Reunion - Aftermath

I love your fic about Constantine Corrino and can't wait for the next chapter 🤧

You and me both 😭

The writers block got to me, boss. The good news is I'm done planning the plot. I just need to... write... it...

The Girl From Home

Sid Phillips x Reader

GIF By: @rockpaperscissuhs

Please Read

Author’s Note / Historical Disclaimer:

This story is a fictional work inspired by the character of Sidney Phillips as portrayed in HBO’s The Pacific. While the show draws from the real stories of World War II veterans, this fanfiction is not intended to represent or depict any real people — living or deceased. It is purely a work of fiction, and I have changed details accordingly.

Additionally, this story includes period-accurate language and terminology that may be considered offensive or inappropriate today. Slurs and harsh military slang are used not to endorse these views but to reflect the historical reality and emotional toll of war. Please read with that context in mind.

Tags: 18+, Mature themes, PTSD, violence, some sexual content, Minors DNI

He never even got your name.

All Sid has to remember you by is that day.

The one moment you shared on the morning following his enlistment.

It was a warm Alabama day.

He'd just passed the bakery when a display of ice cream flavors caught his attention. Thinking he'd indulge himself before he went off to war, Sid stepped into the store.

Grasping the two crumbled dollar bills in his pocket, he had his mind made up on a cone of vanilla strawberry, whatever the heck that was.

But when his gaze took a lazy scan around the room, he came to a halt.

Mobile wasn't a big town by a long shot; everybody pretty much knew one another. And yet, he had never run into you before. Perhaps you and your family had just moved in?

His gaze first skimmed over you in the pharmacy corner, but then, then he had to look at you again. His body decided to act for him. "Warm out, isn't it?" He said. He just wanted to make you speak to him.

You looked up from the receipt you had been reading. Your eyes. Oh my, they could write books about eyes like that, Sid thought.

You smiled the way girls did in moving pictures when approached by a boy. "At least they run their fans in here. The parts shop was a sweat lodge."

Ah, so you were new. Rosemary's was owned by a wealthy family, so they could afford to run their fans on longer than other businesses.

"Yeah, most people know to avoid's Phill's shop until at least late afternoon." Sid said, just noticing the sheen of sweat glistening over your delicate collarbone above the hem of your pretty blue dress.

He cleared his throat, feeling his face warm. "After the sun ain't so bad."

Your own cheeks held a blush. "Where were you an hour ago?"

Sid chuckled, following the movement of your hand rising to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Nails pale, delicate.

How cruel of god, he thought, to send him a girl like you just days before he was shipped off for who knows how long.

Perhaps it was a test of faith, like his pastor often talked about.

The pharmacist returned from the backroom, holding out a paper bag and handing you back your change. "There ya go, sweetheart. Tell your grandma to only take one at a time."

You thanked him.

The pharmacist then looked from you to Sid, eyes creasing with recogn. "Sidney!"

"How are you, Carl?"

Carl smiled. "Not bad, not bad. How's your mama? Headaches any worse"

"Much better now, thanks to you."

"That's good, that's good." Carl's tone took a dip. "Heard you enlisted."

"Yes, sir," Sid glanced your way just in time to see the sharp intake of breath through parted lips.

Carl's nod was mechanical, his gaze held things unsaid. "When are you boys shippin' out?"

"In five days,"

Carl was quiet for a long time before he cleared his voice. "Now, you go there, and you do everything you need to do to survive, to win."

"Will do, sir."

Holding your things, you looked as if you wanted to say something but were unsure. At last, you met his gaze.

"Good luck." Voice soft, yet firm at the same time. Then you walked past him and out the door.

"Hey, wait!" Someone called behind you. You turned to see Sid running to you across the road, an ice cream cone held in each hand.

The corner of your lips lifted as he came to stand before you.

"I paid for one, but Carl gave me the second one for free." He spoke with a shrug. "I'd hate for it to... ah, go to waste."

Your hand rose to cover up your giggle.

Before Sidney Phillips sees action in Guadalcanal, he sees two mutilated U.S. marines. Boys his age. Bloodied, tied to trees, gouged eyes, and severed parts.

That evening, their medic is shot down by friendly fire. The man had just stepped out to relieve himself.

It was their third taste of incompetent leadership. The first was when the generals pranked them into thinking they were landing into enemy fire—only to hit a beach full of marines. Sid had to hand it to them. It was a good one.

In their dugout, they watch the American and Japanese fleets shell each other. Sid returns with edible coconuts and passes them around.

They cheer through the night like it’s a football game.

They nickname him Johnny Reb. He doesn’t know what it means. Sweating too much to ask.

Freshly eighteen, Sid is the youngest in his troop. Barely tasted his first drink. Leckie offers him a swig from a champagne bottle left behind.

He works hard. Eager to prove himself.

The Japanese fleet circles the island by the dozens. There isn't an American shit in sight. Jesus, where are their guys? Sid bites the inside of his cheek to keep from voicing his question... Have the american fleets abandoned them?

Sid goes partially deaf from the gunfire. Japs descend onto the beaches at night. Silhouettes in the dark. He fires. Some drop. Some don’t.

He moves. So do the men. Keep shifting to avoid bombs.

He and Leckie stumble upon their platoon leader. The once cocky, macho man is rolled over, crying in his dugout while he and the rest of them are running canon fodder, defending the island as the Japs run in by the hundreds.

