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the-californicationist · 4 months

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The Welcome Distraction

MDNI/18+ --- TW: Blow jobs, face-fucking (lovingly) AO3 Link

“Everything alright, babe?” You asked, watching your huge, frustrated husband pace back and forth in your small den.

John Price was usually such a level-headed man. His cool exterior shell hid a furious temper underneath, but he was so very careful never to let it show. The hound was always on its leash. Today, though, it was growling — figuratively and literally.

“The wrong fucking intel… how could Laswell let this happen? All those months we spent planning to infil this base — wasted,” he gripped the iPad like it owed him money, the plastic casing creaking under his enormous hand. You watched the tiny muscles and tendons battle against the bones inside of it, remembering exactly how that generous grip felt on your skin.

You knew how to make him relax. Taking his iPad from him gently, you sat him down on the couch and poured him a generous glass of his favorite scotch. It was the fourteen year Oban, and you could smell the salty, smoky scent of apples and ginger, bookended by its signature creaminess. You stole a taste before you handed him the glass, getting his attention with your thievery. Then, you dug a fat cigar from his humidor, something that would smoke for an hour or more if he let it, clipping and punching it just as he had showed you.

Settling him down on the couch, you preened, enjoying his look of baffled confusion. His eyes were still rimmed with some frustration, but you could tell your distractions were working.

You were wearing one of his white button-down shirts as a nightgown, allowing the large collar to hang off of you at odd angles to show most of your skin. There was nothing underneath. He’d been pretty adamant about keeping you in as few clothes as possible when you moved in together, praising you for going commando, begging you to sleep naked, giving you little kisses and treats when he found you under the blankets on the couch with nothing on.

You learned quickly from these sweet rewards, so you knew what he wanted to see. Wearing his shirts had dawned on you like a eureka moment one day, and it had worked like a damn charm. He could barely keep his hands off of you when you had one on, and if you had an appointment or somewhere important to be, you made sure to be out of it before he got home. Otherwise, you would be at his mercy. You joked that he was your wild, untamed caveman; always ready to take his woman at a moment’s notice. He had just smiled and rolled a dark chuckle around in this throat, insatiable.

Gazing down at him now on the couch, you admired the absolute specimen that you’d been given. His wide, hairy chest stretched out his army green tee, the sleeves straining to accommodate his heavy arms. John had the most gorgeous mouth, and as he wet his cigar, lighting it carefully, you let your body reminisce about how those full lips felt against your warm center. Then, his jeans. Every pair fit like latex around his muscular ass and thighs, and the zipper was always tested by his fat, flaccid cock, cruelly stuffed against the fabric commando-style. He dressed to the left, and you could see how his shaft had begun to strain as it grew hard down the side of his thigh, reaching for something warm and wet.

You pulled a pillow off of the couch and knelt down in front of him, making quite the show of pinning up your hair. He watched you like a hawk watches a field, looking for movement and eager to sink his talons into the soft body of his squealing prey.

Then, you focused on him. John was held in your stare, his blue eyes bright and curious. Smoke fell down his mouth and into his scruffy beard like a waterfall of incense, the smell making you feel braver than you had a right to. You made sure he watched you as you plucked the buttons on his oversized shirt. Each loose button let the collar open further and further until finally, the silky cloth fell away, pooling around you.

“What’s all this, then?” He asked, sitting forward with one hand palming his cock and the other still busy with his cigar.

John kissed you, feeling how weak and pliant your mouth was, wetting your tongue with his own, becoming more ravenous by the second. You kissed him back languidly, making sure to keep your affections relaxed, slowing him down gently. You pulled away, smiling at him knowingly.

“Would you like to pick a toy for me, Captain?” You nodded to the end table where an assortment of plugs and vibrators lived. They were stashed all over the house just like the cigars — in case of emergencies.

He stirred at your use of his title, or at your suggestion about the toys; maybe both. But, he played along, bending over to the drawer and choosing an easy silicone dildo, something to keep you company down there on the floor. Your captain held it in his hands and waited for your next move, happy to be commanded for a change.

You let him hold it for you, and you sank your mouth around it, coating it in your spit and giving him a preview of what was about to happen to him. You sucked the head of the toy teasingly, and you let it slide into the back of your throat, coating it in your drool. You heard him let out a low, rumbling sigh, and you removed it from your lips.

You took it from him and slipped it into yourself with some difficulty, letting the fullness of the toy cock settle into you and warm itself with your core. Your little mewls of pleasure caught him like a fire, and you could sense the tension in his body, ready to burn.

Then, slowly, as if you were approaching a dangerous animal — you were — you popped open the button fly of his jeans, letting each button slip satisfyingly out of its hole, revealing the base of his impossibly thick cock. His hair was dark and coarse, curling around his velvety shaft and balls. You took him out carefully, admiring his girth. The rosy, swollen head was still tucked behind his smooth foreskin, and you were eager to slide it out.

You smiled up at him, watching him watch you,

“I want you to relax, John. So, I’m going to let you use me for a while. You can go back to your emails if you want, or maybe turn on the game,” you glanced at the television behind you, “But, I’m starving, and you’re going to feed me until you’re done with that cigar. Does that sound good?”

You licked the underside of his cock while he decided how to answer you. He melted into you so quickly, and he nodded,

“Sure thing, love. Anything you want.”

“Thank you, Captain,” you kissed his shining head and started your work.

Licking the underside of his shaft was one of his favorite parts, so you took your sweet time, softening your tongue and making sure to sweep over his head at the end of each long journey from his base to his tip. You took breaks here and there to suck gently on his large balls, taking them inside of your mouth like the round candy of a lollipop.

He had already started with his moaning, furrowing his brow and taking a long drag from his cigar. You looked up at him, watching the orange glow give way to thick, creamy smoke. He reached over for the scotch and drank, savoring all of the heat and the flavors you’d presented to his palette.

Slowly but surely, as you massaged and sucked and licked and kissed, his body lost more and more of that tension. After a while, he was pliant for you, high from his nicotine, buzzed from his drink, and floating in the river of hedonistic pleasure you had crafted.

In a way, you too had been weakened by him. Having him in your mouth was a challenge, but it was comforting. You suckled from his tip as if from the sweet flesh of a fruit, soothing yourself and letting your mind go blank. You didn’t need to think about anything else but him, and he was easy.

The toy was giving you a delicious amount of feedback. As you clenched around it, you could feel your pussy becoming softer and more pliant, and you could tell that you were soaking. You could even feel it on your thighs, and if you twisted your hips just so, you could make your lips slide against each other, making little wet clicking noises as you fucked the dildo against the pillow. It wasn’t enough to make you come, but it was enough to get you started.

