past springtime tulips like they carried the plague itself. Even Dürer was ruined.

How could a heartless, cocky 21st-century soldier ruin the genius of a Renaissance master?

Luckily, she hadn't told anyone who she had been dating for months now. She had never asked Simon to meet her parents. She hadn't even told them she was seeing someone… Her mother had made a remark on how nice it was to see her happy when she was visiting on holidays, and she had told her she had gotten good grades this semester. In her heart, she had perhaps always known that things with Simon wouldn't last. It all seemed like a dream. A beautiful, heated, fucked up pipe dream.

It was like the very oxygen from her life was gone. She didn't have the will to masturbate; the toy she had only reminded her of the embarrassing incident where she had forgotten it on the bedside table, and he had seen it and made her blush with a laugh and a comment; "That's the competition?" Such a small, pink thing compared to Simon, and even that reminded her of him.

Her workplace was a smoking rubble after a war. The pole choreographies had the atmosphere of Swan Lake rather than anything sultry and sexy — she flicked the pole to spin mode more often, started to do leg hangs and suicide spins and unicorn splits and chose music with lyrics about betrayal and other heartbroken, forlorn wailing.

Her gaze swept the audience before she grabbed the pole. Just in case. There were hungry eyes, but none belonged to the man with a winter-over stare, sleeve tattoo, and voice burnt from scotch, smoking, and sleepless nights.

The room spun, and her heart hurt, and she wondered if Simon had found another sweet girl or if he was bleeding in the blur too. Perhaps he was taking his pleasure with the women on his team, no strings attached. Fucking those tough army girls who were everything she was not. Making them moan with slow, heavy torture.

She wanted him to hurt. And then again, she did not. She wanted him to be safe, and for the first time in her life, she prayed even though she had never believed in God.

That forgotten oversized hoodie was her temple, and she wasn't sure who she was even praying to before falling asleep inside that black cotton. But she asked for Simon to stay safe, to not do anything stupid. She even prayed for his happiness, but then the prayers turned more selfish, and she asked that he would come back to her.

Just come back to her.

Her prayers were answered sooner than she would've thought. It was a frightening invocation, because when she finally caught him as a black, massive shadow against the darkness of the club, it was clear that he was in an even worse shape than she was.

He was still big, still menacing, a powerhouse of a man, but she saw that he had lost weight, the shade under his eyes was even darker than when they had first met. He was looking at her dance like he was attending a funeral: there was no smile, no hunger, only suffering in his eyes that followed her from inside a black hood.

She wanted to jump from the stage in the middle of her show, climb onto his lap, cry all the tears still uncried, although she had done nothing but bawled every night since he had left. Sweat made the pole slick, and she closed her eyes as she spun, hoping to be somewhere else entirely so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. But the lights were pointing at the stage, and her face must've been a pale mask of fear and longing, and the dance turned into the ending act of her own personal Swan Lake.

It had been almost a month, and he barged back into her life like he would barge through a door into a room full of prisoners. The game was on again, and he was the fucking worst, and the relief and longing turned into red, blazing rage.

How dare he show up here? Still without warning, without a single message, when he knew how much it meant to her. Especially after what had gone down.

When she was done, she didn't go to him; she left the stage before the applause had even died, rushed to get her things, and stormed out the back door, half fearing that she would bump into him. He wasn't there, but when she walked past the entrance to get home, there was a man smoking outside. She wouldn't shed a look his way but knew from the aura of darkness and hellfire and silent leadership that it was him. There was no sound of footsteps, but she knew he was walking behind her, could almost smell the smoke, could feel his stare on her back as she rushed down the street like she was being hunted by a ravager.

And hadn't he, in a way, promised to haunt her, dead or alive?

She cried the whole way home while being followed by his ghost – silent tears of anger and relief and sorrow, jaw trembling and hiccups tickling her throat.

When she reached her apartment, she opened the door as quickly as possible, then slammed it shut behind her.

Would he use the key and force himself in? Would he take the closed door as a sign not to trespass? She almost went to open it to let him know that this area was actually a No Man's Land, not a threshold to her personal space, much less a fortress he needed to conquer.

But he had decided to pursue her, and a clear-cut knock sent her heart up her throat.

She had a choice not to open that door. Return to her old life without this fuckery. He wouldn't use the key she had given him, he was gentleman enough not to. Or perhaps not a gentleman: he simply knew when he was not welcome and would be too proud to force a connection.

But the decision had really been made a long time ago. It was made when she asked for that drink, when she accepted his flowers, when he pushed inside her the first time. Perhaps even on the moment she first laid eyes on him.

So, without having a grain of rational thought behind it, her heart walked her to that door and opened it.

He was leaning on the frame with one hand, and the hooded head rose from a heavy hang. He looked defeated for a moment, and she realized she had taken a while to come to the door… But then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, bounced away from the frame, and the tiniest little smile played on his lips.

A look of I win.

It was something so Simon that it burned her heart, and the love returned – as if it had ever gone anywhere – and she was so angry that she slapped him to wipe off that stupid look that told her he could drop her like a toy and then come back and pick her up again.

Her palm met his chin, and it hurt her too: to hear that slap and know he allowed it to happen.

He allowed her to slap him. Again.

He reduced her to someone who hit people, like this was some trailer park romance where physical abuse was ok.

It was his fault, not hers.

It was his fault. It was.

His head was turned to the side from the force of her palm, the eyebrows rose in muted surprise. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and couldn't hide his smile anymore. He fucking got off on this.

Which was why she slapped him again – only, this time he caught her hand and finally forced himself inside, like it was an invitation that she tried to hit him. Her other hand shot out, rather impassively, and he caught that, too.

"That's quite enough."

That gruff, dark voice was probably what she had missed the most. Or those big, brown eyes full of promise. Or all that muscle wrapping around her in a crushing hug, those lips that smashed against hers in a starved kiss.

The door slammed shut behind him as he devoured her. The moment his hands let go of hers and enveloped her into that secure embrace, she dissolved and let him crush her mouth, her ribs, her everything — her hands reached for the hood and tore it down, clutched his back, his jacket, threatening to tear the clothes apart from how much she had missed him.

Tears gathered up her throat, and her eyes burned and squeezed shut, she held the black fabric in her fists and pulled, trying to get closer even when there was not a breath of air between them. His scent brought back so many memories that she threatened to drown in the flood.

The kiss left them both breathless and huffing when he drew her against him. She felt like a hostage when he closed one heavy palm around her head and simply forced her cheek to meet his chest. He had never closed her in a hug quite like this — like he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air if he didn't hold on tightly enough.

"Sweetheart." It was a rumble in her hair, a deep vibration in the solid wall she was smashed against.

"Don't you dare," she whispered through tears, but her hands told a different story as she clung to him like a drowning person.

"Sarah…" He only squeezed her harder, so hard that she feared he would soon break bones. "Love. I'm sorry that it took so long."

Her fingers flexed, then wrapped around that jet-black cotton again. The tears disappeared in his shirt, and she was glad he always wore black; otherwise, the mascara would've made a visible mess.

He smelled so good. She inhaled him like a drug — even after the desertion, his scent meant safety and home to her.

"What the fuck happened?" She sniffed, trying not to wail like a child against that firm wall of chest. "I thought you only went for a smoke."

He stroked her hair so gently that the shirt was soon soaked from her tears.

"I thought it would be best if I left you in peace," he muttered, sounding almost guilty. Her hand twitched in the folds of the hood from the utter folly of it all. She thanked the heavens that he hadn't. She had never exactly found peace with him, but being without him was even worse.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she retorted.

"Yeah. I used to be a better man. But if ya think I'm cocky… Hah, you should've seen me back then. Feared nothing."

She had expected him to share a reason for leaving her like that, but she hadn't envisioned it to start with those words. The world was quaking again in her hallway, lit by a single, lone lamp.

"It didn't work. It got people killed. Even my brother's little kid." He was still talking to the crown of her head as if exposing the darkest of secrets, fearing that the walls were wired.

"I'm not really… alive, you know? Died with them about ten years ago."

From any other man's mouth, that trace of information, an explanation for his handicaps, would've felt melodramatic. When it came from Simon, it felt like a void was yawning before her.

"Swore that day I would never let it happen again."

How could she always forget that her judgment concerning Simon was flawed – no – distorted as hell? She knew he had lost everybody but didn't know how exactly. Of course there had been violence. She had never really understood just how important it was for him to protect people from getting too close.

I didn't mean for things to go this far suddenly stood for something completely different.

He wasn't playing or toying with her. He was being absolutely, vehemently, utterly serious.

Even… intimidated.

She felt even worse about not being there for him when he had been thin with his skin. She had made it all about her when he tried to share a deep fear.

"I tried to keep my hands off you as long as I could." He hummed, a sound of a distant, pleasant memory. "You were so… fuckin' graceful. Felt like you were dancing just for me."

The tears kept flowing, the world kept quaking.

"I was," she whispered. "Even when you weren't there."

"Thought you was just teasin' me. Seemed such a tough girl." He gave her one of those short laughs, a cynical scoff that said he wasn't easily caught off balance. "'N then you turned out to be sweet as a pie. So bloody sweet. Swept me right off my feet."

She pulled back a little and saw that his eyes were liquid too, the pale lashes fluttered over bloodshot, melted chocolate, but no tears came out. It was like he didn't quite know how to cry, like that skill had been tortured out of him, never to return.

"Nothing lasts. Especially if it's something good and pure." He ran a thumb over her cheek, catching a tear, like he was soothed by seeing someone crying the tears he could not. "Really wanted this to last."

Her lower lip trembled at that, and she had to fight back a whole bawl that threatened to erupt. He was stupidly eloquent when he wanted to. But he was also blind if he couldn't see that no one else but him had tried to end things this time. How could a man so mature and smart be so stupid?

"You're the one who walked out the door, Simon."

He blinked a few times. Yeah… He was that stupid, even if he was sharp and trained and brave. But it was also stupid of her to think there wouldn't be problems. He had built a wall, five-foot thick, since childhood. She had tried to penetrate it with a needle and had had a fit when it wouldn't budge.

"Look... You can't just come into my life and fuck around and fuck with my head — and fuck me… and then leave and say Darling, it's dangerous."

He huffed a laugh at her imitation of him. "You make me sound like a jerk."

"That's because you are."

A sigh. "Right."

She had expected him to return the quip, make some clever comeback, but their love had been on ice for weeks and weeks. Even if the warmth was there, and he was close, so close… Something was still wrong.

She pulled herself back to the solace of his chest. There were broken things inside, and she was a brittle vase herself, barely able to hold all the sorrow in.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

"Comes with the job."

"I hate your job," she mumbled in his shirt, and he chuckled humourlessly.

"Me too."

"No you don't. You love it." She sent another accusation in the air, and the penalty was an open prison, a slackening muscle around her.

"Guilty as charged."

"Why are you here, Simon?"

There was a pause, one, two breaths…

"Can't fuckin' live without you."

He had no doubt tried, tried to veritably leave her from fear of setting her in danger. Only Simon could leave a woman for fear of losing them…

"Even if I only get scraps and slaps. Phone's full of look at me's but you never call."

Her eyes flared wide open, her lungs ceased working for a second. Five months flashed backward, then forward, their shared moments twisting and turning, words finding new meanings.

Scraps…

You never call.

Jesus Christ.

It was bitter, and it was true. She had guarded her heart like a prisoner of war during a time of peace. Sent him thirsty selfies like they were the only thing he wanted from her, refused to call in fear of losing some game.

He wasn't the only one who was proud and dramatic. She had had a whole month in her hands. She could've called him, sent him those texts. She could've made it known that she hadn't meant her last words as a command for him to get out. But she had done none of those things. Instead, she slammed the door in his face and slapped him when he finally came back with his tail between his legs.