How many break the line? he doesn't know. Too dark to see, so they fire and move and fire again.

The morning after, the beach is a graveyard. Corpses rotting in the sun. Some are floating in a pool of their blood.

The tragedy is one thing, but the smell...

Sid walks away, trying to find a clean place to vomit.

"A real turkey shoot."

"Run fucker!" Some of their men cheer and hoot as the last Japanese soldier standing runs around, looking at the corpses of his fallen comrades.

Sid screws his eyes shut as his supposed enemy screams out in desperation, taking shots and shots. He wonders if the Jap... if the soldier even registers the physical pain of the bullets. He doubts it.

This disturbing charade continues until Leckie has the mercy to pull his pistol out and shoot the poor boy in the heart.

Sid digs into the bags that belonged to the fallen Japs, trying to find anything useful. Edible. Instead, he finds family pictures and dolls... and books.

His eyes linger on those items. That woman in the photograph... had he killed her son? His eyes begin to swim, and he tears his gaze away, moving on to the next bag.

He can't dwell on it. On any of it.

He long has it been?

His birthday had just passed.... a couple of months then. Shit, he forgot it was his fuckin' birthday until he read Eugene's letter. He folds the envelope and hides it in his pocket.

They're thin. Sunken faces. Skin and bone. Bags under their eyes, sick, hungry. Sticky with blood and sweat.

Hoosier's hands tremble. He hasn't had a smoke in a couple of minutes. Sid managed to get his hands on a full pack of lucky strikes the other day but now sees the empty paper box discarded beside Hoosier's boot.

Chuckler has the runs for the fourth day in a row.

Runner has crazy eyes.

Leckie looks like an entirely different person.

Sid has at least a dozen cuts he's pretty sure are infected. His head is swaying, too.

Mama used to say women like to see men hard at work.

He chuckles to himself.

Yeah. Bet you'd love to see him now.

Withered. Sickly. A murderer.

He lights a cigarette. Dinner.

Semper fi, he thinks to himself. Happy birthday to me.

The army runs off to hide from the air raid, leaving a completely perfect delivery unwatched. So the boys swoop right in to pop open trunks in search of shoes, cigars, and booze.

Feeling like a kid on Christmas, Sid heads straight for the crates containing weapons. Throwing the crowbar aside after he busts the lock open, what he sees inside ruins his mood.

Disbelief, then denial, then rage.

He looks around to look at his comrades, looting brand new uniforms, cigars...

Who gives a shit?! They got the army rifles manufactured in THIS CENTURY. While he got to use shit that his grandpa wouldn't even hunt a bunny with.

His shoulders drop. Do they even give a fuck?

Do they care that the first marines are dyin' out here?

"So yeah, apparently, back home were... well, we're heroes." Leckie finishes relaying what the cook had told them in the mess hall.

They're all sitting aboard the boat, headed to Australia for some recovery, and resupply.

To Leckie's side, half listening, Sid sits with his head propped against the wall, a blank look on his face. Ya, here that, Soldier? He thinks. Every Jap ya killed has made you a hero back home.

The boy is broken. When he walks, it's without purpose. He's just taking step after step like the rest of them.

He doesn't bother greeting you when he plopps down on the wooden chair at your station. The nth soldier to do so in a room full of nurses today.

You gasp. "Sid."

The dirt covered boy looks up at you, eyes narrowing.

Does he know you?

Slack mouthed, and you take in the sight.

His once styled hair is now a disheveled mess falling over his forhead. His face all hollow cheeks, sharp edges, and poorly cut stubble. Eyes distrusting of their own shadow.

Even as you see the recognition there.

You whisper, "It's really you."

There's something in your voice you can't quite name. Excitement? Shock?... Relief?

But whatever goes on in your head, the opposite's in his. You see recognition flicker. Then apathy.

Eyes drop.

"Yeah... it's me."

You sit alone in the mess hall, quickly and hungrily eating your rations when Sid Phillips limps in.

His eyes find you instantly. He realizes hasn’t looked at a woman in months. Really looked. You're all soft skin and clean hands, dress hugging your waist, your breasts... he wonders if you're required to look so put together, so beautiful for your job.

He can't imagine why? Not much beauty out here.

Maybe that's why.

They ran out of clean clothes to give the soldiers so he's still walking around in his uniform. Torn over his stomach and chest, sleeves gone, exposing sunburnt arms.

One thing that stood out during your health check was a bunch of poorly healed welts and a once broken, mostly repaired ankle. You assigned him to triage for a wrap and a disinfection. There was a line to go to the showers, so you gave him an early number. But it looks like they hadn't gotten to his turn yet.

A lit cigarette hangs from Sid's dry lips as he makes his way to you, taking a seat across from you.

Suddenly nervous, you quickly wipe your mouth and plant your hands on the bench underneath your thighs. You watch your food, gaze occasional jumping to him, not ready to speak first.

"When did you become a nurse?"

The voice is softer than expected. Conversational. Not entirely kin, but you can tell it's difficult for him.

He’s trying.

"1943," you say. "The day after my high school graduation."

He nods, soot covered, fingers scratching his stubble. "... Do you like it?"

You swallow, cobsidering his question. Did you? It wouldn't feel right to say you enjoyed the sight of blood...