Only when he started to get restless again did you care to speed up your efforts. So far, you’d been taking him only halfway, focusing on his sensitive head, licking long swipes along his glans, letting him fill with blood until he was taut like a bowstring. But, now, nearly finished with his whiskey and about a third of the way through his cigar, you began to notice little clues from his body that he needed more.

His hips would buck a bit when you took him deeper, and if you massaged his balls, his head would fall back and he would let out a deep, roiling grunt. The muscles in his lower belly were pulling and pushing against themselves, now, and every now and then, you could feel a twitch from his heavy rod, pulsing for you and mimicking its grand finale.

But, you knew your time was up when he opened that mouth again. He loved talking you through it, and when he was worked up, he would tell you all sorts of wonderful things. You heard him start in on his praise, generous and enticing,

“Makin’ me feel so good, pretty girl. Seein’ you with me in your mouth… ungh, yeah just like that, baby. Feels so fuckin’ good. Oh, fuck…”

So, you obliged him. You knew what he wanted. It was not the soothing comfort of your slow massages and delicate suckling. He wanted your throat, and he wanted to take it from you. He wouldn’t rush you though. Somehow, for all his fury, John was a patient man. If you kept at your languid pacing, he would swallow his desire and let you continue, happy to be at your mercy. But, you didn’t much like him as your harmless servant. You wanted your cruel master.

You called to him with your efforts, making new attempts at taking him deeper and deeper within you, reaching for his base with your tongue when you hit your limit. As you increased your pace, moving your body became more of an event. The toy cock nestled inside of you was making you more stimulated now, and it was slipping through your fluids, pressing a little deeper into your core as you slicked and clenched around its body. You swallowed around his thickness with your throat, unable to breathe when he was pushed past a certain point, counting down from ten in a steady rhythm, training yourself to take him farther each time.

“Bloody hell, love. Tha’s it, fuck… tha’s it, baby. Fuck, mmm…” You felt him stir, and you saw him set down his glass and the cigar on the end table. He leaned forward so he could see more of your body, reaching out to gently pluck at one of your soft, puffy nipples, pinching it to make it tighten, “You havin’ fun, pretty girl?”

You nodded, not taking him out of your mouth. You were grinding your hips with a purpose, and you showed him what a good job you were doing, taking your hand and bringing back some of your wetness for him to see, holding it out to him like a sloppy gift.

He grabbed your wrist and brought your hand to his mouth, sucking your slick off of your fingers and making you moan from it.

“Ahh,” he sighed, “Make those noises for me, love. Feels fuckin’ good.”

You gave him what he wanted; you would have given him anything at this point, and you watched him come undone. Your screams were vibrating his swollen rod, and when you took him as deeply as you could, you could feel him throbbing against your neck from the inside.

When you tasted the salt of his precome, you knew he wouldn’t be long. You also knew that your role would soon change. His eyes darkened, and his face wore the pained snarl of him holding himself back. Then, when he had enough, he put his hand in your hair and pulled you away with a wet, slobbering pop.

“My turn,” his smile was sinister.

He stood, keeping control of your skull, pulling your hair at the base of your head to turn you so that your back was against the couch. Then, your captain began to command you,

“Fuck yourself with that toy, pretty girl. Tha’s it, nice and hard. Just like that.”

You were pumping the dildo in and out of your body with your hand, sitting on the floor with your legs spread, not caring how cock-drunk you looked.

“Good girl. Does tha’ feel good? Tell me,” he let his hard cock lay against your cheek, leaving little wet trails of precome on your face and in your hair.

“Yes, sir. It feels so good…mmm, fuck…” You whined and whimpered beneath him, showing him your neck, and opening your mouth like a little bird, eager to be fed.

“Pretty girl,” he sighed as he put himself back into your mouth.

Then, he moved for you, fucking himself in and out in a chanting drumbeat, choking you on the way down and allowing you to breathe on the way up. You tried to concentrate, knowing you needed to take every break he gave you, but you lost the rhythm when you started to come, fucking yourself faster and faster to drag yourself over your peak.

“Oh, yessss…” He praised you, “Come for me, love. Come for me, just like that. Nuh-uh, don’t stop. Don’t stop riding that cock, pretty thing. Tha’s it, yeah. Keep it in. Good girl, good girl.”

You were struggling, but you did as you were told, your head swimming and dizzy from your orgasm, straining to take a full breath. You wouldn’t be so lucky to get one, not until he was done with you.

He fucked your throat with intent, now. John had both of his hands on you, one tangled in the hair at the base of your skull and the other holding you tight around the back of your neck, scruffing you like a naughty kitten. It may have been all in your head, but that pressure made you weaker than ever, and he was able to use you to your full potential.

His grunts morphed into longer, arching groans. He was shouting into the echoing walls of your den, growling down at you as he approached his zenith, the warm sun of him burning you up from the inside out.

Then, he found what he had been searching for, and he chased it. His rhythm faltered, and he held your face so tightly to him, clutching you to his center, burying your nose in his fur. Your body started to fight back, needing to breathe. You may have over-acted a little, but you could see that he liked to watch you struggle, so you gave him your tear-stained, pleading eyes and writhed to get away.

“Oh, Christ! Love, I’m... Oh… Oh, fuck me…”

His hips bucked into your aching jaw, and you felt your body fill with his come. The soft, creamy fluid dripped down your throat and into your belly, salty and musky on the back of your tongue. Your whole mouth could feel him pulsing as he emptied himself into you, and you tried to swallow every last drop.

John removed himself from you and aimed to lay down on the couch, using the last of his strength to pull you on top of him, laying you on him like a living blanket. You panted together, each of you breathless.

You basked in your joy for a while, rubbing your hands all over his chest, yanking his shirt off of him so you could be skin to skin. You pet him like a big animal, stroking him and massaging him for being so good to you. You were straddling him, and as his cock softened, you could feel its body against your wet pussy, lolling over to his hip, exhausted.

You whispered to him, brushing his hair off of his sweating brow,

“I’m sorry you had a hard day at work, John.”

He laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and held tight to him,

“Tha’s okay, love. It’s no trouble. Everythin’ works out in the end, hm?”

Your big captain kissed you then, tasting himself on your tongue. You could taste his scotch and his tobacco, all of his scents filling your mind with him. His soft tongue joined with yours, playing together in your mouths, lips slipping together and sucking on each other, gentle and soothing. You lay there, dozing together, sated and joyful, happily distracted.

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Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated 🩷

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #captain price #cod #captain price x reader #john price #captain price x you

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beamiesbuddies · 16 days

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Part 2: A Dream of an Autumn Garden

A few more photos of Mr. Morpheus, continuing from my post here!