It was never about his job. She could deal with that. It was about the game.

They were both boneheaded, proud little creatures, and she realized she was the one who had been playing, playing for far too long…

"You said you'd rather call me," she whimpered, voice barely even a whisper.

He pulled her away by the shoulders and took a quick scan. There was patronization and pity, and she wondered whether he would take the blame for her failings too. But the pain was more profound than that.

"Sarah. Do ya even like me?"

Of all the things said that night, said ever, that was probably what hurt her the most.

"Yes," was all she managed to say to the man who was, in truth, the love of her life.

"Alright. Then I don't see what the problem is."

He was being reasonable, but there seemed to be a whole other problem she had never acknowledged. Had never even known existed.

And it was a rare, rare thing, that he chose to break first.

"Sarah, bloody fucking-... It kills me to imagine you with someone else."

All in.

As if she could ever find a man like him. As if she could even see other men. They had ceased to exist five months ago.

Just say it.

"I don't want someone else," she said, knowing that games like these should be illegal. But she was not playing anymore. "I only want you. Remember?"

The wall cracked, crumbled a little, exposed some softness in those chocolate eyes.

"Now that's what I like to hear."

Annoying, lovable, cocky bastard. This time, it was her turn to pull him in for a kiss.

He let her take some of his clothes off but then seized the reins from her again by hauling her to the bedroom like a doll. Everything happened right according to a script: she was undressed, tossed on the bed, and he was climbing on top of her before she could even say his name.

He just wouldn't allow her to touch him. She had given him one and a half blowjobs, one handjob, and slapped him two times. They cuddled every now and then. That was basically it.

He was always on top, had fucked her against this and that wall, fucked her with his clothes on half the time. He initiated everything, made her feel good, and so, so subtly prevented her from touching him. Did he even know he was doing it, or was it subconscious?

This would have to change.

Past torture or not, it would change now.

"Simon," she placed a hand on his chest when he was already inserting himself inside her.

"Hm?"

"Can I be on top?"

Something akin to worry flickered in his eyes, but it was only a brief glitch that soon changed into an intrigued look.

"Why not," he tried to hide the remnants of his bafflement, then crashed to the bed beside her. She flicked the table light on as if making it clear that this was the dawn of a new era. He gave it a hasty side eye, then turned his attention back to her.

"Have you ever heard of Adam's first wife?" She asked when she climbed on top of him. God, but he was wide, even though men were supposed to have narrower hips. Simon was a man in his prime, threatening, even when lying under her in a seemingly vulnerable position.

"You givin' me a history lesson too?"

"She was banished from Eden because she wanted to be on top during sex." She tried to seek support from his chest, knowing it would be of minimal help. If he would get too enthusiastic, she might be bucked off.

"I won't be so cruel," he said with a soft smile as he ran hands over her thighs, then up to her waist, hesitantly. Simon never hesitated.

From what she understood, he was far from a footsoldier. The people he killed never even heard he was coming for them with a thick, ugly blade. Perhaps he preferred to fuck like that, too: stealthy and intimate, in the darkness, keep his victim in a sturdy embrace so he could feel how they bled to death.

That light was a threat. Her stare was piercing awareness: also, a threat.

And it was only now, from this position, that she finally caught the wounds. Fresh, ugly holes that should've probably been under bandage still.

"What's this?"

There were not one, but two cavities surrounded by discolored skin, bruised dark purple, virtually black — gunshot wounds that had barely missed his liver. Had the bullets reached the internals, they would've likely been the end of him.

"That's the reason why it took so long."

Shallow breathing was a stupid response from a body already feeling faint. But the next few breaths were just that: an attempt to sustain the flow of oxygen and allow reality to sink in.

The last time Simon had gotten hit was years and years ago: a bullet to the arm, not nearly as severe as an abdominal wound. She thought they used bullet vests at work. Unless he had chosen not to wear it. Her brain was a horrid thing, pushing a clinical sentence out of a psychology journal to her mind.

"The root cause of self-destructive behavior can stem from a mental health condition such as depression: overwhelming sadness and loss of interest."

She had drowned herself in self-pity in her cozy little apartment and taken revenge on a shower gel bottle while Simon had gotten himself wounded, nearly killed. Probably spent the last few weeks in a hospital after the operation in whatever medical facility he had been brought to from the field. Without telling her, stubborn and proud as he was. Lying there, with no visitors, thinking it was better to leave her alone…

She knew he had a death wish, but this… This crushed her soul.

"Soap said I should ask you to marry me instead of trying to prove something by killin' myself."

Shit…

More edgy, dark humour — but her insides shuddered.

The axis of melancholia turned and turned. She hadn't told anyone about them, but Simon had. So that someone could deliver the message if need be. Even the thought of a Scottish jarhead appearing at her door and telling her how Lieutenant Simon Riley had been killed in action made her eyes sting.

Soap was a clever man. Much more intelligent than the one between her thighs.

"What am I to do with you," she whispered while placing the lightest, faintest touch on the stretched skin around the injury. The muscles rippled underneath her fingertips, and a soft hiss drew her attention back to his face, but the discomfort was hidden from view before she could decide whether it was caused by her words or her touch.

"A few ideas come to mind," he spoke with his everlasting cheek, even when healing from both gunshot wounds and a broken heart. "Wanna hear?"

"How about you shut your mouth for a change," she offered, gently enough to make it clear that some things should be fixed with another kind of communication.

When she reached to guide him inside her, he was uncommonly solemn. The dry spell had ended at the door already, but that drowsy, flaming rust of a stare caused the cup to overflow. She was slippery as hell, but he was patient, mostly having a ball watching how she went through trial and error to get him in. The intimacy made her flustered, and that stern expression soon turned into a smug one as she fucked up guiding him in smoothly and with finesse.

And it was wishful thinking that Simon would keep his mouth shut.

"Ya need help with that?"

"Shush," she said, knowing it was futile, a laugh bubbling in her chest as she tried to sound convincing with the command. As if she could order someone like Simon around.

He broke again when the thick of him finally pushed in, slow and steady like a reverie.

"Always so fuckin' tight 'n wet for me…"

"You can't just shut it for one minute, can you," she breathed while gliding down the cock that spread her wide — and God, she had longed for that familiar invasion.

"Not with you, sweetheart."

She had barely even started when she saw how his throat worked, then felt him tighten the grip on her waist.

"Did ya have others while I was away?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The muscles on his jaw tensed, then unwound with a sigh, the heavy-lidded eyes making him look like a man about to pass out.

"Neither did I. Seat's already taken."

The jesting, his laugh, their togetherness — she had missed it so much that it physically hurt.

But at the same time, it felt like they were meeting for the first time. This time with more than just their clothes off. Everything was…amplified, and not just because the lights were on. This was not a lazy Sunday morning fuck under the sheets.

She had been squashed against his chest, but she had never traced the muscles with the tips of her fingers, watched how his nipples grew hard at the contact. She had never quite seen how his jaw clenched, how his abs pulled taut just from a slow roll of her hips. Her hands looked tiny, dainty, when they swept over him – a man made weapon – all corded muscle and uneven skin, tone changing with the map of old and new scars, fresh scratches here and there, ill-healed burn marks and whatnot coating a skin that had seen more than just rough weather. He didn't treat his body like a living, breathing thing; it was simply a tool.

Her past boyfriends had been just that. Boys compared to him. It wasn't just his size, that he was older than her. It wasn't even the map of scars spread over muscles built to withstand and wage war. It was just something so inherently him, a maturity, ripe survival, toughness that came from another age entirely.

She tried to be worthy of him, make love to him in return for all the favors he had so generously given her.

He appeared to enjoy it with the most laid-back attitude she had yet seen on him. She had prepared for intensity, as always, a bit of devilry, but not for that daydreamy stare. That absorbed, blissful look could only be compared to someone easing down on a divan, waiting to be served wine and grapes like they were some Roman deity. Or, in his case, on a lush sofa, waiting for his girl to bring him a scotch after a long day. Maybe take his boots off, and his pants too, kneel and take him in a warm, wet mouth…

God, she was fantasizing about blowing Simon while riding him. But she'd be damned if she didn't serve him that back rub with a happy ending as soon as she had ridden him to the finish line.

"Should do this more often," he noted evenly, echoing her thoughts – and trying to grasp some sliver of control by telling her he liked this. Liked being served.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Can't complain."

And she realized now that she wasn't the one in charge, no. He was looking at her much in the same way as he did when she was up on that stage. Only, he was now both the stage and the pole… and the audience.

Fuck.

Every time she tried to get in control, he did that rear choke on her. Even this turned out to be another counter technique. He was simply enjoying her take her pleasure.

The notion didn't cause fires anymore, other than a flare of licking heat down to where they were joined. Her inner walls had decided that he was a keeper too, gripping him so violently that the tendons on his neck became visible. The callous of his hands traveled upwards to her ribs, and she caught a thought of how he could easily crush her if he wanted to — but he only proceeded to hug her waist with an iron grip to join in the show.

"Keep doin' that and there's gonna be a real mess," he said, voice thick, sending more heat trickle down her spine.

"Isn't that always the case with you?" She was on the brink of laughter now, because it felt stupid that it had taken her so long to enjoy this man to the full.

"Yeah… But you love it. Admit it." He wasn't bulldozing now. Just enticing, eyes glimmering from seeing her so evidently happy.

And she did admit it. She didn't hold back at all. She allowed him to see exactly how much she wanted and admired him, how good he made her feel.

The account started as a steaming, almost pissed-off checklist, a confession rather than a declaration of love. It contained pent-up love and hate, from how he fucked her in the dark to how he drove knives to a wall she didn't even own. But then it turned into a hymn. Nevermind ego; she wanted to stroke his heart and soul. He fucking deserved it.

She told him he was a good man, the best man she had ever known. How she had never loved anyone like this. How she was his, had been from the moment he came to that club. She even told him how big he was and how she had trouble concentrating in class because of it. That she had trouble focusing pretty much anywhere.

How she had cried herself to sleep in his sweatshirt every night after he had left… How she wanted him to never leave again — how she wanted to solve every argument they would have from now on with a hatefuck instead.

At first, he looked at her curiously, probably thinking she was joking. Then his expression turned to a choked-up stun.

“Sarah– Fuckin’ hell…"

Every secret thought from the past five months was laid out before them; every little thing she admired about him from body to soul.

It seemed to be a shock treatment, a little too much all at once, but he was true to his word and didn't complain.

"You're gonna make a grown man cry 'ere."

He didn't cry, but if there was still some invisible wall between them, every last brick was blown apart at this point.

The poker game was finally over, the whole table was cleared of cards and chips and bets.

"Do you even like me… Unbelievable, Simon," she said as a final notion. There was a soft smile, but it wasn't arrogant or vain in her eyes anymore. Just proud, pleased.

God, had she been stupid.

She descended to celebrate, to seal it all with a kiss. He welcomed her with fast allegiance: arms went around her as soon as her breasts pressed against his chest. It was all hunger, but ten times more tender than the starvation at the door. Slow, deliberate, and it went straight to her cunt, gripping him — and of course he responded with a groan, straight into her mouth.

His hips jerked up to meet her, and had she not been in the safe custody of freakishly strong arms, she would've fallen off her ride. And it was high time to investigate whether he had a vulnerable spot in his neck as well.

A sluggish, flat-tongued lick up the column of his throat and some open-mouthed, sloppy kisses sent him contracting from the middle, pushing in, balls deep. She risked a nib, even a soft bite, and eventually, went a bit feral on that neck. It was another jackpot for the both of them.

"I need-.. need you on your back," he had never stuttered like that, out of breath, trying to be polite with a raspy throat. But he wasn't really asking, and it wasn't really mannerly. It was actually a demand.