"I..." you begon, thinking over your answer. "Enjoy helping people. Serving my country."

He lets out a dry chuckle, turning his head to exhale the smoke away from you. "Yeah. No question there."

That stings more than you expect. "Excuse me?"

Seeing your reaction, Sid's smile drops as he realizes how he must have come across. "Oh, fuck."

You tense. You're used to profanity by now — every nurse is — but hearing it from Sid, who once spoke like a choirboy, catches you off guard.

"That's not what I meant."

You remind yourself not to judge him because you don't know what he's seen... what made him the way he is now. So you sit back, willing yourself to be more open-minded.

"It's alright." You offer gently.

"No," he rasps. "Its not. I'm... its me. There's something wrong."

A terrible curiosity claws at your chest. What had he seen out there?

"... what is it?" You ask.

"You... you have no idea what's it's like there. I'm sorry, they..." he looks around, paranoid. "They don't care. They dont care who lives or dies. There's no logic to it." He said brokenly.

"Who? The Japs?"

Chuckling again, he shakes his head. "No, not the Japs."

Before you can ask more, your name is called. The two of you turn to the entrance. A doctor stands, pulling on a pair of blue rubber gloves, his coat is smeared with blood stains. "If you're finished, nurse, we need hands."

"Yes, sir." You stand and pick up your tray, sending Sid an apologetic look.

He gives you a nod, his eyes dropping to your tray. Something he sees their makes him sit up. "Oh, is that chewing gum?"

You look down at the small white wrapper, then you hand it over. "Take it."

Judging by the expression on his face you'd think you had just offered him the moon.

"I was just going to ask for one–" he begins.

"I have much more. Take it." You reassure him. Then, diciding to risk making him laugh, you offer with a smile. "Please, you need it."

Priceless. The look on his face is priceless. Sid gapes at you, not unlike a proper southern dandy whose pride was just insulted. But then his gaze drops to your smiling lips, letting him know you're teasing him. And his own teeth start to show with the hint of a grin.

His fingers, dry, callused, brush yours when he takes the gum.

"Thanks,"

You nod, turning to leave, even when you yearn to stay with him for a little longer.

The marines line up to disembark, boots thumping on the metal plank leading to the harbor. An hour's passed since docking, and Sid scans the crowd—one hand gripping his pack, eyes moving from nurse to nurse, face to face.

But you're not there.

A tug at his collar jerks him forward.

Runner, grinning. "Nostalgic already, Johnny Reb?"

Sid shakes his head. "There’s a nurse I wanted to say goodbye to. She's from back home."

Leckie slings an arm around him, already pointing toward the crowd gathered at the dock. Sunhats, curls, lipstick. Cheers rising like confetti.

"Behold, my friend." Leckie drawls, "an endless line of sun-kissed Australian girls, all waiting to give a hero the welcome he deserves."

Sid follows the line of Leckie’s gaze. They are pretty, all of them. Fresh-faced. Smiling.

He looks back at the ship one last time.

Then he steps off the ramp, into the streets of Australia, ready—if not eager—to forget the Pacific.

He’d slept with a woman. Drank half the liquor in Australia.

Its… unbelievable.

That food can taste this good. That a bed could feel this soft. That a body could bring this much comfort.

If he ever makes it home, he swears, he’ll never complain again.

And then—training starts back up.

Fuck whoever invented blisters. He can't sleep most nights, not with the pain in his feet screaming through the thin material of his boots.

Marches across the scorched Australian fields blur his vision.

One night, wide awake and soaked with sweat, Sid reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out the white container.

The last stick of chewing gum.

He pops it into his mouth, folding the wrapper neatly before slipping it back into his pocket.

The days after a massacre are always hauntingly quiet. Sid is used to it. Probably for the best.

The rain lets up, leaving a sticky heat in the air. Pavuvu is a mess of swaying palms, mud, and tents that smell like mold and guns.

Sid sits under the lean-to behind the infirmary, rifle balanced between his knees. He's not on watch. He just can't sleep.

His stomach aches. Or maybe its his back. Or head. Always something lately.

"Phillips," someone barks, boot steps squelching in the mud.

Sid turns his head up.

"Mail," the corporal tosses a fistful of soggy envelopes into his lap before disappearing again.

He flips through it. Most of it is nothing—military nonsense, forms, nothing from his folks—

He freezes.

One of the envelopes has his name on it in script. Slanted.

He tears it open.

Dear Sid,

I'm writing you because I’m not sure if I’ll ever see you again. Not because I think you’ll die but because things don’t happen like that.

I didn’t get to say goodbye. I looked for you. But I figured you were already on a boat or maybe drunk somewhere with the boys. (Tell Hoosier he owes me a packet of morphine, and that those things are not candy.)

Things are the same back here. Blood, noise, more soldiers every day.

I still remember that day, by the way. That "free" ice cream.

I guess I’m writing this to say I hope you’re still ok. I hope there’s something in you they haven’t taken yet.

Be safe, Sid.

–The girl from home

Sid reads it twice. Then again.

The rain starts up again. But he doesn't move.

Instead, he folds the letter back into the envelope, slides it into his breast pocket with the gum wrapper and Sledge's letter, and leans his head against the tent pole behind him.

The sun is doing its best to boil Peleilu and them with it. Sid crouches behind a half-buried chunk of rock, sweat burning into the cuts on his back.