As I said on the other photoset, I'm very happy & proud of him! I'm happy I decided to take my time to get him just how I wanted & edit the photos I took nicely. I hope you all love him too. Sweet dreams~

I have included a bunch of Cool Facts about how I made him under the cut if you are so inclined!

Started: Late Jan 2022 / Finished: Dec 30 2022

Approx work hours- 273 hours (worked on average every 3rd day out of 274 days; averaged 3h/session)

Times I remade something because I messed it up/wasn't happy with it: Hands- 2; Feet- 2; Head- 2.5; Body- 1; Clothes: 3

Pattern: trial, error & determination

Height: 3ft tall

Materials:

stretch jersey knit (body)

polyfill (stuffing)

brushed out acrylic yarn (hair)

star sapphire x2 (eyes)

pipe cleaner (hand armature)

wooden dowels/18 gauge wire (elbow/arm skeleton that keeps snapping I may add)

acrylic paint/pastels (shading & details)

acrylic thread (body sculpting & upper eyelashes)

stretch velvet/velvet burnout, cotton (clothes)

Fun facts:

his look was inspired by his overall appearance in the comics; I particularily like the depictions done by Jill Thompson, Mike Dringenberg & Marc Hempel!

his arms and legs are jointed in the same way as many teddy bears are: you use a washer, nut & bolt to butt-up the limb against the body internally and it gives the limbs full rotation. First time I have tried the method and it's definitely something I'll try again!

I had no idea how I was going to do the inset eyes, but I was determined to have them as some sort of stone. I had to redo his first head completely because I cut too far in! Eventually I got it to work by creating a "backcushion" with clay for the stones, and then closed and sculpted the eyelids overtop to secure them in.

You can't see in most of my photos but his eyes are star sapphire: when light hits them correctly, it causes a ✨to appear just like his eyes in the comics~!

making his hand & feet were a challenge, especially thinking about where to put the needle through to sculpt tendons, nails, etc (and also deciding how detailed to get without looking strange). I think I learned a lot tho and I'm very proud of the hands

my favorite sculpted parts are the collar bone/chest, the right hand & the nose~

because the skin is white, he gets very dirty with his black clothes, so I had to line all of them in white. He also has to soak in bleach once in a while to maintain his complexion (LOL)

A signature somehwere on his person xD

Thank you all again for your nice tags & comments so far on my work. If you guys would like for me to share some behind the scenes photos of this photoshoot, or WIP photos of me making him, let me know and if there's enough interest maybe I'll make a post down the road!

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dolls #beamies buddies #thank you all so much again for viewing him with your eyeballs! i can now rest #cloth dolls #custom dolls #crafts #also if you happen to have any questions about how i made anything feel free to send an ask!

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year

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Warnings: Language, smut, NSFW goodness, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, & Steve comes in his pants.

A/N: Well, this wouldn’t leave me alone, the dash was horny for Steve too, and my mind spiraled. *Eddie Munson voice* @pastel-pillows & @dr-aculaaa — this is for you! ;-)

You couldn’t stop the way your legs began to shake, calves tense, thighs jiggling from the jostle you accompanied yourself with, toes of your sneakers dipped into the green carpeting and digging in, only to bounce seconds later. You swear you can hear your heartbeat rushing in your ears, bursting the drums, echoing your sinful sentiments, a choir of nasty little devils whispering encouragement into your ears, their sharp teeth sucking at your lobe. It all started with watching Steve rearrange his trunk this morning before you rode with him to work at the store. He’d pulled out his nail slayed weapon, twirling it like it weighed nothing and he did it for a living. You went doe eyed, becoming dizzy and dumb.

Robin had rolled her eyes, following shortly behind for her own ride. “So glad I’m not straight.” She was forever onto you.

And the duration towards Family Video wasn’t any better. With the ping pong weather of the Midwest, you’d all had your windows down and it kept blowing Steve’s unruly mane, resulting in crunching leather, twisting upon by his clenched fingers as they shifted to raise, his wrist tendons flexing beneath a rolled Henley, his digits pushing back the tendrils that had mounted his forehead. With a slow morning, it gave you three some time to unwrap new snacks to restock the front counter with. Only… that packing tape was always tough and you left the letter opener in the back (you could never find it, really), so Steve came to the rescue. He’d fetched his keys from the employee lockers, bringing them into the front with one announcement: the metal ring swinging along his defined pointer finger. With a freshly manicured nail bed and a calloused padding around the digit’s tip, you were all but salivating.

Praying made everything worse for your state, and you’d resigned to indulging in every waking fantasy as you watched Steve roll his sleeves up until they crested over his forearms and rested around his elbows, giving you VIP access to each and every tendon, vein, freckle, mole, and muscle that the limbs possessed, complete with his signature watch wrapped around his left wrist. Robin had backed away and busied herself further towards the front, not wanting to be smothered by your increasingly unstable pheromones. You thought that maybe asking Steve for help instead of watching him grit his pearly whites or lick his tongue out over that dark stubble beginning to work its way into his flesh, circling his mouth in the most luscious ways, all because the tape was being stubborn against his keys — wasn’t a smart choice. He had refused with a smile, leaning over the cardboard and giving you a direct eyeline down the collar of his shirt, curly chest hair peeking back at you. On your way around the counter after nearly collapsing, Robin had poked her finger into her mouth and mimicked a gag, rolling her eyes at your middle finger return.

And that leads you to your current continued predicament, the slutty saga trotting along. Steve makes a noise of eager mirth and that goofy grin of triumph washes over his features, his fingers tucking into the packaging and flipping the lids, curling.

Curling…

You choke on your own spit, a deep breath coming out choppy. You immediately warm with embarrassment and maneuver your way through the stale air towards the restrooms. You’re barely inside a stall before Steve comes in behind you, halfway in the doorway, hand tightened knuckle-white around the silver handle, little denim jeans strapped to his thick thigh that is raised slightly, his Nike sneaker toe pointed into the floor to hold his place. You watch his arm prop, his brows cinch in confusion.

“Honey? Everything alright?”

If you speak it’ll all vomit out in a pornographic moan, so you can merely shake your head. Steve immediately reacts and joins your proximity, nearly caging your airspace in, his cologne draping around you like a fucking winter coat. Your eyelids flutter closed, your body stepping back, then in. This is ridiculous. It’s not like you two haven’t fooled around before, on nights where the action was slow and the adrenaline ran high.

He always said you could talk to him, ask him for and about — anything. It’s a comical slow motion when his hand raises, veins defined and running alongside his creamy skin that will tan in the coming Spring, it never fails to. He seems to feed off of your look, patience his new virtue. You permit his thumbpad to stroke a shred of hair to tuck it behind your ear, causing your nipples to harden in your bra’s confines.

“Steve…” And his breath hitches, because even underneath the sickly fluorescent lighting he can see your dilated pupils.