"Wanna fuck you hard," his voice was so low that it was almost a growl.

Yes.

Yes. Yes, please.

And she knew just the trick that would ensure that he did.

"Hmh. Denied," she said to his neck, and waited for the punishment that was brief and thorough.

"The hell it is."

He rolled over and switched their roles without even pulling out, and just like that, her feeble attempts to be the rebellious first woman turned to dust. But she didn't really mourn the loss. Her Eden resided right here.

"You're such an asshole," she was laughing from mirth and love and the joy of being pressed under that safe weight again.

"Would like to fuck that too someday."

Oh my God..-

She wasn't a blushing lady from Victorian times, but this was a little unexpected, even from him.

"Bet you're even tighter down there… I might just pass out."

Her jaw must've fallen an inch or two, her eyes no doubt shot full of shimmering glee because nothing, absolutely nothing escaped him, and her face was now more than that of a stupefied goldfish.

"I suggest you close that pretty mouth before I-"

She cut him short by sinking nails in his skin — more precisely, his ass. He arched his back with the following thrust, even exposed his throat with a satisfied grunt.

"Lil' wildcat… I could do this all night." It was a pleased chuckle, and her heart hurt — she was constantly calling him annoying, an asshole, a jerk, and he told her she was beautiful, sweet, his girl, or a little wildcat in return…

"Would ya like that?"

She could only nod, time and again, and the sex turned messy, noisy and unhinged, weeks and weeks of frustration and longing dissipating with fucking that spread her thighs wide and made the whole bed wail. Her head hit the frame once or twice before he moved her with an annoyed grunt while she was having a laugh about it, but then she remembered he was injured and that this was a bad idea.

"Your wounds-" she tried to stutter amidst a pounding that had certainly been held back for longer than five months, not to talk of a few weeks.

"I'll live."

She was close, but so was he, and it seemed it was the most difficult decision he had ever made: to choose whether to slow down and grit his teeth or just give into the temptation and spill. A split second, and he chose the latter, and she must've been gawking: all that muscle towering over her went tense, the halved slant between his pecs sheened with sweat.

He came with a long groan and a head rolled back, the tension leaving him in shivers before his head fell back down, chin to the chest. The stare behind those heavy lids was unfocused, heady, drugged.

"Fuck, you're a glorious sight," he said while sweeping a hand over her sternum and closing the giant palm around her throat — nothing brutal or rough, just a little bit of fun that probably shouldn't have made her tighten around him as furiously as it did. It felt like she was one of his victims, held in place by one hand only, as his gaze dropped down to marvel at how his cock disappeared in her and came out all wet. The thrusts were erratic and desperate, the ending throes of ecstasy — must've been a glorious sight indeed.

He wouldn't even pause to enjoy the trip back to earth to the full. He left her, eyes both determined and drunk, cock still half hard, so abruptly that a sad little whimper fled her. But he wasn't gone for long, just settled next to her and gathered her in his arms, wracked with purpose.

She gasped when not one, but two fingers dipped inside, then drove deep to the knuckle.

"Fuck…"

"Will do."

It was a scant substitute for his cock, even with two thick fingers. But he was good, so damn good that it didn't matter.

He did everything right, perfect, precise. Made a mess of the cum that joined the wreckage, played with it, slathered it all over her until she was sticky and wet and the noise was well-nigh filthy.

But even more unbearable was the intimacy, the way her hand found him, the bunching muscles on the forearm, the thumb brushing her clit, his fingers curling in a loose fist while two of them curled inside her…

She wanted to participate, feel the fierce connection that had gained a whole new level. There was a sense of belonging, merging — did he feel it too?

Yeah, he definitely did.

Their gazes were locked, but the depth in his eyes wasn't hunger or will to dominate or even meant for fishing cues, it was pure surrender, actually, it was… love.

"Please," she whispered while he made love to her with both his hand and those eyes, not knowing why she even said that. But he had told her he loved it when she begged, so that's what she did. She would give him every fucking thing he wanted.

The sweltering bronze of his eyes broke a little, his brow gave a minimal tug.

"Simon - Please," the words were a mouthed prayer rather than an audible whisper, and she knew her own gaze was fractured because the warmth in his eyes only spread.

"I got ya," he crushed her in a devout hug while spreading her open, breathed into her ear, all joking gone. It was a solemn pledge, a guarantee.

"Promise I got ya."

This wasn't affection anymore; it was bonding.

She came with a strained whimper in his neck, curled into the hug with thighs trembling and hands grabbing whatever she could: a sheet, a tight muscle. He was an absolute genius for not moving, just stayed inside as her muscles sucked him in with a long, hungry pull that turned into a shudder that went through her whole body.

"Uh, fuh-…" She was cursing, sobbing, coming apart by the seams, and he took it all in, breathing high and wide from witnessing what he was doing to her.

It was a slow and tense shattering but turned messier after: into sloppy writhing and moaning, and he moved gracefully to ride it out with her. An absolute ace at what he did.

He might've said something, cheering her on with That's it or Fuckin' beautiful or something like that. She couldn't hear it, and it didn't really matter anyway. The looting was sweet, and he was the perfect fit, so fulfilling, still inside her after the waves had passed. They were breathing into each other, holding the space, sustaining the present moment just by being entangled together, all limbs and breath and sweat on sweat. When he ultimately pulled out, the hand joined the one wrapped around her, holding her like the most precious thing in the universe.

Her depression was gone, the man supporting her being a better cure for her condition than any kind of antidepressant ever invented by Western medical professionals could ever be. There was no fear, only a terrible will to live, a hunger for love and life.

It felt too lame a thing to say: I love you, in that kind of a moment. But something needed to be said. It wanted to come out like a wild thing from a cage.

"You brought me back to life," she whispered to the pulse on his neck, tasting both their salt, feeling like crying again, but this time for a different reason. "When we met. And every day after."

He was calm and still, frozen in time, but she could feel his heart thundering underneath that chest. Fast and overwhelmed.

"You're good at so much more than just killing people. I hope you know that."

The world could use another flood, but he chose to be the floodgate, chose to fight back mass destruction and death and darkness while looking like it. A hero, if there ever was one.

Simon didn't just take lives. He saved them.

"You saved my life, Simon." She stirred a little to look at him, wholly stripped of all his masks.

"There.. Finally shut you up."

He swallowed, and a steady hand brushed the nape of her neck, dissolving the tension if there still was any left.

"Yeah."

The soft silence covered them like a blanket until he bore even deeper.

"I'm glad you could finally join us."

And she realized he was talking about the Game. Their game. The poker game.

She had been a player while he had been here all along with palms facing upwards, with no cards at all. Just waiting for her to catch on.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"'Atta girl."

The kiss was gentle and slow. He grunted in her mouth, and when she withdrew to look at what was wrong, he opened and closed his jaw, then rubbed the side of his chin that had begun to swell a little.

"You hit hard for a historian."

Oh God.

She felt bad, but not bad enough to suppress a chortle.

"Remarkably hard for a woman. Almost dislocated a jaw," he continued when he saw she was laughing at the whole situation.

"I hope it swells real bad," she chuckled. He cast her a look that said So much for sweetness.

"You're ruthless."

"Do you need ice?"

"A kiss'll do."

She didn't deny him that kiss. She wasn't that ruthless. But after that soft peck, she turned to whisper in his ear.

"You deserved it."

He scoffed lightly, gave her a squeeze. It was the middle of the night, but it felt like the midsummer sun was shining.

"You deserve the best."

"And you're the best?" She asked, while they both already knew he was.

"I try to be."

That was probably the most humble thing she had ever heard him say, but then again, when had his arrogance ever been ego? He had always delivered. He was a soldier, but he was not a killer. He was a protector.

But if he would protect her by leaving her in peace, she would start a war of her own.

"Then don't leave me."

"Never."

Her heart skipped a beat, then fluttered flush against her ribs like an overjoyed bird.

"Is that a promise?"

She caught a smile, cocky, but only because he knew he was the best man for the job. He was best at what he did, and it had nothing to do with games.

"It's a vow."

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 smut #man sized #simon ghost riley x female oc #ghost x female oc #simon riley x female oc #soft simon riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #simon ghost riley fic

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darlingmbappe · 1 year

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Innocent Offer | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: Kylian begrudgingly admits his lack of sexual experience to you. As a good friend would, you offer him some help. Based on this request.

Warnings: Literally just smut, so minors don't you dare. Keep scrolling, nothing to see here! Virgin!Kylian, experienced!reader. Oral (male receiving), friends to lovers kinda, cussing. This was repurposed from another fic I wrote while I was in another fandom. I'm 99% sure I fixed all of the names/inconstancies. It's a little short, sorry guys! Let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

Masterlist

“You’re lying.” The accusing words come out of your mouth through a smirk. The boy sat across from you leaning on the headboard of the huge daybed in his gameroom with crossed arms, avoiding your gaze after having just admitted something he never thought he would. Especially to you — the girl he’s been silently (but heavily) crushing on for at least an entire year.

Kylian scoffed, pinching at a loose thread on his T-shirt sleeve. “Now, why the hell would I lie about that?”

You sit on the same bouncy mattress he did, leaning on one arm while you try to catch his eyes. He’s clearly embarrassed — not that he has to be. You didn’t want to make him feel bad about it, but couldn’t help yourself from making sure you heard him right.

“You’ve never gotten a blowjob?” He purses his lips as an answer. “A handy?” He shakes his head slightly, trying to focus on anything but your interrogation. “Not even before...”

He throws his arms down in frustration. “No, alright? Let’s just make it clear that no girl has ever seen my dick and move on. Please.” He snaps in a mumble, feeling slightly humiliated at the topic of conversation.

Your hands raise in defeat, committing yourself to dropping it for his sake.

You haven’t known Kylian for that long, a little over a year at most. What began as an acquaintance through friends of friends developed into a strange friendship of its own. After getting formally introduced to each other four times at separate events and droning ‘we’ve met’ each time, there was a sort of unspoken fellowship. Once you finally got to speak at someone's birthday party at the open bar, you two didn’t stop for hours. Laughing and trading stories until your separate groups dragged you both away. Now, you see him constantly. You were always getting those 'come over' texts the second he got home from training. You two just clicked.

You watched his chest rise and fall as he did his best to focus on the giant TV mounted on the wall, giving your eyes time to feed on his tense shoulders, his exposed collar bone begging to be kissed.

You wanted him to relax; you’re not judging him, you just couldn’t believe he was a virgin. He’s just so confident… and so goddamn sexy. You were actually kind of convinced he was a man-whore. You’ve seen all these women throw themselves at him over the course of just one year, but you never thought about the fact that you’d never seen him go home with any of them until just this second.

The words ‘no girl has ever seen my dick’ echoed in your head, your thoughts have been reduced to more perverted ones. You cared about Kylian so much and you noticed the way he looked at you sometimes, so you tried to be flirty and let him know that you were very much interested... but he would turn away and get shy about it each time. You just assumed he wasn’t into you and cut your losses, satisfied enough with a close friendship with the global star. Now, you’re thinking maybe he wasn’t uninterested, just flustered.

You crawled up the bed and sat next to him shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning your back on the headboard. He stayed completely still as he felt the heat of your body next to his, wishing he had just lied or something.

Kylian looked back at his lap. “Will you stop looking at me like that?” You furrow your eyebrows, his words snapping you out of your own head. “It’s just… My whole life I've been so focused on becoming the world's greatest football star and then… I don’t know. Time flew by and all of the sudden I’m twenty four and still a…” He cuts himself off avoiding the V-word, simultaneously contradicting his whole let’s move on plea. He gulps, fiddling with his ring as if he had never seen one before. “I… I’m not going to be any good at it and I feel like women have all these expectations while sleeping with a football player, and I don’t want to embarrass myself. At this point I have to wait until it’s someone I trust, but I don’t have time for a relationship. Maybe I’m thinking too much about it.” He shrugs. “It’s not on purpose, is what I'm trying to say.”