A Japanese sniper has them pinned down. No way forward. No way back.

Chuckler mutters beside him, working the bolt on his rifle.

Sid’s vision blurrs. Retinas burning. He blinks, then blinks again. His head is pounding. He hadn’t eaten in thirty hours. Maybe longer.

He puts a hand on his chest—instinct—and feels the envelope crinkle.

He hadn’t opened it again. Didn’t need to.

He remembered every word.

"I hope there’s something in you they haven’t taken yet."

Sid snorted under his breath.

Still something in him, huh?

He wasn’t so sure.

"Whatcha laughing at?" Leckie asks without looking.

Sid shakes his head. "Letter."

Leckie nods. "From back home?"

"Sort of."

"Girl?"

Sid looks out over the ridge. "Maybe."

On the day you receive your college acceptance letter, you run into Sidney Phillips for the third time.

It's been two weeks since you came home to Mobile. Sleeping in your childhood bed, enjoying your parents’ clean house and warm meals. The first week was rest. The second is something like healing.

When you finally feel like yourself again, you start going out. Visiting old girlfriends. Catching up over soda counters.

"You'll love college, dear," your friend Mary says, sipping Coca-Cola through a red-and-white paper straw. "I’ve never had access to so much education before. We ladies are even allowed to take the labs with the men now."

Your brows arch. "That’s wonderful!"

"Aha!" Marie winks proudly. "We’ll show them women can engineer just as well as they can."

You’re about to reply when something behind her catches your eye. A flash of navy blue.

A uniform.

You freeze.

There, walking down from the end of the street where the wealthier homes sit, is Sidney Phillips. His hat tucked neatly under his arm. He looks—

Washed. Shaved. Pressed.

Older. His cheeks have filled back in, but not enough to restore that boyish softness. There are still shadows under his tired eyes.

You rise abruptly, startling Mary. You mutter an apology—something about needing a moment—and cross the street, heart pounding like it did when you were seventeen.

He’s looking off in the distance, lost in thought.

Then he sees you.

He stops in his tracks.

Neither of you says anything.

Then your arms are around his neck.

He catches you instantly, arms circling your waist, holding you like something precious.

He pulls back enough to study your face.

His expression is unreadable at first—somewhere between awe and disbelief.

"How...?" he breathes.

You don’t know. Your throat is too tight to speak. The emotion you’ve been swallowing for months finally breaks loose.

A sob escapes you, and your shoulders tremble in his arms.

He flinches, not from you, but from what your pain unlocks in him. His features fold inward. The guilt is sudden, visible.

He gathers you back to him. Tighter this time. Desperate.

"Darlin’… please don’t cry," he murmurs against your hair.

He holds you like he doesn't think he deserves this moment. Not your tears, not your arms, not your presence.

You are warm. You are real.

And all his friends are still bleeding in Peleliu.

When he walks you home after your third date, you two are laughing. He'd just finished telling you about running into Sledge on his last day with his company in the first marines. Clearly, he had a favorite in one charismatic writer. Seeing him as a role model of a sort.

"Did Leckie ever read you any of Vera's letters?" You ask.

Sid purses his lips. He allows himself a sad smile. "You know, I never asked. In the case that she hadn't written back."

"Oh but she must have," you think out loud. "You made him sound infatuated with her. What girl would ignore such devotion?"

He considers your words while studying the way your hair falls over your shoulder. He yearns to run his fingers through it. Then, he gets another idea.

Wrapping his arms around your waste, he lifts you in the air and twirls you around. "Why the sudden fascination in my buddy, miss?"

The sound of your laughter makes him wonder if he's dreaming.

"Sid!" You sqeual, stomach hurting from laughter.

His hands hover over your waist like he’s afraid to touch something clean. When you kiss his shoulder, he lets out a noise that sounds more like grief than pleasure. He kisses softly, but when the two of you are alone, he kisses like a dying man kisses air. Greedy, shaking. You reassure him with a light brush at his jaw. "I’m not going anywhere."

He nods. He tries.

When the two of you are laying in bed and you lazily play with his dog tags, he reacts almost instinctively before realizing what you’re doing, then lets you.

The way he grips your thighs when pulling you onto him is urgent, not dominating — like the touch of your skin will pull him out of his mind.

His body trembles, just slightly, when he finally enters you. It is a kind of overwhelmed tension — not fear, not excitement, but something heavier. He doesn’t say what he saw, but the way he touches you — fists in your nightgown, mouth pressed against your chest — makes it clear. He’s trying to feel something other than his memories.

The smell of onions in butter is heavy in the air. The windows are cracked open, and birds chirp outside.

The war is over. Japan has surrendered. Sledge came home and was sitting in your porch in the grass, sipping a bear in silence. It’s another hot Alabama summer, and the floor tiles under your bare feet are cool.

Sid stands beside you at the counter in your kitchen, sleeves rolled, paring knife in hand. He’s not particularly good at peeling potatoes—he keeps taking off too much—but he’s focused. Determined.

"You’re gettin’ it now," you smile, brushing flour from your fingers.

"Yeah?" he grins. "Reckon I make a decent sous-chef?"

He’s happy, relaxed. It’s a rare thing to witness. You smile to yourself just having the chance to watch him.

He flinches.

"Shit."

You hear the metal clatter before you see the blood.

He’s nicked his thumb cleanly, the cut shallow but red.