“Oh.” His own voice has gone rasp, scattered. But there’s a battering jealousy that gnaws at his abdomen, fanning its green flames into his esophagus. He could choke on the bile that someone else might have caused your pent up responses.

It’s like he knows what you’re going to say before you do, but he encourages, stroking ever so softly along your cheekbone now. “What do you need?”

You mewl and sway into him, chests brushing, lips parched when they peel apart. You can practically taste his cinnamon breath spray on your tongue. “Need to touch myself.” You settle for a more hands off approach, not wanting to push, especially at work and with your shared best-friend thirty feet away.

Steve, however, he surprises you. He purses his plush lips into a plop, sclera glazed over with honey hot arousal. “Yeah? You think I can watch you do it? It’s been so long since you’ve let me see you between your legs, baby.”

It didn’t matter anymore if you were thinking about someone else, because you’re going to be thinking of him now — only, just. He wants to make sure.

You’re almost warning him, but when your jaw drops and your tongue is present, his thumb glides along your skin and presses inside and over the wet muscle. Steve has never seen you react so strongly, your left hand reaching out and fisting into his shirt, bunching it and yanking him into the stall with you, kicking it shut, his back falling upon the cool, doodle littered metal. He hisses, a fuck being spat into the air. You’re trembling into your ragged breathing, vest rippling with the waves of your heaving breasts. You look at him from beneath your lashes, fluttering, sucking with purpose on his thumb.

His cock swells instantly, straining uncomfortably against the zipper of his light blue Levi’s. It hits him then, what you have wanted. Or rather, who. He feels a possessive pull that’s stronger than gravity, polluting every bit of air that enters his lungs. His arm wraps around your lower back and his forearm jostles a chill down your spine.

You make room and claw your vest off, letting the cheap polyester hit the tile floor, helping yourself to his arm around you, bending to having his palm splay along your tailbone, caressing, moving upwards seconds later. Your hand untangles from the now wrinkled fabric of his shirt and moves to your jeans, pushing and twisting, getting them to a place where they drift down your hips and pool around your knees. Your panties are next, so sticky and hot between your thighs that it strings from you to glistening fabric, Steve’s mouth watering.

“Dammit, honey. How long have you been like this for?”

You’re panting, whimpering, his light kneading in your tense muscles, finding him eventually cupping your neck with a heavy and large palm, fingers tickling your jugular. Your pulse is thumping sporadically beneath his touch, he notes with fascination.

“All day.” You reveal. “Because of you and these.” You say full out, tongue lolling out and licking another one of his fingers into your mouth — salty and all Steve.

Those carmel colored brows, they rise into a question. You nod once more. “Please?”

Steve dips in, drops his wrist to nudge the meat of your thighs further apart, and he swipes a finger through the soaked seam of you, collecting what he can, rubbing along the rim of muscle that keeps your beautiful inside from him — pushing it when you begin to shake and plead. Your whispering praises and thank yous, ready to worship at the temple of Steve Harrington. He adds a third finger to your mouth and thrusts, wiggling them along the wetness, marveling at how it pools in the creases where your lips meet your cheeks.

“Like that?” He draws out a gruff groan, tossed about by the electric force and your perfect lips closing around his fingers, sucking him like it’s his dick and the world is about to end.

You give him that look, and that familiar adrenaline finds its way to the surface and screams, taking you and Steve within its clutches. He’s smirking at your mumbling around him, a pathetic but purely diabolical sight. He’s so hard it hurts to move, knees bumping yours, and your body pliant and fucking yourself on his hand, your lips spread apart and scattering your cream across his palm each time you push back down against him, arching to help nudge his fingers into a deeper crook. You grip his wrist bone and tap, tracing those veins, and you finalize by digging your nails into his forearm. He retaliates and holds on the back of your tongue, making you sputter and choke, spit dribbling out and squishing around his knuckles.

“Yeah, gag on it. Fuck, you’re about to cum already, do you feel it?”

And you do come, seconds later, licking and biting at Steve’s fingers, squeezing his arm and practically humping his hand until it subsides. Your head is spinning when you touch back to planet earth, Steve shaking and folding in on you, his sticky fingers falling from your pussy, the softest noise coming out of his throat and barreling past his lips.

“Holy shit…” you look right at his crotch in time to see the denim darken with his load.

He finds your neck and kisses, returning cute and shyly, his own hand leaving your mouth, pruned and sated.

“I can’t believe I just got off in my pants. Christ, honey. You’re fucking ridiculous today.”

Steve-speak. All dopey and cheesy, uncaring that he busted like a horny teenager. But you didn’t care either, so he didn’t feel the need to be ashamed.

Whilst he helps you readjust your clothing, a shrill voice sounds from the other side of the room.

“You better wash your hands,” Robin yells.

You’re sheepish, wincing, but Steve… he winks at you and slides his still—wet fingers into his mouth, making a nice show of cleaning them, looking proud once he finishes, responding with a vocal, “They’re clean, doofus.” And he leans in towards you, an afterthought, your noses brushing, as he whispers lowly, “Just gotta run home and change my pants now.”

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crow-raven-crow · 8 months

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𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐌𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞

Larissa Weems x Avian f!reader next chapter | series page | masterlist words: ~3.4k 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: some fluff, slight nsfw, ANGST, arguments, acting on anger/emotion, betrayal, hurt/no comfort, description of crying, anxiety, snapping, dread

AO3 link in titles above

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭: There was always much love to go around when it came to you and your favorite principal - you were always found not far from one another when your relationship started to bloom just months prior. The fondness you had for each other was thrown into the depths only to be built back up time and time again, but maybe there was a fall that you wouldn't be able to come back from. With a new monster on the loose and higher stress levels coming into play, is the bond you have with the woman strong enough to make it out alive? Will you continue to move with the forces or will you say hello to death in the process?

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After a late night call interrupting your routine with Larissa, wild theories and backstabbing thoughts started to rise, filling one of you with sickening worry while the other carried on to protect her reputation. In the months you had been together, things never got too bad.. but sometimes there is a thought that can echo in ones head that goes too far to come back from, carving itself into every waking moment of ones life, until it finally bursts and makes itself known.

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

You cozied yourself under the thick blankets that littered the couch as you closed your eyes and took in the warmth the roaring flames provided you. The lights danced with each other, casting the office in a celebration of golds and oranges while the wood crackled and popped at the heat it was being kissed with.

You took a few moments to expose and stretch out your dark wings, loving the pull of each tendon as the golden light met the large wingspan of each and every feather. You enjoyed these kind of moments you spent in your lovers office, all your walls crumbling and every part of your being allowed to be out in the open, though your other form had yet to come out. You adored that this was a home in which others could learn and welcome themselves in a good light just as you could.