You can’t seem to look away. He’s flustered and cute while he chews on the inside of his cheek. Maybe his shy confession has you wanting to take care of him, or maybe the infatuation you’ve suppressed for so long is coming back up to the surface; whatever it was drove you crazy. Crazy enough that you couldn’t stop yourself from saying something so bold. So direct. So out of character...

“Can I give you a blowjob?”

Kylians eyebrows shoot up, whipping his head to the side to finally meet your eyes. You could see him searching for any form of malice, he wondered if you were pulling some sadistic prank on him.

Maybe he didn’t hear you right – it was the only explanation he could come up with.

He opened his mouth to ask, but absolutely nothing came out. His lack of response kept you on the edge of your seat, giving you time to think about what you had just offered. It was ridiculous, inappropriate… he was going to think you were a weirdo. But you couldn’t back out now, it’s already out there.

“Wh—uh. I… Me?” He eventually stuttered, a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

“Who else could I possibly be talking to, Ky?” He just continues to stare. “Look, if you don’t want that, we can just pretend I never said anything.”

“No! I mean… yes. I mean…” He laughed awkwardly, shifting slightly to face you. Your brows pinched together, confused at his mixed response. “A-are being serious?”

“Dead serious, Mbappé.” You could see he was conflicted. You give him a few seconds to think before speaking again. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not just offering because you’ve never had one before. I want to do it for you. I wanna make sure you feel comfortable with the person. No judgments.” The idea of making Kylian moan sends a shiver down your spine. You see him gulp. “But, again, say the word and we’ll forget about this.”

His eyes are so wide looking into yours. “Y-you’re sure about this?” You nod, smiling and taking his hand into yours on his lap. “Then… yeah. Hell yeah.” Kylian grins, the rosey color deepening on his cheeks. He knew he would have to be an idiot to pass up this offer.

With his clear consent, you bite your lip, looking down at your locked hands and extending your fingers to free them from his lazy grip. You began to rub his palm softly, letting your finger graze off onto his jean covered thigh, going over his exposed skin through one of the rips. You applied more pressure as you slowly let your touch get closer to his crotch — Kylian’s breath hitched every time you made your way up.

You sat up on your knees and straddled one of his thighs, you continued your movements with both hands now. Looking up at him, his eyes were barely open but they stayed on you.

“You can tell me to stop at any time, okay hun?” The nickname was new, but felt right in the moment.

“Don’t.” He choked out, his hands now resting on the sheets.

Your right hand finally settled on his semi. The second it landed there he grunted, shifting himself lower on the matress. You wanted to kiss his parted lips, glistening with spit as he quickly went over them with his tongue.

You leaned in but landed your kiss on his neck just below his jaw. You wondered if anyone had ever kissed him there before as you bit the skin gently, earning a muffled groan and another gulp from the man underneath you. You continued a path of wet kisses and hickeys all over his neck, his semi now almost completely hard in his jeans. Pulling back, you looked at Kylian— his eyes threatening to close but prying themselves open, the dim light from his lamp making your spit glisten on his bruising neck. His breathing was quick and heavy. Seeing him like this under you makes you realize… you’ve got it bad for Kylian Mbappé.

Kylian couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. He must be having another one of his wet dreams or maybe took a ball to the head and was hallucinating. He had to reach out and grab your waist to confirm that this was reality. It was actually happening.

Slowly, you pop open the button on his jeans, pulling down the zipper. His erection was begging to be let loose and from what you had felt, he was definitely packing. When he lifted his hips to allow you to pull the material down to his mid thigh, leaving only his blue checkered boxers, you got your first real glimpse at what you had gotten yourself into.

You let out a soft ‘mhm’ as you let your forefinger touch his tip through his boxers, feeling the warm wetness of his precum against the pad.

“Ah, Dieu.” He breathed, digging his fingers into your hips. “Just so you know—hha, putain—I probably… I definitely won’t last long.”

You can see the apologetic look under his hooded eyes already. “Kyks, I’m not expecting you to.” You began playing with the hem of his boxers, lifting his shirt enough to see his belly button, letting your nail scratch at the minimal scruff of his happy trail. “I don’t want you to worry about that, okay?” He nodded, his warm palms rubbing your outer thighs. “I just want you to enjoy it.”

Blowjobs were kind of your thing. Your asshole ex made sure you knew how to give really good head, which was funny since he never once bothered to learn where your clitoris was. Either way, this was your area of expertise — your sexual superpower, if you will.

You pulled his boxers down, watching his length pull down until it released and sprang up, slapping Kylian’s belly.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.” You said out loud. What a nice cock Kylian had. Long, slightly thick, a perfectly irritated mushroom head twitching against his soft skin. It definitely would be a challenge.

You palmed up his erection in one swift movement, immediately hitching Kylian’s breath, his eyes glued to your every movement. You wrapped your fingers around his tip, letting your thumb spread around his juices. You laid down between his legs, your face now inches away from his throbbing cock.

“Ready?”

“God, yes.”

Your tongue pressed flat against his slit, swirling around and tasting him like a lollipop. He moaned and threw his head back, the sound he made going straight to your aching pussy. The floodgates have opened between your legs with just the first lick, causing you to hum against him.

“Christ, (Y/N).” He hissed at the vibration.

You pulled off for a second, spitting down onto him, using your hand to spread the moisture to make it easier to take him all in. Because you were determined to take every inch of him.

Lowering your head back down, you hollow your cheeks and create suction. He shivered with a harsh exhale and reached to hold your hair back so he could see your face sinking into him.

The second your hands moved to play with his balls, he jolted. “Shit!”

You popped him out of your mouth quickly and concerned. “You don’t like that?”

“Jesus, I love it. Feels so good, amour. So fucking good.” He quickly insisted, involuntarily jutting into your hand that was wrapped around him.

With a smirk upon hearing the nicknames he called you, you took him back into your mouth and continued to squeeze his sack, bobbing your head up and down with your tongue pressed flat against his length, his eyes pressing closed with a loud moan. You looked up at him through your lashes until his eyes finally opened and met yours. Taking this opportunity, you shoved him all the way down your throat, your lips pressing against his pelvis, your nose buried in his bush of neatly trimmed hair.

He gasped then moaned, trying to form a coherent praise for you, but it came out muddled between huffs of air. You shook your head slightly against him suppressing your gag reflex as he continued to mumble incoherently under your grasp. You came back up for air, jerking him off as you stared at him… so pretty. “I- I can’t… merde. I’m gonna cum soon if you pull that shit again.”

“Am I making you feel so good, Ky?” You innocently asked.

“The fuck do you think?” He jokingly retorts at his disheveled state, making you giggle. “So good.” You had begun sucking on one of his balls, licking and swirling it in your mouth. Both his hands lifted to cover his red face and his tummy moved quickly with every breath.

You licked a stripe back up to his tip, taking all of him back your mouth without warning, deepthroating him once again. His tip pushed back behind your uvula and you were quickly bobbing your head up and down, letting his sensitive head rub back and forth against the back of your throat.

All you could hear was your gurgling sounds and Kylian’s loud huffs of air until his moans became more prominent. “I’m g-gonna cum—oh fuck—ahh!”

His warning wasn’t much of a warning, immediately feeling the hot spurts of white fill your mouth and trickle down your open throat. Your one hand squeezed his balls while the other scratched down his exposed thigh. He moaned and his whole body was twitching, squirming his legs around. You helped Kylian ride out his high until there was definitely no more cum left to give.

You lifted off of him gasping for air, swallowing everything he had given you. You looked down at his still twitching cock as it began to soften, wet with your spit and his own cum.

Now sitting up on your knees, you both caught your breaths until you broke the silence, growing impatient. “So..?”

His eyes peered into yours, a satisfied smile taking over his features. Broken between breaths, he finally spoke. “That had to be… the best blowjob… in the history… of blowjobs.”

You laughed, swinging your legs over the bed and stretching out your back. “Careful Kyks, you’re gonna give me a big head.”

“You just gave me big head.” He chuckled, pulling his clothes back to their rightful place.

You shook your head and blushed. “You’re ridiculous.” You looked at the time on your phone. “Shit. I'm late for my shift.”

He sat up as you hurriedly grabbed your things. You probably should have checked the time before you offered oral to your best friend.

“What—you’re leaving? You can’t leave… I didn’t even get to return the favor.” He argued.

“I didn’t realize that was part of the deal.” You quirked a brow as you put your boots on.

“I mean…” He blushed, watching your every move. “I’d like for it to be.” He stuttered.

You stood up smirking, walking to stand over him on his bed. Leaning down, you planted a kiss on his cheek, close to his mouth. “I’ll see you later, okay, big boy?”

You left him speechless when you walked out of his room, frozen in place. The touch of your lips against his skin invaded his body with goosebumps and then he realized: he never got to kiss you.

He knew now that no other girl could be his first. It had to be you.

Y/N: Short and filthy! So, like I mentioned, this was repurposed from an old fan account I had for a separate fandom a year or so ago. Love y'all!

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 3 months

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PSA

If you are going to post a fic, please use a readmore/cut

It is the symbol of the jagged line between the two straight lines, next to the button to make polls on desktop and on mobile, and it makes it to that people have to click 'more' if they want to keep reading paragraphs and paragraphs of your fic - but they don't have to scroll through a giant text wall in tags or on their dashboard if they don't want to

(Also, people don't have to read smut by accident if they don't want to)

I have seen so many people posting giant textwalls of fic without a readmore and it just makes me roll my eyes. Please be a polite fic writer and use a readmore. It's so easy and accessible on mobile now so there's no excuse not to do it

#sundrop speaks #like PLEASE #fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #jason todd x reader #eddie munson x reader #ellie williams x reader

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d34dlysinner · 6 months

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Confession (Glasya x reader)

Fic I made to target someone yet again. It was a fast fic, but I deemed it somewhat worthy to post here so-

MINORS DNI

Fem! MC? because I used queen in the story, but overall MC is gn

Glasya, the tall demon who most would fear. Most, but you weren't one of them. In fact, you shouldn't fear him to begin with. Like with many other demons, he favored you. And you liked him back. He knew this, but his role in Hades, his loyalty to his king, and his actions made him build a wall between you two.

This doesn't mean that he doesn't flirt with you. It just meant that he would never take it further than flirting. Which meant you had to confess to him yourself.

You messaged Glasyalabolas and asked to meet him near Hades city center. It was a place where you both with others would often visit, so it should've been easy to get there.

Today was different than usual. You arrived near the usual spot to meet up with him. You looked around and spotted in the distance a giant you would recognize everywhere.

You felt your heart speed up with nervousness as it was almost time for you to confess your feelings to him.

You were about to skip over to his side, calling out his name until you were halted by a 'small' group of demons. These demons didn't seem like they wanted trouble, but they definitely wanted something from you. "Child of Solomon! You are in Hades yet again!", one of the demons started.

You tried looking behind them, but like any demon in Hell, they were bigger than most humans. It was hard to get a glimpse of the man you were fawning over. The demons continued rambling, asking questions about your plans, trying to ask you to go with them on a few dates.

You as the descendant of Solomon were indeed popular. It made you wonder if these demons actually liked you or just the thought of you being their long-lost friend's descendant. "Excuse me, I want to get to-", you started as you were cut off by even more questions. Being unable to answer this barrage of questions made the demons impatient. You could sense it with how they were getting slightly agitated. they closed in on you, it felt threatening.