You’re already moving. Your hand is steady as you pull the towel down from the hook and press it to his hand.

He holds it down, not needing to be told to.

You open the drawer where your mother keeps the tin first-aid kit. Gauze. Tape. Salve. You kneel at the table, taking his hand, already unwrapping the towel.

"It’s nothing," he says, trying to make light of it.

Quiet, you clean the wound efficiently as you were trained. Press gauze, tape it down. Your fingers work the way they always do.

Until—

You pause.

Something about the blood. The curve of his wrist.

You blink, and you’re not here anymore.

You’re on the canvas floor of the tent. It’s dark, there’s screaming, and someone’s leg is—

"Hey."

His voice cuts through it. Gentle.

You’re back. You’re holding gauze. Your hands are trembling.

You drop them.

"I'm fine." You say quickly.

"You’re not."

His bandaged hand lowers, and the other brushes your arm — soft, light.

You sit back against the cabinet, your eyes wide, unfocused.

"I didn’t even feel it coming," you whisper.

"That’s the worst kind," Sid murmurs, crouching down beside you.

"It was just a cut."

"It's not the cut," he says. Understanding in his voice.

He doesn’t press you. Doesn’t touch your face or try to fix it. He just waits. And when your breathing slows, he quietly says, "C’mon. Porch’s cooler anyway."

You nod.

And he stands, waiting for you to take his hand. You do.

Thank you to everyone who got me to 10000 likes!

Could you Make a workplace pt 3 please ITS SOO GOOD. And maybe tag me?

Yes and yes!

Im so happy you're enjoying it 😁😁

Hey, Neighbor

Masterlist

Pairing: Jason Todd x (f) Reader

Tags: NSFW, mystery, smut, oral (f receiving), sex pollen, Ivy's toxin, pwp, incorrect science (im so sorry to women in S.T.EM.), morally ambiguous Jason Todd, neighbors, nerdy reader, smoking

Chapter 4:

Jason returned home after a long evening of searching Elizabeth Islington's apartment, a sinking feeling in his gut from what he found. The most difficult thought was that he was going to have to leave you one mentor short. As he opened the door to his loft, he was met with an unexpected sight. You, one of your scarves neatly tied around your eyes, eagerly awaiting him in your pink nighty, a bright smile on your face.

"Hey..." he said cautiously, noticing the odd happiness radiating from you. "What’s with the blindfold?"

You sighed dreamily, a sound catching him him off guard. "I’ve been thinking about something, and it requires you not to wear your mask."

Jason raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He indulged, amused by your demeanor. "Alright," he said, removing his helmet and setting it aside.

Your heart raced when you heard him take afew steps towards you.

I want to kiss him. I've wanted to kiss him since the day he stepped in to save me two years ago. Being close to him these past days has been so difficult, trying to keep it together when all I wanted was to be in his arms.

You stood, taking a tentative step toward him, trying to navigate the room in your blindfold. Jason quickly closed the distance, placing a steadying hand on your arm to prevent you from bumping into the kitchen island.

You smiled up at him, your voice breathless. "I've wanted to do this for a long, long time." You whispered before wrapping your hand around his nape and pulling him down for a kiss.

The unexpectedness of your action surprised Jason, his grip on you tightening. He let himself be kissed by you. A small, sweet kiss on his lips. You laid kisses on his cheek, along the stubble on his jaw and down to his neck, running your fingers through his silky hair as he let out a gasp above you. Jason noted how your kisses were filled with the pent-up emotions, I made him eager to return the gesture.

Your hands clung to him, desperate and needy, making Jason's mind race. The softness of your lips, the desperation with which you pressed against him, was the most tempting drug. For now, he let himself be kissed, growing more passionate and urgent. The feel of your lips on his neck, the softness of your arms around him, it was everything he had imagined for the past couple of days. "What brought this on?" he let the question out in a chuckle, his voice low and rough.

You bit your lip, grasping the bottom of his shirt and hiking it up to place kisses on his abdominal muscles. "I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, Red." You said, licking his skin, unable to resist him. On your exploration, you felt places where the skin was raised, signaling his scars. Your need to know who he was behind the mask overwhelmed you. "Being close to you, to my hero, it's been so hard not to. I just... couldn't hold back anymore."

Your words faded away as his vision slowed down suddenly. The drug, the kiss, the sudden turn of events. It all rendered him powerless against the primal hunger that surged inside him.

Oh god.

He was an idiot. He was drugged. You were drugged. But that meant… had Ivy been in here? How did she get in? How did she drug... Fuck... your lips... your lips on his skin... what had he been thinking about?

He pulled you close, his lips engulfing yours, Groaning, he pulled away for a breath, leaving you whimpering at the loss of his touch. "We can't..." he said weakly, his restraint waning.

"Hmm?" You asked behind the blindfold. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, the need to touch him, to feel his body, muscles, scars, was urgent, mixing with the pounding of your heart.

Jason was forgetting what he was resisting when you licked his nipple. “Mhmm," he groaned, the sound sending a spark of electricity to your core. "Y/n, we can't -"

You blinked behind the blindfold, utterly confused. "Why not?"

"You... hmm, I don't know..." His words were slurred though he sounded genuinely concerned as he continued. "I think... we're not... I... things."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion behind the blindfold. Then you let out a giggle. "You're funny, Red."