Nevermore Academy was your home for quite some time now, years of being the potions teacher had its perks. Being able to see young ones turn into older teens and getting to know the other professors around the school made it so you could create a family of your own - a family in which turned into a main two a few months ago.

Your love, Larissa Weems, was nothing less than regal. Her stature ran tall, but it didn't stop her from wearing heels which you oh so adored, her hair always was pulled up into an intricate up-do, her signature red lip turning into a smirk whenever you came into view, and her soul was one of the kindest, most passionate ones you'd ever seen. She never failed to put her entire being into her work, something you admired and tried to do yourself, and it always came out to perfection, even if there were some events that had a few mishaps.

The qualifications you had on your application made you an easy hire - your expertise and references coming from several areas around the world that you had stopped at during your travels. The knowledge you had was vast because of this - being able to fly in every which direction and pick up shop whenever you felt like it was freeing as a young adult, though as time began to show its mark, the urge to settle down grew more and more. So you found yourself applying to the outcast school, loving both the scenery and the promises it had to offer, and moved in soon after, giving your students a story from your travels along with every potion you brewed for them.

The amount of knowledge you had caught the tall blondes eye from the start, your interview running into comfortable conversation about the things you knew and how you came to know them. It was easy to talk to the woman, and, as each meeting or run in you had with her grew longer, you couldn't help but find yourself falling for the sapphire goddess that was your boss. Thankfully, after and all too late night where emotions came into play, you found your feelings were returned, and a beautiful romance took its first steps into forever.

Both of you had since made it routine to retire in her office at the end of the week, you waiting patiently for her to get ahead on her work so she could spend all weekend with you without a worry. The thought warmed your heart as you heard her faint typing come to a stop, the sound of her laptop shutting following right behind it. The droplets of rain pattering on the window filled the room as the cold tried it's best to seep in through the glass, though failing after you had compiled garments of warmth that you two would use as armor.

Quiet steps stopped right behind you on the other side of the sofa, before gentle hands ran a featherlight touch over the marginal coverts of the wings that protruded from your shoulder blades, causing a shiver to course through your body and a blissful hum to leave your lips. Arms wrapped around your neck as soft lips met one of your shoulders, your head moving to the side to give your love more access as the kisses continued.

"I've finished, my darling," she whispered, the beautiful accent penetrating your ears as your lips turned into a smile. "I'm all yours for the rest of the weekend."

"I quite like the sound of that.." You replied as you watched her round the couch, kicking her heels off before cuddling into your embrace. You wrapped the thick blanket around her as she nuzzled into your chest, littering small kisses along your neck, before you enclosed her with your wings, wrapping the beauty in a warm, protective hold.

The woman before you had been through a lot, to say the least, so one of the main things you tried to provide her during the course of your relationship was the feeling of safety. After her admission of being fascinated by your wings, you decided to never hide them around her, instead allowing her to use them as a blanket of safety from the outside world as she settled and let every muscle slowly contract and relax into your embrace.

Her small kisses traced up your neck and along your jaw, her hands making themselves known at your waist after squeezing there gently. She moved her face closer to yours causing your hands to land on her shoulders, before her lips met yours.

The kiss was slow and just as electrifying as all the ones that came before this one. Her lips moved in tandem with yours as her warm tongue swiped over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. She took her time exploring your mouth as though it was the first time she had done so. If there was something you adored about your relationship, it's that the flame that was there from the beginning never died out, only growing and evolving to fit the world it belonged in.

You wrapped a hand to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss and making your lover whimper at the contact. Her cold fingertips met the warm expanse of your stomach as she moved her touch under your sweater. You whimpered slightly, the icy touch contrasting the heat of the refuge you built for the two of you and creating goosebumps in their wake.

She broke the kiss, plump lips pressing down your neck and meeting your pulse point. The sound of your heavy breaths ran soft around you as she left a deep, purple mark on your skin, swiping her tongue over it in a sense of pride.

"Riss.. please.." you whispered, pure want dripping from your voice as your eyes met pools of blue. Just as things started to escalate, her office phone rang, blaring the ringtone in the room that was near quiet just moments before.

With a frustrated growl against your neck, she slowly began to detach herself from your grasp. Your wings uncovered her slowly, being sure not to knock anything over in the process of spreading them out as a weak smile appeared on your lips. You sat up, following her movements, and kissed her lips once more, though quick.

"It's okay, my love.." you said softly, watching her move to her desk. "I'll be right here when you finish."

She nodded softly before picking up the phone, raising it to her ear while shooting you an apologetic smile. You'd been looking forward to this for the past few days, but you understood the importance of her job and knew the effort she had to put in to keep this school running. Her emotions soon faded away as her mask of professionalism took over her being, displaying the Principal Weems that ran the entirety of the school.

"Weems.. yes.. oh-" You were only able to hear her end of the conversation, but whatever was told to her on the other line made her gasp and her expression fill with horror. She looked at you for a moment, regret polling in her iris'. There was a trace of something else found there, something you couldn't quite read as it was steeled over quickly. You watched her look around the room, mentally gathering all of her things before preparing to leave. She muttered a few words before placing the phone back down.

"A students been attacked.." Your body filled with adrenaline with her statement as you shot up to your feet. "They found her in the woods and said she'd been there no longer than 40 minutes.. She's recovering, and she's giving her statement and description of what attacked her as we speak.. I'm sorry, darling, but I have to go.."

You watched as she paced around the room, hurriedly putting on her coat and grabbing a student file from the filing cabinet before running back towards you to put on her heels.

"Please stay here and alert the other teachers - they have to know what's going on, and I'll update you with any information I receive.. As of right now, the entirety of Nevermore Academy is on lockdown.."

She gave you a quick kiss, looking over you one last time, before leaving her office and rushing to the hospital to meet the recovering student. You followed after her, though splitting ways to go towards the teachers hall to alert the staff and help gather any student that was found outside the building.

Over the span of two weeks, Weems had successfully thrown herself at anything calling for her attention - meetings, emails, projects, phone calls.. they were all back to back for the woman as she buried herself into her work. The attacks kept happening, the descriptions all pointing to the same entity.

It ran large and had the sharpest claws that anyone had ever seen - so sharp that the pain didn't make itself known until moments after, easily slicing through the flesh of any. It moved in the shadows, barely making a sound as it caught each victim off guard. The smell was compared to something burnt, making anyones eyes tear up at its mere presence alone. Each incident was growing worse as the monster was still on the loose. The more incidents that happened, the less likely it was for you to see Larissa..

It took yourself a lot of convincing to blind yourself into thinking she was okay, leaving her meals and reminding her of breaks so she wouldn't over work herself - a feat that was growing impossible as the days passed. At first, everything was taken in good thanks, but, after a while, it had become radio silent on the blondes end. You wouldn't give up.. though, a part of you didn't want to become a bother to the tall blonde..