You tried stepping back until you bumped into the chest of someone behind you. "Excuse me-", you started as you looked up at whoever was behind you. That's when you met those eyes you've been longing to see. "Glasya-", You never finished your sentence, but you were in shock and at the same time relieved with seeing him there.

"Seems like you somehow caused some trouble. I came over to see what it was about, but targetting the special guest of our Majesty is a bold move.", he said as he looked towards the other demons when finishing his sentence. His smile was sly as if he tried turning the demons against themselves.

Demon 1: "I was just curious about the child of Solomon. They were starting to get aggressive.", the demon pointed at the others.

Demon 2: "Like you had no part in it. You kept asking weird and unimportant questions.", another demon said.

Demon 3: "And you had something better to ask of the child of Solomon?", yet another demon asked.

The demons who started blaming each other were more interested in finding out whose fault it actually was to notice that you were whisked away by Glasya.

"Let's watch from afar while they beat each other up.", Glasya says as he brings you both to a calm spot. "You asked me to come for something important. I assumed that you also asked the others, but I didn't see them yet...", he said as he looked around for a certain blonde man and another man with tattoos under his eyes. You felt nervous again as you looked up at the man.

"Uhm... Yeah, I only texted you since it only concerns you...", you started as you took a deep breath in. "I like you Glasya. More than just friends I mean.", you said as you focused on his face. Trying to see what sorts of reactions he'll have to your words. You were somewhat surprised when you saw him smile and bend down to look you directly in the eyes.

"So, you like me more than my king?", he said. You couldn't answer directly since you didn't want to offend him somehow, but you eventually nodded to confirm his question. "I do like you more.", you said. "You may start some trouble... Not necessarily with my king, but other demons definitely won't like it.", he started.

Your heart sank as you feared that this was him rejecting you. He didn't like trouble but went out of his way to help you earlier... Was it because you were special to his king? Not to him?

Your breath started to become shallow as you waited for him to say a definite 'No.' But that word never escaped from his throat.

He opened his mouth again: "Well, for you I'll throw myself into war." He took your hand and kissed the soft skin on the top of your hand.

"I need a queen at my side for my new kingdom after all.", he said as he pulled you closer to place a kiss on your lips.

That was more than the answer you needed to hear. He could be extra at times, but this was exactly what made you fall for him.

#whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb thoughts #whb glasyalabolas

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cometapollo · 4 months

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SHAKING YOU /POS YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT

Lovestruck Derek comin right up under the cut!!!

Gender neutral reader, Derek is a clingy lowkey obsesed idiot

Derek hated this time of year.

He didn't hate it because it was Christmas, or because he would rather be anywhere else but here; he hated it because of the giant Christmas parties his father would throw every year. He hated formal social events-- social events in general, really.

He stood leaning against the far wall, holding a canteen of "water" in his left hand and his phone in his right as he watched the festivities go on without him. Perfect. It didn't seem like anyone noticed he was here, and he knew he could easily slip away and escape if he was willing to risk a beating from daddy dearest. Which he was not. So there he stood, checking his phone every thirty seconds for a text from his partner.

You hadn't texted him in a few hours, and being the helicopter boyfriend he was prone to being (which he's been trying his damndest to stop doing after you brought it up), he was starting to worry. He tapped in the lockscreen combination and pulled up your most recent text.

My Tesoro♡: I'm gonna get ready, see you at the gala! Mwah!

He felt his anxiety fade a bit as he read through your text messages, though the relief was short lived as he remembered you were riding alone. He'd offered to pick you up like those cheesy romcom movie boyfriends, but you'd declined with an adorable giggle, saying you wanted to surprise him.

He was definately going to be surprised if you stood him up or got hurt somehow. He felt a pang in his chest at the thought, which caused him to clench his jaw and divert his attention from your lack of presence. He allowed himself a minute or two of calm down. You're okay, you're just making sure everything's perfect.

Almost as if on cue, the huge doors to the rented ballroom opened, grabbing Derek's attention like a toddler swiping candy from candy store shelves. He nearly dropped his phone as he instantly relaxed at the sight of you. You had shown up like you promised, you-- holy shit, you are fucking gorgeous...

He suddenly understood why you had taken so long; he had to remind himself you weren't the deity he could've sworn you appeared to be. He found himself unable to move as he stared, heart racing and eyes tracing every movement you made towards him.

You made your way to him and laughed upon seeing his awestruck expression.

God, you loved this idiot.

#personal headcanon that derek speaks a bit of italian cus hes a rich kid #tpof #the price of flesh #tpof fanfic #derek goffard #tpof derek #derek goffard x reader

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 years

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Emotional Support Himbo

Thor x plus size reader

Sometimes you have to be rough to get your point across

Warnings: extreme self-hate, rough sex, Thor is too big to take, fat-shamming, best friends to lovers, mention of therapists, not eating, depression, panic attack, Thor is a literal giant so… size kink, implied eating disorders, slight dub-con (no explicit consent), insecure!reader, reader is tied up with a belt, unprotected sex, implied violence, cut up clothes, assholes that make bets

WC: 4.1k

A/N: Take this poll to help me rewrite the MCU!

Minors DNI

You were practically vibrating with excitement as you bounded into your office. Today was the day. Today you were going to tell the man you were crushing on hard about your feelings. You had pumped yourself up for a week for this, doing constant affirmations, chatting to your therapist, even having your best friend hype you up on FaceTime this morning as you put on your best outfit.

“Good morning Dove!” Thor spoke up from your chair, a huge smile stretched across his handsome face. “Hi Goldie!” You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before shoving him out of the leather seat, huge body landing on the carpet with a thump but his grin never faltered. You settled at the desk, booting up your computer to begin your work.

“You look beautiful today.” You waved him off. “Oh shush, you helped me pick this out, you’re just fishing for compliments.” He smirked, his icy eyes twinkling. “Well it looks better in person than through the small rectangular box.” “A phone Goldie, it’s called a phone.” you rolled your eyes, instead focussing on the vast number of reports you had to get through.

Being the head of Public Relations for the Avengers was tough to say the least but you get an incredible apartment, really good pay and the most amazing best friend in the world. Plus, somehow, the most attractive people ever worked in the tower. That is how you met TJ, an accountant on the same floor as you.

He was tall and blond and very very pretty. He liked video games and comics and he ate lunch with you every day. He made you laugh and gave you swarms of butterflies every time he smiled at you. So you made up your mind, you were going to take the leap today when you met up with him in the cafeteria. Thor had encouraged you to do it, saying that you deserved happiness and if ‘the small man who looks at numbers’ can give it to you, then why not.

“Are you nervous?” He laid his big head on your plump thigh, his bearded cheek scraping the soft skin beneath him that had been exposed by your skirt lifting slightly. “Yeah I am. What if he says no? What if he doesn’t like me like that?” Your fingers tightened in his long hair, your nerves getting the best of you. He shifted so he could make eye contact with you, his dark eyebrows furrowing. “He would be lucky to have you dove, anyone would.”

You sighed happily. “What would I do without you Goldie?” “Who knows.” He shrugged. With a quick peck to your forehead, he lumbered out of the room, leaving you to stew in your nerves and excitement.

——————

Thor was worried, to say the least. You hadn’t gone to work in nearly two days and he hadn’t heard from you in nearly that whole time, just a text saying ‘wish me luck’ a couple hours after he had last seen you. He hoped you needed space away from him with your new beau but the nagging feeling in the back of his head told him that wasn’t the case.

Your apartment was dark as he looked up to it from the street, which was quite unusual since you were very fond of those little colourful lights on strings that were nailed to the walls. He had been over many times for ‘movie nights’ or when you were ill so he knew where your spare key was and promptly used it to get in.

“Dove?” He strained his ears for you, but didn’t hear anything. As he moved further in, his boot came into contact with something that made him trip. His hand slammed into the wall, his calloused palm flicking on the light switch. Your clothes were scattered around, huge slashes through them, like they had been cut.

A deep unsettling feeling knotted in his gut. He was suddenly on high alert, what if someone had taken you? Hurt you? His jaw was set, his “umbrella” gripped tightly in his hand, blue eyes growing dark with fury.

The final door creaked open, revealing a bedroom that was trashed, the ensuite door completely open already. There was a curled up figure in the shower, knees up to the chest, head resting on them. “Dove.” You looked up, spotting the god but looking away quickly. “Go away.” Your voice was broken and strained, obviously having been crying for a while. Thor barely noticed that you were completely naked, your skin covered in goosebumps, shivering violently.

He dropped the umbrella and strode over to you, big hands grabbing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you up. You thrashed violently. “Don’t touch me!” His grip just got tighter, fingers digging in painfully into your collarbone as he lifted you into his chest “Let go! Let go!” You were screaming now, he could practically hear your heartbeat in his ears, it was beating so loud.

“Dove, you need to calm down.” Your eyes were wild, frantically darting around, looking for an escape. One of Thor’s huge hands cupped the back of your head, forcing your face into the crook of his thick neck, your ear pressed firmly against his pulse. His free arm wrapped around your large body, squishing you to him as close as possible.

Your sobs were heartbreaking as you finally relaxed into him, desperately clutching at his henley, nails digging into his chest. But he didn’t let you go, just placed his chin on the top of your head, gently swaying you. His heart clenched as your sobs died, the exhaustion finally taking over.

His hand that was on your back fell to your thighs, hoisting them up to wrap around his waist. You were so much smaller than him that he could easily hold you up, your entire body fitting against his torso. With soft steps, he carried you to the bed, kicking away the fabric that littered the floor to make a clear path to the bed.

The god had never seen you like this. He knew you had your bad days, but this, this was beyond anything he could deal with. Your body was lowered onto the bed, whining with the loss of his body heat. Thor pulled the blue shirt over his head, quickly pulling it over your nude body, the hem falling halfway down your plump thighs.

Immediately, you buried your nose in the fabric, inhaling the scent of evergreens and rain. You hiccuped slightly like you were about to wake, making him freeze, big hands hovering over you but then you sighed and settled into the sheets, your breaths coming out evenly.

He worked slowly and methodically, gathering all the trash and destroyed clothes, stuffing them into garbage bags which he placed by the door. Keeping his ears strained for any movement you made. The gnawing in his gut continued to get worse as you slept. Something went horribly wrong, you wouldn’t shut down like this if that boy hadn’t simply rejected you.

He did something to you, something unforgivable. Lightning crackled around him as he worked, hundreds of scenarios ran through his mind, each one worse than the last. If he had his way, this boy would be dead for even thinking about breaking your heart. You had the most pure heart of anyone he had ever met in his centuries of life. You were kind, intelligent and caring. Not to mention the most beautiful creature he had set eyes upon, you were like some gift from the old gods.

Thor loved you from the moment you met but he was content just being your friend, to have the privilege to be in your presence, to bask in your beauty. Just as he was finishing with the sweeping, the creaking of floorboards broke him from his thoughts.

“Thor?” You were wrapped up in a big white blanket, face barely peeking out of the duna, eyes big and hazy. “Dove, how are you feeling?” Taking big steps forward, he pulled you back into his arms, resisting the urge to laugh as your fast smushed into the hard planes of his chest and you gave out a grumble. “You didn’t have to come here. I’m fine.”

His face hardened as he drew back from you. “I was worried about you and you are obviously not fine. Tell me what happened.” You turned away, refusing to meet those blues you knew all too well. “Nothing.” “It was not nothing.” You attempted to turn your body but he held fast. “Tell me and do not lie to me.”

His resolve was breaking as your eyes glazed over with more tears but he needed to know. “He told me the truth.” Thor’s chest rumbled with a deep growl. “And what truth is that.” It wasn’t even a question, it sounded more like a threat. “That I’m disgusting and ugly and fat, and-and- I don’t deserve to be loved. He was just being nice to me for a bet, get the fattest girl in the office to fall in love with him. He won $5, that’s all I’m worth.”