"Im not. Trust... me..." Jason gasped, closing his eyes before dropping his forehead to yours.

The heat in your core mingled with the fog in your mind. All you knew was you needed him. It was a primal, animalistic need, fueled by the pheromone-laden kiss.

She's a minx, a vixen, Jason thought. Against his better judgment, it excited him. He pulled you flush against him and finally allowed himself to kiss you back. You responded eagerly, hips moving as instinctively as your heart, giving into the primal hunger that had been building up within you for such a long time. His hands roamed over your body, mirroring your own. Your breath came out in short pants, as the world around you fell away in the face of his lips meeting yours, claiming you with a certainty that left you breathless.

Jason's grip on you tightened, and he lifted you onto the kitchen countertop with ease. You gasped when you felt the blindfold being lifted from your eyes. Your vision swam, adjusting to the dim light coming in from the afternoon rainclouds outside as his eyes met yours.

Deep, dark blues that you recognized right away looked at you drunkily. They consumed you. You looked into his eyes, into the eyes of the Red Hood. The eyes of your neighbor, Jason.

As his eyes bore into yours, the surprise and confusion you felt began to wither away, replaced by an undeniable realisation. It was him: the man who had been haunting Gotham with a vigilant fervour; the man who had single-handedly turned the tide of crime in favour of the residents; the man who, try as you might, had captured your imagination every night in a new fantasy.

Was this real? You wondered, your heart racing. Can this be happening?

“Jason?” You breathed, your voice trembling as his name left your lips.

You needed confirmation that the man whose lips you so desperately craved was indeed the city's guardian. "Jason?" You asked again, voice shaking with a mix of excitement and confusion as you processed the situation.

He nodded

Oh god.

It was so much to take in. Your heart was racing; you couldn't think. "Jason, oh god,"

This whole time, it's been him. He was the one. The one who saved you. More than once. The one that took you in. Who acted like he didn't know you. Who drove you insane with his touch and words these past few days.

"Oh god, please, Jason," Your whispered words burned through his mind, making him clench his teeth as his control slipped further away. He looked at you, the hunger and desire etched deeply on his face.

He moaned your name. You couldn't express how good it felt to hear it on his lips. Lowering his lips in a trail of kisses down your throat. You gripped the countertop, arching your back as a moan escaped your lips. It was like all the pieces were finally falling into place. He was your hero and savior. Your Jason.

He pulled down the top of your dress, exposing your breasts. Your nipples pebbled immediately in the cool air of the room. His lips claimed one of them flicking at its twin with his finger. Your hands gripped his hair. The toxin you were both affected by made every sensation heightened, overwhelming. Your nipples felt like two live wires, electricity coursing through them and into your core. Every flick of his skilled fingers made you moan and arch into his touch.

You've read studies about some people’s ability to reach orgasm from just nipple stimulation. But nothing could have prepared you for the way your entire body seemed to shiver at Jason's touch.

The feeling was exquisite, almost painfully so. It was as if your nipples had been directly linked to your clit, the sweet sensation of pleasure travelling down with every flick and touch of Jason's fingers and lips.

You cried out again, gripping his shoulders as you arched further against his touch.

He knew exactly what you wanted, but the need to hear you plead for him was like an aphrodisiac. He felt himself harden further, his erection straining against his underwear.

He pinched your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch up into him. The pain mingled with the pleasure of his lips on your skin, and your hands grasped at his shoulders desperately. You tried to speak once more, but it was more of a breathless gasp than anything coherent. You felt a familiar feeling as your body began to shake. "Jason, please... don't stop."

You moaned, desperately trying to grind your aching core against him. The pulsating heat and growing wetness between your thighs seemed to be a never-ending source of discomfort and need. Your hips moved instinctively, seeking relief against him. But Jason held back, placing his hands on your hips to still you. His forehead dropped to yours, and he took deep breaths, trying to regain control.

Jason nuzzled into your neck. You opened your mouth to speak, but Jason captured your lips in a searing kiss, effectively silencing you. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth to tangle with yours. "Fuck, baby. Ever since I saw you on that porch..." he muttered against your lips.

"That night you moved in?" you slurred in a wisper.

"Mhmm." He nodded. "You wore the cutest little skirt. When you sat up, I could see your pink panties." His hand went under your dress. The feeling of him touching you there through your soaked underwear was too much. You bit your lower lip.

He groaned, clenching his jaw at the intensity of his want. Crouching down before you, he tugged up your silk dress. The cold air of the room ghosted over your wetness, making you shiver. Feeling his gaze locked on your exposed sex, you looked down to see him staring at you with a primal hunger that seemed to steal your breath away.

"Please..." you whispered softly, raising a hand to touch his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing as though savoring the sensation. When he opened them again, his expression was harder than ever.

Without warning, his tongue flicked out and tasted your entrance. You gasped, and your hands flew to his hair as he devoured you with hunger. Your heart raced as he held you in place, his tongue sliding against your slit. Taste of your arousal on his tongue was like a drug he couldn't get enough of. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer to him as he delved deeper into the folds of your sex.

You gasped, shuddering as raw need pulsed through you. The intensity of Jason's touch was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, and your body responded instinctively. You arched your back, pressing against his mouth as your fingers tangled in his hair. When he began to lick rough circles around your clit, your body began to shake and your back arched as your orgasm took over your senses.