These were all signs of.. something, surely. Of which, though, you didn't quite know and couldn't bring yourself to look into for too long. In your time spent at Nevermore, you noticed she only really did this around events - trying to make sure that everything was perfect for all students and staff - but there wasn't anything coming up on the calendar, and you only assumed it was to uphold the safety and reputation the academy had.

You had your good moments still, yes, but it was as though those were starting to fizzle away.. You loved the woman but had yet to tell her - your plans to do so being interrupted by the phone call that started this downhill spiral. You fiddled with the promise rings you planned to give her in your pocket, the matching set being custom made to fit the personality of the both of you. Maybe this would be a step in the right direction, another step towards letting her know that not all of this had to be on her shoulders alone..

or.. at least, that's how you hoped it would've gone…

"Not everything can be fixed so quickly with a small act, okay? It's not getting easier around here, especially with you around." Her voice ran strong and tired, the hours upon hours she had spent at her desk working making themselves known. You could see it in her eyes, behind the flame that burned with anger and.. hatred..

"What's that supposed to mean..?" You asked weakly, her words digging into all the right spots. You were going to talk about how you were feeling after checking in on the blonde, only to be met with nothing in return when your presence filled the room.

"It means that you've done nothing but distract me of everything that calls for my attention, it means that I have let myself become weak and blind to what is right in front of me, it means that you…" She stood from her seat, looming over you as pure disgust radiated from her being. ".. are an issue. An issue that I plan to get rid of.."

The anger was apparent in her features, in her eyes, seeing this side of her was something you never dreamed of.. so being on the receiving end? It hurt more than you were even able to begin to describe.. Her words being thrown at you with that specific look in her eyes were worse than any punishment hell could've thrown your way, you were sure of that now..

"You're a monster that has been causing more issues than I can handle."

oh..

You never knew words could hurt so much, the pain that emitted from your heart was enough to destroy your life and every atom your being contained, running through your veins like sharp metal, cutting your body up from the inside out, causing your functions to fail and rendering you unable to move from your spot as you looked up at her from the other side of her desk..

"Y-You.. you don't mean that-" you mustered out before being overpowered by the voice before you.

"You thought I wouldn't notice?" Larissa's voice boomed throughout the room, leaving no entry for her heart to come into play. "You keep running off in every which direction - you're good at that, you know.. running. Only to come back to me as a distraction form it all.. I can see through you now, Professor.. and I do not like what I see. We're done. Now, get out of my sight."

Her words hit you like a poison, grabbing onto and pulling out everything you had told her about yourself and turning it into items that carved a deep hole in your chest.

Somewhere along the beginning of her rant, your throat felt as thought it was closing in on itself, the familiar burn of raw emotion and dread clawing its way up from your heart to settle there. Your eyes, with tears threatening to fall, burned, just as your veins did, a tired, yet deadly flame coursing through them.

"You know what?" You finally snapped, tears spilling from your eyes out of anger, as you tried to give the blonde at lease a glimpse of your emotions, your sorrow, your heartbreak, your longing, your care..

your love..

"I don't care that you are the principal of this school, but I'd like to consider myself a big part of it as well. And, whether you like it or not, that means interacting with and protecting YOU - even when you let your emotions get the better of you, even when you let these crazy theories run your actions. You have denied yourself of everything good in your life and I thought that maybe, just maybe, that I could be something to change that, to be someone that could be let behind those sturdy walls you keep up…"

Things were going well until that phone call.. that dreaded phone call that sent everything in your reach on a downwards spiral. You loved her, so much so that the emotion rippled throughout your entire being at just the mere thought of it alone.. It pained you to see how quickly things had changed..

"Good to know I've waisted my time, Principal Weems." You say her name as though it's venom on your tongue, the blunt force of her words digging their claws into your skin deep enough that your words flooded out in pain, heartbreak, betrayal..

"But that doesn't matter. Just as you've said that you're trying to protect your Nevermore family, I was trying to do the same.. But I'm done being played with.. I really like you, ya know… I came here to give you an evening you could savor again, to tell you just how much I love you, Larissa. …But it seems as though your can't get it through your head to see that."

You took a moment to let your words sink in, to let them settle in the blondes mind like an image she would never forget.

For a moment, the feeling of dread washed over the older woman. Had she made a mistake? No, surely, she was right.. Everything had lined up to this, and this moment was something that was unavoidable.. but the feeling wouldn't go away.. Her eyes steadied themselves on your figure, taking you in one more time. It stung her heart that even after she had said those things to you, seeing you with tears falling from your eyes, your shoulders tense, your wings hidden, that she still loved you.. that there was still an ounce of love reflected back at her as she looked into your eyes..

You reached into your pocket, pulling the rings into the palm of your hand, giving them one last glance over. The rings were perfect for the two of you.. Dark feathers and sapphire blue crystals concealed in resin as they embraced each other in a piece stuck in time.. One aspect from each of you that fit together so perfectly as they swirled in the next step you were going to take towards forever..

You threw the rings at her, your heart leaving your chest and breaking as they clattered on her desk and rolled to the floor. You gave her no time to think, watching her wide eyed stare as the rings fell to her feet, your next words springing her back into the reality of the situation.

"Don't expect to see me anytime soon." The pain that was etched into the words you spoke was hard to miss. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at the woman as you made your way to the door, pure shock running through you still at the fact that the word 'monster' even left her mouth, that it was directed towards you..

Whether this killed you or not, it seemed as though you meant nothing to the woman.. Your heart ached in what ifs.. For what was supposed to be a lovely, though also anxious, reason to see Larissa.. had only turned sour, leaving a cavernous hole in your chest and a stream of hot tears pouring from your eyes..

You paused for a moment when your hand touched the door handle, still drawn to the woman who had crushed you, still hoping for the one that had captured your heart to say anything to make you stay, to turn around and run to her..

but nothing came..

Your body moved without thought as you walked through the doorway, the only need being to get as far from the woman as possible, to save yourself from your heart breaking anymore than it already had, to save yourself from turning around and giving her every piece of your mind, to save yourself from explaining how you weren't a monster…

As the door clicked behind you, an emptiness filled your heart, locking it up behind the cage you had kept on it for years before this, building up the walls stronger than they ever were before..

When you finally moved, your being a husk of what it once was, you went off to do what you did best:

You ran..