“Dove, look at me.” Thor hooked a finger under your chin, guiding you up so you could look into his eyes. “You are beautiful and you are worth more than that. I have witnessed much but you are, by far, the most amazing person I have ever met.” You clenched your jaw tightly. “Stop lying to me.”

Over the course of your friendship, you both dealt with each other's insecurities. Temporary doubts in either of your worths were fixed with a night of self-care and assurances from each other. You trusted Thor entirely, just as he did for you, so you took his words to heart. Kind words and actions always worked before.

“I am not lying to you dove.” He cupped your cheek but you slapped his hand away. “Yes you are! I’m just this disgusting, fat pig. You’ve been lying to me this whole time! I’ve tried to be skinny, I just don’t have the willpower to do it. I’m so weak. I break every time.” “What are you talking about?”

“The truth!” You screamed in his face, lurching back so you broke out of his grip. “I want you to leave. If you can’t tell me the truth, you obviously aren’t my friend, you’ve never been my friend.” “Listen to me-“ “Leave!”

“No.” He rolled his shoulders back, chest puffing out, eyes flashing brightly. “Leave Thor!” “No.” Your voice trembled. “P-please go.” “No.” Your eyes widened in shock as he grabbed you, throwing you over his shoulder, the blanket falling from your form. “Put me down!”

“I have spent too long watching you put yourself down. So it’s time for me to get it into that pretty little head of yours that you are perfect. No more stupid boys, no more starving yourself, no more hate. I’m going to fuck you stupid and then you’re going to listen to everything I say and you will believe it.”

“Thor, what are you-“ You bounced on the mattress as he threw you down, and you scrambled back, attempting to get away from the angry god. You had never seen him this furious, his chest was heaving, a trail of dark blond hair and sweat leading down to a huge bulge pressing against the seam of his jeans that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. The buckle to his belt clinked as he unbuckled it, pulling it through the denim loops and dropping it to the bed beside you.

You couldn’t move as his eyes locked on yours, it was hypnotic, the way his muscles flexed and the pure anger in his eyes. His pants sagged on his hips, exposing the dense patch of hair at the base of his cock. “I have spent too long trying to comfort you with soft words and actions but now, we do it my way. You will learn.” Finally, his pants slid down his muscular thighs, his huge cock springing up, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“You are mine.” He crawled up the bed, huge body looming over you. “This body is mine.” His lips brushed against your throat. “This cunt is mine.” You gasped as he cupped your pussy, the palm of his hand grinding violently against your clit and his teeth clamped down on your pulse point almost painfully. The slow grind of his pelvis against your thigh was torture. You could feel the heat from his 11 inch cock and the beat of his heart as he pressed down even further.

Your fingers skimmed up his back, attempting to bury themselves in his hair. “No.” Suddenly, your hands were pinned above you, trapped within one of Thor’s huge hands. “You don’t get to touch, not until you’ve learned.” Leaning back, Thor straddled your body, keeping you down as he used his belt to bind your hands together, looping the leather through the bars on your headboard. You tugged on the restraints, surprised to find that you could barely move.

“You will take what I have to give you and if you are good, you will get to touch me. Now, let me show you how beautiful you are.” Three thick fingers slipped inside you, your back arched upwards, sparks flying. “Oh god!” Thor scissored his fingers within you, stretching your walls further than ever before. You couldn’t help but wonder, if this was how his fucking fingers felt, his cock was going to rip you in two. His lips attached to your hard nipple through the coarse fabric of his shirt, soaking the material.

“That’s right. I’m your god. I belong to you, just as much as you belong to me.” He growled into your ear, he was breathless, like he was taking pleasure from your own. Your hips canted upwards, trying desperately to get more friction against your throbbing sex. You felt like you were burning from the inside out, the tips of Thor’s calloused fingers rubbing your g-spot perfectly. You pulled on the restraints as your stomach tightened, your pleasure building and building.

“Yes yes yes! Please Thor! Please!” Your nerves were on fire, slick pooled around your chubby thighs, rubbing onto Thor’s own hairy ones. You were vaulted to the edge of ecstasy and held there, your orgasm at the mercy of the god above you. “Please!” You begged, the pleasure slowly becoming a sweet burn within you.

“Tell me you are beautiful. Tell me you are worthy of love. Of my love.” Your eyes squeezed shut and turned your head from him, tears leaking down your cheeks. “No.” You whimpered. Your legs attempted to close around his hand, unsure whether you wanted to keep him in place or push him away. He bit your nipple harshly, a squeal escaping your lips. “Say it.” A sob ripped from your throat. “Fine.”

Thor pulled his hand from you, bringing his fingers to his mouth. His tongue darted out, licking your juices up. “Delicious. One day I will devour you until you pass out but not today. You must earn that.” “How?!” You sobbed, the pain both from your ruined orgasm and your breakdown tearing a hole within you.

“Love yourself as much as I love you.” His plump lips met yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss which you melted into. Big hands skirted up your generous curves beneath his shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake, settling on your wide waist, his thumbs brushing the underside of your heavy breasts. You moved in a natural rhythm, a push and pull that got increasingly more passionate. Thor barely noticed when you grinded against his leg, sighing as the ache was soothed, your pleasure building once more.

Suddenly your hips were pinned with an incredibly tight grip. “Naughty.” You moaned at his strength, the way he held you down with seemingly no effort. He reached above you, untying you from the bed frame but not releasing your wrists from the leather. “I believe it’s time I make good on my promises.” With a frightened yelp, you were flipped onto your stomach, your plump ass pulled up as you face-planted into your pillow, Thor’s shirt riding up so it was trapped under your nose, filling your senses with his comforting smell. “Just relax Dove, let me take all those evil thoughts from you pretty little head.”

You mewled as his wide tongue licked up your slit, drinking down your juices. “Divine.” He muttered to himself, warm palms massaging your soft ass cheeks. “Now dove, remember, I’m doing this because I love you.” You looked back at him with a questioning gaze but nodded anyway. “Good, because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”

With one powerful stroke, he buried half his length within you. Your body convulsed beneath him, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. You could feel every inch of his hard, toned body against your soft one, not to mention every centimeter of his godly cock prying you apart, each twitch, every slight movement he made, sending shocks of pleasured pain up your spine. “T-Thor!” He gave an experimental thrust and you screamed. His heavy balls grazed your clit as your insides fluttered, trying to suck him in deeper.

“By the gods, you have the most perfect quim.” His body folded over yours, head falling to the crook of your neck, breath coming out in heavy pants. Hips rolled into yours, his cock going even deeper, strong fingers digging into the flesh around your hips, most definitely leaving bruises. Thrusts started out slow, at least giving you the ability to get used to his massive size. As soon as you relaxed once more into the pillow, he growled and picked up his pace, the tip of his cock bashing your cervix.

“Too much!” You tried to pull away, as he forced another inch into you, making your mind go hazy. “Oh but dove, we still have more to go.” “No no no. No more.” You were drooling as another inch was pushed into your pussy. Your knees slid out from under you so the entirety of Thor’s body was connected to yours. With one last push, the last three inches of his cock slid in.

“Ready?” You didn’t answer, drool falling from your open mouth, staining the pillowcase and his shirt. “You are worthy. You are beautiful. Pure. Powerful. Strong. Sexy. Delicate.” Each word was punctuated by a bone rattling thrust. “You are the love of my life. My queen. My goddess.” His pace was violent now, desperately trying to fuck his praises into you. As his cock pumped into you, heat spread through your body, the knot in your stomach growing ever tighter but still you thrashed, needing to get away from him.

“Stop running from me.” He growled, hand coming up to the back of your neck to pin you back in place. “You will take my cock, and you will take my love.” Thor shifted slightly and your clit rubbed against the crumpled bed sheets beneath you, immediately making your orgasm crash over you. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” White speaks dotted your vision as Thor continued to milk your pleasure, groaning when you tightened around him. “Good girl. That’s my good dove. So perfect.” He moaned against your ear, cock throbbing within you.

“Let me see your face.” He paused, gently kissing your cheek before carefully pulling out of you, his chest rumbling as he saw how puffy and sore your pussy looked. With delicate movements, he flipped you onto your back, wedging a pillow under your hips. Lips met yours once more, big hands sliding up your body, lifting the shirt up to completely expose you to his stormy eyes. He whispered against your swollen lips. ”I love you.”

Fat tears dripped from your eyes. “Let me touch you please.” “Tell me what you love about yourself.” His hips rolled against yours once more, slowly sinking into your pussy again but only giving slow strokes, just barely building up your pleasure. “I c-can’t.” “You can. Tell me one thing. Just one.” His deep voice was so soft, it made you weak, your heart skipping in your chest. “Do it for me Dove. One thing and I’ll give you all the pleasure you could ever want.” To prove his point, he gave a few deep thrusts which made you cry out, your head falling against the pillow.

“I love how s-strong I am.” Your voice was quiet but he heard you, you felt him smile against your skin. He punched into you, your moans becoming deafening as the knot inside you tightened again. “I love how smart I am.” You sobbed as your hands were finally free from the belt which Thor ripped open and tossed to the other side of your room. Immediately, you buried them in his long hair, gripping it tightly. “Keep going, tell me more.” Your chubby legs wrapped around his waist, his hard muscles flexing beneath them.

“I love how s-s…” “Say it.” He growled into your throat, angling his hips so he was pumping against your g-spot with each thrust. “How soft I am.” Nails scraped down the god’s back so hard you drew blood. “More.” “Love how much bigger you are than me, like you can protect me from everything.” Your legs trembled, ankles locking together to keep his body close to yours. “You make me so happy. Make me feel loved, make me feel beautiful. I love you.”

The bed was now slamming into the wall with the force of his thrusts. Sweat poured down your bodies but you stayed as close as possible, love radiating from you both as your ends drew closer. Your mouths met in a messy kiss, teeth clashing together. “I love you.” He murmured against you, and that was it. Your orgasm exploded within you, your pussy clamping down on his dick painfully, your eyes fluttering shut. Thor let out a thunderous roar, releasing his hot seed deep inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping.

A big hand cupped your head so your foreheads rested together. As you came down, you looked up at your best friend, a huge dopey smile across his face, red splotching across his neck and chest. “Did you mean it?” Your voice was raspy and breathy. “Mean what dove?” “Everything.” His dark eyebrows furrowed. “Of course I did. I would never lie to you. I’ve loved you for a long time. I hate seeing you in any kind of pain.”

You kissed his nose sweetly. “Thank you.” “For loving you?” You nodded. “You never have to thank me for loving you, it is the greatest honour I could ever have.” Your arms tightened around his neck, bringing Thor’s face back down for another kiss. “I love you too. But do you think you could help clean me up? Your cum is really sticky.” He gave a hearty laugh and lifted you into his arms, and made his way to the bathroom.

——————

“Hello Dove! I have brought you some lunch.” Thor strode proudly into your office, huge plastic bag in hand which he promptly deposited on your desk. “Hi love.” You arched your neck up, accepting a loving kiss from the giant. He brushed the back of his knuckles against your cheek, smiling brightly when your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his touch. You brought his hand to your lips, laying a quick peck to them.

Suddenly you glanced down at them, your eyebrows scrunched. “Why are your knuckles bruised?” He looked away bashfully. “Did a workout with Rogers this morning.” “No you didn’t. You were in bed with me all morning, remember, I was late.” He pulled away from you and nervously played with the zipper on his jacket. “I may have taken care of that boy who hurt you.” He said shyly.

“Thor…” “I know, I shouldn’t hurt humans but he made you cry and question yourself. I had to teach him a lesson.” Your plump arms wrapped around him, head resting on his chest. “I was just going to thank you for protecting me, my big, strong, handsome, sweet man.” Thor growled and threw you on the desk, ripping open your shirt.