Carried away by the sensation, you wrapped your arms around Jason's neck, pulling him closer.

Jason gripped you tightly, breathing you in through your climax as if he never wanted to let go.

The sensation you felt was warm, desperate, and full of the pent-up emotions that had built up between the two of you.

Only... only you began to feel odd. Oddly good... like, so, so, good. You wanted to fall asleep.

Jason wouldn't have thought anything of it, he's had plenty of women falling asleep after he'd given them orgasms, and yours was an intense one at that. Only... your lips... we're turning green. A beautiful, mesmerizing shade of green. He didn't want to look away... until one voice in the back of his mind kept repeating the word "poison".

Jason sat up. He picked you up and stumbled as he carried you to the couch, laying you down. "Oh fuck, fuck!"

He rummaged through his kitchen, looking for the antidote Batman and Alfred had created for Ivy's toxin that all of the Wayne's had stored in case of emergencies.

When he finally found the vial, he first took one sip of it, knowing he'd needed it first if he was going to take care of you. Then he stumbled back to you, gently tilting the antidote into your lips. "It's okay, baby. You're okay, you're alright," He wispered as you moaned, disoriented and sleepy against him.

Since it hasn't been too long since he had been affected by the poison, the antidote took effect quickly enough. But for you, it took some more time. So Jason stayed on the couch, wrapping his arms around you as you came down from the toxin. The entire time, all that was on his mind was a hope that you'd be okay.

From the Facebook page: Tolkien's Amazing Middle Earth: The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, Silmarillion

ÉOWYN, LADY OF THE SHIELD-ARM

"Not by the hand of man was the Lord of the Nazgul doomed to fall, and in that doom placed his trust. But he was felled by a woman and with the aid of a halfling, and I heard the fading of his last cry borne away by the wind."

- Gandalf (The War of the Ring, HoME vol. 8 )

Art by Dmitry Sivakov

Link: https://www.facebook.com/share/p/Wk9vaC9RYWDNoZHh/

The Heir of House Atreides pt. 2

Masterlist

Pairing: Young Duke Leto Atreides x (Lady Jessica) reader

Tags: NSFW, smut, political intrigue, enemies to lovers, oral (f receiving), sex, kissing, penetration, humor,

"I wonder if you even know what sincerity feels like,"

His words stung, though you knew they were not entirely untrue. The Bene Gesserit had trained you to bend the truth into a tool, a weapon, but sincerity? That was a luxury rarely afforded to a Sister on a mission.

Still, Leto’s accusation stirred something within you - a challenge.

"My devotion to you is true, Your Grace," you said softly, holding his gaze.

He cupped your chin. "Do you know what I despise most about politics?"

You shook your head.

"It’s the constant pretense," he said, his voice bitter. "The lies, the games... Everyone I meet wears a mask, and I suspect you’re no different."

Not for the first time, you wondered if Leto’s mistrust was born of wisdom or simply the weariness of being thrust into power too young.

"I have no mask," you whispered, though you knew the words were hollow even as you spoke them.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. How could you prove sincerity to a man who saw through every facade? And yet, the fire in his hazel eyes sparked something within you - a desire not just to complete your mission but to earn his trust, his approval.

You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "Command me, Your Grace, and I will obey."

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to unravel the enigma before him. "Anything?" he asked, his tone both curious and cautious.

You nodded despite the turmoil swirling within you.

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes locked onto yours. Then, slowly, a faint smile curved his lips. "Very well," he said, his voice soft but firm. "From now on, you will speak only the truth to me. No lies, no half-truths. Do you understand?"

Your breath hitched. Of all the commands he could have given, this was the most dangerous. To speak the truth was to risk exposing the Sisterhood’s plans, your mission, and the prophecy itself. And yet, refusing him was not an option.

"I do," you said finally, the words feeling like a noose tightening around your neck.

"Good," he said, his smile widening.

He released your chin and stepped back, the weight of his gaze still heavy upon you. "You may go," he said, dismissing you with a wave of his hand.

You bowed, your heart pounding as you turned and left the room. Though you had prepared for countless challenges as a Bene Gesserit, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Leto Atreides was a far more formidable opponent than you had anticipated.

The young duke, ever the consummate politician, moved through the court with practiced control, greeting his guests with charm. His voice was low and smooth over the conversation as he welcomed each newcomer to the grand Atreides ballroom.

You stood a step behind him, scanning the crowd out of habit. Then someone entered. A figure draped in silks, her face concealed by a veil. The unmistakable posture, the subtle way she carried herself - it was one of your sisters.

Unease tightened your shoulders. Why was she here? Had the Sisterhood sent her to spy on you? To test you?

"Do you know her?" Leto’s voice was quiet, disrupting your thoughts.

Turning to him, you offered a pleasant smile, the kind you’d practiced countless times. "No," you said smoothly.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply staring at you. His hazel eyes, warm and inviting to most, now held an intensity enough to unnerve you.

You felt the weight of his gaze, each second stretching unbearably long.

"Try again," he said at last, his voice calm but edged with command. "And this time, tell me the truth."

The air stilled. He let you stew in your discomfort.

You swallowed. At last, you offered him a smile and a pleasing tone. "No, I do not know that woman, your grace."

His brows furrowed as he looked down on you, studying your eyes. Then his lips quirked up and he exhaled sharply with a laugh.