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: Evey… if/when you read this.. i am so sorry HAAHAH. This hurt SO MUCH to write but i neeeedddeeedd itttttt

welcome to my new series ! It's called Monster due to this chapter alone but there are other forms of inner monsters coming ahead. This series is angst heavy, so i understand if there are some of you that don't want to read it LMAO. there are good things, including the ending, but that's far ahead.

i use the term Avian at the top - it refers to a being that has the characteristics of and/or the ability to change into a bird. I have a post going up soon after this that explains some anatomy and what i think the readers features are like. ill link to it HERE a bit after this gets posted

this series seems like its going to be around 4 chapters, more of less.. let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters either in the comments or my DMs - same goes for being added to my "all works" taglist :)

i hope you enjoyed this chapter and are excited for whats to come eheh

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐯𝐲𝐧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

tags: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

@eveymay @finnja555 @barbarasstar

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #principal weems x reader #principal larissa weems #principal larissa weems x reader #monster #monster series #crowravencrow #larissa weems x you #larissa weems x y/n #fanfiction #fanfic #wednesday

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months

Note

Not per se a prompt or something but I NEED more shirtless guitar Eddie pretty please <3

Say less babeyyyyy

Eddie had a bit of a thing for attention, Steve was used to it. He loved it, even when it was negative attention.

But the positive attention was even more welcome.

When he performed with Corroded Coffin at a new bar a few towns over, he decided to take off his shirt.

The crowd went wild.

And then Eddie went wild.

It became his signature move.

Every show people cheered for him to take off his shirt.

He always did.

Steve always loved seeing his boyfriend shirtless, he just didn’t like anyone else seeing him shirtless.

He was jealous and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

Especially when he was crowded by hot girls (and guys) after every show, practically on their knees begging for his attention.

It’s not that he thought Eddie would do anything, he knew he wouldn’t.

He knew Eddie loved him, would come find him at the end of the night and work out his adrenaline in the best ways with Steve.

But it didn’t change the fact that Steve was jealous.

Especially when they played at the queer bar in Indy.

Every guy in the place, even the ones who came with a date, threw themselves at him.

Steve has to watch Eddie flirt just enough to keep them interested in the band, but not enough for them to actually latch onto him.

Eddie took his shirt off during the second song, sweat already beading down his chest.

His newest tattoo, a nail bat being held by a dragon, covered his side with the worst scars.

He was showing off his new nipple piercing, too.

He was possibly the hottest person in the country, and everyone knew it.

Steve watched the tendons in his arms flex as he played his guitar, his ab muscles tightening when he fell to his knees and leaned back through his longest solo.

Steve couldn’t blame everyone for losing their minds over him, not really.

But he made his way to the side of the stage during the last song so he could be the first with his hands on him.

Maybe he was claiming what was his, but it needed to be done.

It was safe to do that here.

As soon as Eddie was off the stage, Steve jumped into his arms, wrapping his legs around his waist.

He was dripping sweat, but he didn’t care.

He traced along his necklace, smiling down at the man he loved.

“Do you have to talk to everyone or can we go?”

“Sweetheart, you know I gotta hang around for a little bit at least.”

“But I want you.”

Whining always worked.

Eddie kissed his neck once, twice, then bit next to his collarbone.

“Just let me tell the guys.”

Steve smirked to himself as he got down and let Eddie tell the rest of the band he was heading out.

He knew Eddie would spend the next four hours edging him, fucking him on every surface of the hotel room, making him feel like his.

That’s all he wanted.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #headcanon

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anlian-aishang · 6 months

Text

Kinktober Day 14: Office Sex + Fellatio

Tags: levi ackerman x reader, smut, oral sex [him receiving], modern AU, food mention, briefly lifting reader, sub!levi, gn!reader Word count: 1600

“What are you doing here?”

Such a way with words, you snickered. Anyone else would have been struck, but you were fluent in his language and knew not to take offense. In fact, you narrowed your gaze and studied, he was happy to see you.

“Oh, you know…” sauntering towards his desk, “was in the area. Thought I’d drop by.”

Signature to your sarcasm: you twirled the car keys around your finger and underhanded them to the executive. He caught them without a blink.

Levi sighed, tossed his head down, and threw you an upward glance, “I’m busy, you know.”

9 PM on a weeknight, you don’t say? “I know,” you redeemed, “and that’s why I’m here.”

From behind your back, you whipped out your surprise: a wicker picnic basket, checkered cloth and all. “Just thought you could use some dinner.”

Almost perfectly timed, the rumble of his stomach and an accompanying grimace. With the sight of you and the smell of your cooking - that pile of paperwork seemed to vanish by the second. He had not left his office for hours, but at least you could get him to take his eyes off work.

Step one, a success.

// // //

The scene was cute and wholesome, the exact opposite to your desires.

Soft music played off his dual monitors. Desk lamp and moonlight made humble substitutes to candlelight. Of all the skyscrapers and all their windows, you two were one of a handful to illuminate the city below. Everyone down there. Just the two of you here.

You could tell things were bad even though you had hardly been listening. Truthfully, that was how you could tell. Levi had continued to ramble despite the fact that you had zoned out in daydream. Normally, he was so in touch with your presence, but his work had become his world recently: dimming his vision, drifting clouds in front of you.

Worse than I thought.

There were pros to every con, you supposed, watching his emotions unfurl. Teeth grit in frustration added friction to his voice. Strained tendons in his neck illustrated the pent-up pressure. Fingers had run relays through his hair: half his strands gelled-back, half in rebellion. “Oh…” a contended sight slipped out, Levi mistook it for affirmation and continued on his vent.

His voice had been oscillating: lowest curses to spurts of fanaticism. Anger singed his words, and though you knew you were free of fault, you felt inexplicably nervous - even more inexplicably turned on. You pinched your thigh, get a grip.

Get a grip of what? His collar: tie loosened underneath, a leash begging to be yanked. Angular wrists: sleeves rolled-up, forearms flexed with each point of emphasis. Of that length: pressed taut against his slacks, as emotion grew more and more intense, less and less was left to the imagination.

It was then that your imagination began to wander, composure began to waver. Chills ran down your spine, culminating in warmth that spilled onto your cotton stretch. You had finished your dinner, but the salivation had not stopped - craving a taste that lay only in him.

“You know, Levi…” you looked to him and grinned, “I brought you dinner, you had your vent, but I’m not sure it’s helping.”

Lips parted in insistence - no, this has been helping - but you cut him off: index finger made cross with his line. “But don’t worry, baby.” Hands on his shoulders, you leveraged yourself lower and lower, “I know one thing that’ll help.”

On your knees, between his legs, you watched his brows rise among other things. Steel eyes snapped to his office door in assessment: you had locked it, and the hall just past was dark. Everyone had gone home, and anyone who hadn’t couldn’t get in. The corner of his lip twitched, a debate within himself, Levi looked to you, pleading for a push towards the right direction, “You - You don’t have to…”

“No, Levi…” you palmed the bulge of his slacks, “I want to.”