“My queen, you do know how to rile me up.” Your giggles turned into moans and safe to say that pretty much everyone was scared to go near your office for the rest of the day and you got a yelling at from Fury but it was all worth it for the smile on Thor’s face every time you told him something you loved about yourself.

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@im-a-slut-for-fluff

#thor x reader #thor x plus size reader #thor x you #thor x y/n #plus size reader #angst #fluff #female reader #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson x plus size reader #thor odinson x you #thor odinson x y/n #thor odinson x ypu #reader insert #smut #insecure!reader #tw disordered eating #mcu #marvel

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valoisfulcanellideux · 1 year

Text

The 'diaspora from season one' discussion

I just watched Pix's stream from yesterday, wherein he discusses (starting at 01:11:45 into the stream) what the Ancient Capital actually is, while he builds part of the castle wall. There's a LOT of text, as I typed out the discussion - including some questions from chat (anonymised to just 'viewer', because I'm not going to intrude onto anyone's privacy).

WARNING FOR MAJOR SPOILERS

Behind the cut with you!

Viewer: Also i love your elden ring inspired castle Pix!

Pix: Thank you! Turns out this part is inspired by more than just Elden Ring, which we'll discuss in a second, but I still haven't seen anybody in the chat pinning down exactly what it is I'm doing here.

Viewer: Fwhips empire from season one

Pix: [Viewer] has it! Fwhip's empire from season 1. This is a Grimlands build. If you take a look at how I'm constructing this, it's basically copying the design of the outer walls of the Grimlands.

Viewer: That would imply that maybe members of grymlands moved to the ancient capital after the rapture

Viewer: Or that the ancient city was the remains of grymland?

Pix: The idea behind this place - and it's something that I will explain in more detail in future - but the idea is that this castle is going to be cobbled together from design ideas from a few different empires… like, across the history of this world, and that includes season one. So, in this case, I'm thinking Grimlands for some of the walls out here, obviously a bit of my own touches - but a bit of that is just the ruin detail. This [pointing to unfinished tower with diorite in it] is either Ocean Empire or Crystal Cliffs; I'm thinking probably the latter, so I want to do the roof out of amethyst and stuff like that. And then we're gonna to work in a few other details here and there. I'm not going to do absolutely everybody, because that would make the castle look like a huge mishmash of styles. But I do think that it's nice to bring some of that history to a build like this, right? That's kind of the idea.

Viewer: I like that the ancient capital seems to be seeing things that season 1 players did and copying those for their own area

Pix: My loose plan for this - like, the story behind it - is that, after the events of season one in which everyone's empires more or less get destroyed by this giant explosion, everybody started to migrate… the people who populated each of those empires travelled the world and went to different places, and some of them settled here, and started what eventually became this kind of ancient capital of commerce and technology and had this giant castle that they built, with architecture from the various empires. And then, over time, that area just fell into decline. And so there's gonna be bits and pieces of Mythland and Grimlands and Crystal Cliffs, and various other bits and pieces just kind of scattered around this. That's the idea.

Viewer: are you gonna have anything referencing the copper king?

Viewer: So this castle is like the ruin of season 1… I’m here for it

Pix: This castle is like the ruin of season one… kind of, yes. This area isn't meant to be any of the empires from season one; it's meant to have been… it's a very distant place that people from those civilisations ended up going to, basically. And then, over time, people… left. [laughs] And, like I said, this tower and that tower have clearly been attacked at some stage, so either war has broken out - some sort of conflict or some sort of disaster has happened. We've got the fallen masonry from this tower here; I'm gonna do something similar there once I know what I'm doing with the wall.

Viewer: So that explains how David exists, it's a remake of Pixandrian technology

Pix: Yes. So, people have come through vast journeys, ended up here, and a lot of the copper [points camera at museum roof etc] and the fact that there is a copper aging facility underneath here - and the fact that it's a slightly more advanced one than the one I had in Pixandria in season one - is all thanks to Pixandrian migrants settling here and bringing their technology with them.

Viewer: fitting in Pixanndria and Mesalea?

Pix: I don't know about Mezalea, because Mezalea's far too colourful for the build style that I have going on around here. I mean, look at this. A Mezalean build would just stick out like a sore thumb. Plus, Joel has already rebuilt some of Mezalea over there by Jimmy's base in the mesa, so like… that level of things is represented. Likewise, if you've seen some of Lizzie's series, she's hinted at some of her origins as a cat person coming from Joey's civilisation in season one. So I think there's a bit more stuff tying us to season one. I mean, Sausage's whole thing ties in anyway, but like… people have settled here, people have settled at Sanctuary, some of these civilisations are entirely new, there are people who were already here… I mean, I don't know how Joel fits into any of this. But yeah, that's the idea. The idea is that this is a wall, and the design, the architecture has come from the Grimlands.

Viewer: So the Pearl references are directly from that empire

Pix: Yes. So, obviously, with Pearl's death in season one having been like… her withering and that kind of stuff, she's taken on this sort of more… godlike, or sort of martyr figure in the world's religious history, and that's just kind of filtered down [he walks toward and gestures to the Ancient Capital statue] stuff like this. I mean, this is not explicitly meant to be specifically Pearl, but obviously her dress was green, there's like moss creeping up the side of that, there's the mural in the catacombs, there's all of the stuff that Sausage has going on. This [the statue] is meant to be more like how religious figures and iconography changes over time; the fact that it goes through various iterations, a lot of the traditions of the world are more oral traditions - they are storytelling - it's not written or pictographic kind of storytelling; it's more kind of just passed down from person to person. And so, the dress is absolutely modelled off Pearl's dress from season one, but then obviously the iconography of it - the fact that she's all grey and everything - that's a different kind of… that's an amalgamation of several different myths.

Viewer: A diaspora

Pix: A diaspora; exactly, yes. Great word.

[short discussion follows about how it shouldn't be assumed that any potential season three would contain parts of seasons one and two, how some people keep expecting Xornoth to return despite the empires people saying he won't, and how this season will not end the same as the last season with a big cataclysmic explosion or similar disaster because it's creatively stifling to expect that, etc]

Pix: Instead [of that] I wanna do stuff like this, and make it feel like this is already the product of a civilisation that has been enshrouded in the mists of time, and has disappeared into the past without it having to have come to ruin and been completely destroyed, y'know? Like, this is something that's really just been here over time, rather than something that's been destroyed all in one go by some kind of cataclysmic event, y'know?

#empires smp #empires s2 #empires s1 #empiresblr #pixlriffs

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biceratops7 · 10 months

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Good omens leak talk under cut, literally just vivid descriptions, keep away unless you’ve seen it and it’s too late:

Ok I have literally been staring at that image periodically whenever I think about it for several days. Because I am normal and like things neurotypically. So here’s literally just a big list of observations no matter how minute. If you read this whole thing then the brain worms have made it to your prefrontal cortex.

Crowley has his glasses on (already explained my theory behind that)

Crowley is obviously the instigator but it’s unclear whether or not Azirphale is currently an active participant, or if he’s still processing. I’m leaning on still processing, but it’s hard to tell with the shadow on his brow obscuring his expression and not being able to see his hands

Speaking of that shadow, what the hell is up with the lighting in this scene?? It’s not bad except for making things in an already blurry still unclear, it’s just strange to have something softly back lit but also clearing having another additional light source else where. It’s an interesting choice because it can lead to inference of the circumstances here.

Second, related question: where the hell are they?? So let’s just take stock of everything BUT Azirphale and Crowley we see here. First of all it’s mostly in shadow, however there is a prominent light source behind Aziraphale, possibly close to him. The light we see on Crowley’s hair is likely from the doorway behind them.

Quick detour, the doorway is the brightest thing in the frame, creating a slight silhouette effect. Silhouettes are often used in film for moments that are a big deal but visually obvious. It shows weight through simplicity because you still know what’s happening and why it’s important with way less visual info than normal. We all IMMEDIATELY recognized what was happening and lost our shits even though it’s in shadow and currently obscured by giant text.

Ok so anyway this all leads me to believe they’re in a mostly dark room with one bright but not very far reaching light. I wanna say it’s almost fluorescent? Or an exposed lightbulb? It certainly doesn’t look warm like a lamp to me.

In addition I believe they’re inside a room to a larger building. The light coming from the door is almost certainly NOT day light. It’s purely white as if it’s a very well lit room or hall. There also is what I think looks like an exit sign near the top next to the doorway, or at least idk what else it could be. Because of that I don’t think this is anyone’s home or small shop.

I find this EXTREMELY interesting because the only prominent location we really see fit that vibe or description is the office building of heaven and hell. This season seems to be particularly highlighting that “neutral ground” between then, with the elevator showing up three times.

Now this one is just me trying to interpret literal blobs, but there either appears to be some sort of rounded extension to the top of the door way, or the walls are just thick. Make of that what you will

the room appears relatively spacious but mostly bare, almost like a holding place. But obviously with such a tight frame this can be hard to tell. I did take note of the fact that you can see some brown lines behind Aziraphale in the first frame, so there is clearly something there.

Alright enough waxing poetry about the damn walls, I know that they're probably standing up. Crowley might be in a position where he can twist into it from a sitting position, but with Aziraphale' shoulders so far forward and his back entirely angled to face Crowley, he'd either have to be straddling a chair or his lower spine is snapping like a glowstick.

Aziraphale is not being pushed against anything, he’s rocking backwards despite the force being applied to pull him forward, so in other words our boy Crowley’s REALLY shooting his shot, lmao

Aziraphale’s arms are confusing. They’re clearly not holding onto Crowley even out of frame, but they also don’t seem fully relaxed at his sides to me either.

WAIT, ok so the standing is still a strong contender, but they could also be sitting across from eachother at a small table. Crowley seems hunched over a bit more than is warranted for Aziraphale’s height, and Aziraphale’s arms could propped up at the elbows supporting his weight.

So damnit this adds a whole new layer to the location question

#this is so unhinged please forgive me #good omens spoilers #good omens #good omens leak #ineffable husbands #analysis #speculation #aziraphale #Crowley #season 2 #biceratops

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subwaytostardew · 2 months

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youtube

▽ Subway to Stardew - Emmet 8-Heart Event ▽

This plays after getting at least 8 hearts with Emmet and entering the Railroad between 9AM - 4PM on a Thursday after viewing his 7 heart event.

You recieve this letter when you reach 8 hearts with Emmet!

Commentary and progress under the readmore.

▷ Station Steward Thylak

I DID NOT REALIZE THAT THIS EVENT WOULD BE THAT LONG... I could have sworn it was around 14 minutes max! I was worried that the battle stuff went by too quickly! It's almost 30 minutes long! And that's with me clicking away faster! Emmet really meant it when he said he wanted to spend all the livelong day together...

I thought it was going to be roughly 18 minutes. NOPE. WOOPS. This what happens when you write possibly too much.

We are bad at making short events. Vanilla events are around 1-3 minutes long. A day in Stardew lasts 14 minutes and 10 seconds. I would not recommend trying to play this mod spoiler free on multiplayer because time does not freeze and you will die if you don't skip the events. I wouldn't want to shorten the events either... Cutting down their infodumps would just be wrong.

We had a few requests to have a battle event which made me 😅 because I personally couldn't imagine that going well (truth over ideals...). This event was partially made to shut that idea down. The whole tunnel scene is mostly me trying to write an in-story reason as to why there won't be a battle with the farmer against Ingo... Emmet is competitive! This is not just limited to battles but extends to being your best friend! Behind the scenes... I'm just too tired to write out more battles. I actually really dislike single battle format. I'm not making an Ingo battle event. You already have three games to battle him in. I refuse to make more battle events for the time being.