You searched behind him, seaking out the person of interest and placing him. Indeed, the house Fenring representative was watching the Duke.

It was a routine the two of you developed. Him figuring out when you had lied and when you had told the truth. This time, you'd lied. And you both knew it. But he wanted to probe more, it didn't show when he looked about the room bringing a glass to his lips. He cleared his throat, murmuring quietly with conversational tone as hi turned to face you.

"The man in the left corner of the room. House Fenring. He's been glaring daggers at my back all night." He put his hand in his pocket.

You frowned, studying the man, then widened your eyes in surprise followed by understanding. You suppressed a laugh, turning back to the man in front of you. "That man is constipated, your grace."

Leto froze, nearly spitting into his glass before recovering quickly. "I see." He clearer his throat. "Thank you."

You cast your gaze to the ground, allowing yourself a small smirk.

◇◇

To the Duke, you were an enigma. You carried yourself with the quiet precision of a Bene Gesserit, every movement deliberate, every word calculated. And yet, there was something about you that defied his prejudice. It both confused and intrigued him.

The Bene Gesserit fascinated and unnerved him in equal measure. They orchesstrated hidden truths, weaving secret threads into the fabric of politics. Their power and influence was insidious, yet they disguised themselves as dutiful servants and concubines. He respected their brilliance, even as he feared what it meant for men like him.

The more he observed you, the more questions he had.

Unlike the cold efficiency he had come to expect from your kind, you displayed unexpected warmth. You didn’t just speak to the servants - you engaged with them, offering conversation. He’d even seen you help a young maid struggling with your intricate gown, your hands working to untangle the fabric.

He told himself it didn’t matter. Your motivations were irrelevant. You were Bene Gesserit, still dangerous.

Why? He wondered.

Was this some deeper manipulation, an attempt to disarm him with displays of humanity?

He had watched you more than he cared to admit, his gaze lingering on your lips,l your eyes, your body. Your beauty disarmed him, unsettled him.

He watched you now, your face flush and lips parted.

There was a thrill in it, a cruel satisfaction in knowing he could shake you. He smirked, his hand reaching down to rub your clit as he thrust in and out of you.

The sun had set hourse ago, and not being able to fall asleep, hed sought you out in the quiet of the palace halls and brought you to his bed.

Once alone, the Duke wasted no time in removing your garments and laying you on his silk sheets - while he came to kneel at your feet, hand lifting your thighs onto his shoulders. He lay gentle kisses, licks and bites along your thighs, making your shiver - eager for more.

He drawled, toung brushing against your clothed center. "I'm a Duke. A representative of my house in a vast galactic empire. I should be focusing on interplanetary relations and trades. My mind shouldn't be occupied by the green eyes of some vile sorceress who bewitched me to spy on me."

"Your grace–" you meant to defend yourself from his description, but you were cut off. He tore at the sild fabric of your nightgown and bared your cunt in front of him. You were already panting from his teasing of your inner thighs, so by the time he began tongive attention to your folds and clit, they had already been coated in slick. "Oh!" You arched your back, as your eyes rolled back. The young duke has had extensive experience in pleasuring women. The other men you have been with didn't even compare.

Your gaze sought him again, his hooded eyes watching you as he buried his tongue deep inside you, building up pulses of pleasure in your nerves. "Please, your grace," you panted. "If you go on, I will arrive to soon–"

Too late. His tongue sped up on your clit, fast, unforgiving. Your body shook with intensity.

The two of you were wrapped in each other's arms, him slowly thrusting in and out of you. You two were gasping against each other, your hair cutaining your face in sweaty stramds. You had begun to feel an orgasm build up in your core, your arms wrapped around his muscular, warm shoulders, and your fingers grasping at his black curls.

It seemed the two of you were nearing your peak when he suddenly whispered against your lips, "When are you going to betray me?"

Too consumed in the moment, you met his eyes. The sensation from your core was overwhelmingly, painfully, amazing.

The words were accusatory, but the defeated air he spoke them with told you he'd made peace with the idea of your your betrayal. More so. His eyes conveyed that he would let you do anything to him.

While Leto pushed into you with desperate force, chasing that feeling. Beneath that wall of defense, something deeper stirred. Through your truthsayer training, you were able to pick up desire, but also fear in him.

Not fear you or of what you were, but of what you could become to him.

Of what the two of you would become together.

READ AND SKETCH #15: OUTSIDE CHANCE BY KATNISSDOESNOTFOLLOWBACK

My dearest friend @katnissdoesnotfollowback is planning to update her fantastic story “Outside Chance” soon! The last update was like, ugh, two years ago? And as I said before Hunger Games and Winter Olympics are my two biggest obsessions so no wonder that “Outside Chance” is a killing combo for me. Not to mention that my boy Rye(n) is literal perfection here (in a Rye way of perfectness 😅) AND he has competed and got silver medal in MY city in 2014 (I live in Sochi). And I used to imagine that I saw it with my own eyes (eyes full of hearts😍😍😍). But we will talk about Ryen next time, he has his own side story (bless you @katnissdoesnotfollowback ). So! Can’t wait to read about these two! Cupcake and Hummingbird ♥️. I miss them so much ♥️.

“American propaganda” and it’s just Glen Powell as a naval aviator and a cowboy meteorologist

Matt Murdock vs Frank Castle