I say that but there's another half-finished double battle event between submas that I switched tracks from to work on Emmet's 8 heart event... I'll finish that eventually.

Anyways... the creation process did not go by quickly at all either. I sure do have a lot to say on that matter. I do all my coding in google docs (terrible, I know) and so far we have had to make 3 seperate documents becuase things start to break at around 40 pages. The document before Emmet's 8 heart event made it to 64 pages before I abandoned it for a new document.

The longest document we have is around 80 pages along. Which usually contain the draft scripts of multiple events. code documents however take up a lot more since it's basically a giant wall of text. So when Emmet's 8 heart event started to slow down the current code document (the third iteration). We had to give the event its own space.

Emmet's 8 heart event ended up being 36 pages long alone! Also if you didn't know, Stardew's event format doesn't allow for line breaks so I have been staring at a 36 page wall of text for weeks. I plan to upload a video compiling all the different options later because I feel like all of the "good" options for battle... don't quite make sense in the context of the rest of the story. The farmer is supposed to not be good at battle and lose because they got overwhelmed with information. As the one writing out all the battle options though, I can't bring myself to act like I'm bad at battling. The winning options are extra silly just to justify a loss and because I couldn't bring myself to lie about Wild Charge not being a guaranteed OHKO on Archeops either. Especially since Emmet brings out damage calculations in a few of the options.

On that topic, all of the battle options play out accurately in a real double battle! I tested. Every. Single. Path. In Pokemon Showdown between the halves of Emmet's team.

I had nightmares of reliving this same battle over and over because that's all I did when I was awake. Make it stopppppp 😭

The lines about them practicing were references to me actually simulating everything in Showdown! Emmet's frustration is also based on how making this event took over my brain so now I struggle to comprehend how someone who doesn't know what to do in this battle would feel... Thank you Kade for helping me with that part ^^;;;

Your welcome =3

I actually enjoyed the Pokémon Showdown part - when it comes to Pokémon Battles, I have dabbled a little bit into the competitive side of things. Or at least the massive game of 4D Chess... trying to predict your opponent etc. Bait them into making a mistake, etc. There was a good time where we did nothing but Pokémon Battles for a night. And it was fun.

I am in no way good at competitive side of things - (I lose lot but that's okay.) especially in the double battle format. Single Battles I could do. (Though once again, I'm average at best) However I think the most memorable battle I ever had was back in Pokémon X and Y, where I managed to chip away and stall a Mega Aggron with a Umbreon.. And I think Umbreon was my last Pokémon but I kept using Moonlight to keep my health up. My kid self was super surprised and ecstatic that I beaten the odds... but whenever I do Pokémon Showdown I'm either testing battle stuff or making teams. I'm addicted to team compositions and doing a combination of different Pokémon even if it's not the competitive Meta....

I have the choices sorted into good/bad routes in my mind so in most of the routes, Emmet criticizes the player's decisions based on type advantage, STAB, and target. I was torn between the best and worst options for this recording but thanks to Kade's input, you get to see Durant ramming into Emmet instead of him getting mad at you for conducting Shadow Claw on Galvantula.

Battling Emmet as a first time trainer is not going to go well! Not only is he too competitive and he refuses to let you win (unlike Ingo), he pretty much sets you up for failiure. I'm sorry Emmet but Galvantula's stats are not intended for making her a physical attacker (emphasis on the Egg Move at what cost...).

Not to mention... Emmet is a Battle Facility Head. And you don't get to battle the Subway Bosses in the mainline games unless you have a somewhat decent team halfway through the game. Even still! They can both wipe the floor with you if you're not aware that they are using battle items...

Though I interpret Emmet not going easy on someone as him challenging them to push themselves and exceed expectations. Both Ingo and Emmet as characters encourage others in their own way, Ingo through words and Emmet I believe through his actions. Though he also can say some encouraging things.

Not the most encouraging if you compare their quotes pages... Customer service and communication isn't exactly his forte... But Emmet wants you to do your best and win against him! He likes seeing serious battlers like him! He just won't let you win unless if you push yourself to do your best. You'll have to. He doesn't really have the most beginner-friendly approach...

Considering you the Farmer, have no idea what a Pokémon even is. (You're practically learning everything from Ingo, Emmet, Elesa etc.) The fact you get challenged to a Battle because Emmet wants to share his interests with you - to have you better understand Pokémon.

He just struggles with the fact that, he is essentially challenging someone with no real battle experience and it's a Double Battle at that. Controlling two Pokémon at once?! Think about the effort it takes to command one Pokémon. We all seen the Anime and how trainers struggle to connect with their partners because they're new. They're just starting. They aren't going to be Battle Facility levels of skill.

Not to mention that Emmet is a little deprived in the valley and hasn't really battled any other new passengers in quite some time. At most, he battled Iris once when she came to visit, Ingo (who's Pokemon are optimized for countering/pissing him off), and himself (I had the mental image of him sitting in the field practicing for this event like an old man playing chess against himself in a park). He's a little too far gone to fully understand what a beginner would think in this situation other than mayyyybe it would take a moment to catch them up to speed. (I would know... I swear those option paths rewired my brain...)

After inputting all of their data into Showdown, I had actually forgotten that Galvantula and Durant are Emmet's Doubles Line team while Eelektross and Archeops are the Super Doubles Line team when deciding the matchups. (Been a while since they were in the Battle Subway huh...) Story-wise, I was thinking that Emmet should be with his ace and that he wouldn't really trust anyone else with Archeops since... he has higher support needs (depression bird 💔). Eelektross and Archeops are paired up because of Gastro Acid and Defeatist. I was thinking that Galvantula and Durant are a bit more beginner-friendly; they can take a loss a bit more easilly (a little less so in Galvantula's case... she's a hater). The farmer had already met Durant earlier in the 4-heart event so he'd volunteer to return the favor of fighting for you. Once you win his trust, he's more than happy to help. As for Galvantula... She's testing to see if she can trust her clingy child with you.

I'm excited to dive into the Pokémon NPC stories... Durant and Excadrill especially.

Durant was originally going to have Choice Scarf instead of Quick Claw to help narrow down the options. It was a pain reorganizing my notes and options all over again to lump not only move choices but turn order in mind. My notes were a mess.

Durant and Galvantula are a very luck-based combination so it was ultimately easier to write the different option paths with that in mind since Stardew's event format is verrrrrrrrrrrry linear. All of the options need to merge back into the same event (well... besides the option to refuse his friendship/battle which ends the event in the tunnel). Durant has lowered accuracy while Galvantula has higher critical hit ratios, I could write the battles based on their luck which is great because I wanted to force a loss.

I thought it would be a little too... reductive (it sure would reduce the amount of content >.>) and unrealistic for the player to impress Emmet with a victory on their first battle. Emmet sees this battle as a test on if you can follow his train of thought and be a good match for him because he's a little bit dependent on you for emotional regulation. He kind of expects you as his favorite passenger to have twin telepathy like Ingo since that's his standard operating procedure. You won't. Because you're not Ingo. You're just some weird farmer he got attached to. With the setup of a battle, I wanted this event to develop the farmer and Emmet's relationship to show that they aren't exactly perfect for each other (and Will say things that can be wrongly misinterpreted) but ultimately they will put in the effort to communicate and make things work. They won't have the best communication! But it's there.

While Ingo has a proper library confession, this event doubles as Emmet's "confession" of sorts. Emmet is already pretty openly affectionate by this point and I wanted to make it somewhat ambiguous as to whether or not his attachment to you is romantic or strictly platonic. To him, it doesn't really matter, but he does want you all to himself. He's not fond of sharing!

But... While Emmet's event may be more platonic in intent, you can still reject him. It's a lot harsher than Ingo's because refusing to even let him try to be a better friend for you is pretty harsh in itself. Ingo's is mostly the choice of whether or not you want to send him back to 6 hearts for more dialogue variety (it's really easy to miss dialogue when you try to max out their hearts as soon as possible! We're making lines for every day, season, and heart level.) Rejecting Emmet sends you back to 2 hearts and overrides his daily dialogue for the day with him asking if you're still friends, apologizing, and then getting too upset to say anything more.

Anyways!

From the start, I wanted Emmet to be like Nemona; awkward in their attachment, somewhat intimidating in their obsession/competitiveness, and thinks of the player as their savior from loneliness. He wants to be the best friend you have because you're the best friend he has. It's only fair. Best rival for life, favorite passenger, same thing.

The mountain pass events were actually made because Emmet's original schedule included him waiting around near the bushes there like Nemona stalking the player on their gym journey. NPCs actually can't path there so when he did, he was just deleted from the save!

I also stumbled across a bug back when I made the very first introduction event where a question loops unless if you pick a certain option. I kept that with Emmet forcing you to keep battling with him in mind as a slight reference to how Nemona doesn't let you say no to being her "best rival for life". This question also makes SMAPI hate you!

Gotta love Pokémon's false sense of 'Sure you have a choice. Your choice is always YES.'

There's probably a more fitting flower for Emmet outside of poppies. I just looked up every flower in Stardew (some of them aren't real...) and their meanings in flower language to come to the conclusion of poppies. The meanings in Emmet's event refer to the white poppy in particular. White. Rest. Oblivion. It fits. Good enough. It was a bit difficult to find more on the flower language of poppies in English (particularly the "Oblivion" part) so I resorted to Japanese sites for more information.

In English, the meaning of "Rest" seems to precede every other meaning. Poppies are used in death memorials. Emmet and the farmer did accidentally develop a shared theme of dying (overwork exhaustion, slimes, the mines, etc... Emmet can't get a break. I'm sorry.) but I wasn't sure if Kade was okay with the theme of death being emphasized. With that in mind, I was stunned when I that saw that her first battle map draft included a graveyard. The implication that Emmet picked flowers from a memorial site...

In my mind - the area is an old train stop in between the desert area and the forest/mountains that lead into Pelican Town. Also figured there would be an abandon farm - considering how Pelican Town is struggling it makes sense that potentially other places are not in best of shape either.

The graveyard is possibly dead relatives of whatever family or farmer made their life near the rails. Of course a lot of time has passed... So much so that nature has taken back what was theirs in the first place.

I always make up stories when having a location in mind and this area parallels with the tunnel Ingo takes you through to stargaze around 10 hearts. That area being an abandon coal mining operation.... Coal, Wood, etc. was used to powered steam trains so makes sense for there to be a source for it. I'm not the best when it comes to filling up Tiled Maps with decor - but I at least put down enough for Thylak to come in and make it more fitting for Stardew

The battlefield underwent quite a few revisions, one was having the battle area be more centered, and changing the old warehouse/worker area to be more like a train repair station with a water stop. I wanted it to feel like a place where Emmet goes to keep himself busy when he's told to take a break from working on the station.

Here's the final map! The battle area had to be shrunken down to fit in an event. More grass was added because I kept losing track of Joltik in the dirt. There's more flowers for Emmet to observe the quality of and pick tge best ones as gifts that he's too nervous to give the farmer until they wilt and dry. Poppies by the gravestones, of course!

I also did attempt to make a proper scrapbook sprite for when I eventually have Emmet give you his gift, but I never got around to implementing it properly since... I'm not familliar with adding custom items and its implementation changes in the 1.6 update.

Despite having access to the modding alpha, I've been procrastinating on migrating to 1.6 since HD Portraits isn't supported yet (I know... 1.6 releases in 3 weeks...).

WOO 1.6 WE ARE NO WHERE NEAR READY FOR ALL THE STUFF THAT POSSIBLY GOING TO BREAK. LOL.

Until next time! Thank you for reading!

#subway to stardew #submas #pokemon #stardew valley #sdv mods #Emmet #Kudari #subway to stardew terminal station #events

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