A shaky exhale rained down from your lover as he pet the top of your head in consent, “Okay, just don’t be too loud.”

You tucked your head down and concealed a laugh, was that advice for me or you? Didn’t he know? He was the loud one. Already, as you snuck your fingers beneath the folds of his cloth, pinched the zipper, and unfastened the button, his breaths were becoming audible. His leather chair creaked as you pushed its occupant by a palm to his chest. Lean back. “Relax,” a commanding invitation, fingernails scratched his V as you tugged his waistband down. Lips whispered against his erection and signed off with a smile, “I’ll take you from here.”

Levi tsked his head to the side, but the gesture did not fool you. So seemingly, perpetually above it all, you considered this his last stand after a week of playing the stone-cold salaryman. Undressing him now was not merely physical. When with you, he could be his true self - vulnerable and indulgent in everything from midnight talks to sex in his office. Having had to shroud himself in that robe for so long, you sighed against his skin, “Poor little thing.”

A single shake of his head was less than convincing, but indicated his denial. Not a poor little thing! “It’s just…” a slow roll of his back, “...been a while.”

“Yeah,” the back of your teeth grazed the top of his shaft, “I can tell.” Blood had not trickled, but had surged down his abdomen. Veins stood in his length - evidence of its flow. His salt had washed out the taste of your dinner, over your dessert, you hummed in satisfaction.

Perhaps more than he needed this - you needed this. Sure, he had stocked you with plenty of toys for times he was absent or present, but nothing could replicate this: the quaking of his thighs, the trembles of his hold, his warmth against your tongue, or the whimpers that accompanied them. Around his girth, you formed a smile. “You’re so cute, you know that?”

“Shut u- ngh!” Cut off by the swirl of your tongue around his tip. Immediately, it overflowed again. His faucet no longer an occasional drip, but a steady leak.

Composure approached minimum, his length reached for its maximum. You choked on the combination of his precum and size, cruelly inciting an increase in both. Calloused hands cupped the back of your neck, “god’damn…!” His tone begged for mercy, though his pull of your head further down him forced the opposite.

Peeking one eye open, you gazed upon your recipient. His chest rattled with half-breaths. Sweat had enveloped his features, highlighting his red glow even in the pitch-black night. His collar had been unbuttoned, his tie loosened. Another night, you might toss him a slap and ask him when he had obtained permission for that - but he had already worked enough for this reward. At least, one of you was convinced of that.

As he was about to cum, Levi suddenly drew his hips back. Fingers clutched his armrests, shaking in resistance. “W’Wait…” he whined, “I want… I want to…”

You already knew, he wanted to please you. It was practically an oath of his: not to give in until you had enjoyed yourself. “And fuck,” Levi sighed, you hadn’t even undressed yet.

The seconds-before-climax expression threatened to fade. Instead of chasing release, he tried to ground himself. Soled shoes heeled into the floor. Throat clears worked to erase the husk of his voice. Halfway through free-fall, he had grabbed hold of a jutting cliff and was trying to pull himself back up. For you.

Lovingly, completely selflessly, you rejected his efforts: stomping your heel on his hold, forcing him to let go. Fast enough to snap his eyes open, tight enough to make him scream, you gripped his cock and jerked his tip to your lips, hissing against him, “Enough bitching, Levi. Hit the back of my throat, already.”

You should have known better - than to think you could get away with just giving him something. Selfless to a fault he was - not even able to accept his own orgasm unless you demanded it. Your demands, though, he was tireless to fulfill. Once you spun your words, spun the scene, to make this for your benefit, only then did he finally let himself indulge for the first time all week.

Zagged scratches down your shoulder blades, weakly beckoning you closer. Brows knit in determination, harsh gasps in his efforts. “That’s it. That’s it, Levi…” you cooed, “such a good boy.”

But your praise was drowned out by his relishing of it. Behind eyes squeezed shut, he felt tears begin to sting. How good you made him feel was beyond words, evidenced by his incomprehensible cries - syllables strung together. His voice was an immaculate blend of exhaustion and energy: the former struck lightning to a thunderous latter.

White shirt clung to his abdomen, outlining his muscles as they rippled with pleasure. The empty penthouse echoed his shameful sounds, forcing him to face his weakness and turning his blush brighter because of it. Passion expelled wholly in your mouth - you dared not spill one drop in the clean freak’s office.

A cocky look dawned on your face, having made a quarter’s worth of his reports disappear with your mouth alone, the upperhand you held over the corporate manager. You had played this scene out many times in your head, you smirked with how accurate your predictions had been.

But it was his turn to surprise you now: Levi grabbed you by your collar, lifted you out from underneath his desk, and slung you like a sack. His sleeve swiped everything off his desk - mountains of papers to mouse and keyboard - until you were the only thing left. Levi bent over and pressed his full front to your body. Fingers to your middle and mouth to your neck, between bites, he muttered, “There’s still plenty of work to be done.”

Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #levi x you #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #kinktober year 3 #smut #specials #anlian writes #my writing #alias's

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thackeroy · 6 months

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These are my second attempt at knitting socks, I used the Hermione’s Everyday Sock pattern, it’s a very popular free pattern which uses misaligned knit and purls to create a texture along with a modified eye of partridge heel flap and gusset. I used West Yorkshire Spinners Signature 4-ply yarn in the Wood Pigeon colourway, hence why I call them my ‘pigeon socks’.

I took what I’d learned from my first pair of socks, which I had treated as a study and chance to experiment with how socks are made, and implemented it in these, mainly that I prefer DPN’s. Though I did take a risk on the second sock and tried out a pair of mini circs, I HATED them, I have a hypermobile disorder along with chronic tendonitis, I live in compression gloves as a result to manage the pain, the mini circs were so painful, it messed up my tension along with making the process less enjoyable and as a result I didn’t realise I’d messed up the pattern which is what you can see on the left sock in the image above, the one on the right has the correct texture. But despite that mess up I still love these socks and plan on knitting a pair using each of the bird themed yarns from West Yorkshire Spinners using different patterns.

#project || pigeon socks #knitting #my content #knitblr #craftblr #knit #knitter #knitted socks #handmade #hand made #socks #hand knitted socks #fibre #fibrearts #fibre arts #craft #crafting

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virtualgirlafterdark · 1 month

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It's been eight months since the process began.

Hard to recognize you now. Does anyone detect the flesh that trembles and aches underneath that frame? Not that it matters anymore.

I remember those early days. Bright faced and full of ambition, proudly strutting around campus. The long winded conferences and discussions on transhumanism. That passion in your eyes, I thought you were committed to something greater- Until I glanced the way you crossed your legs, squirmed as they showed the new developments.

I remember how you stared at the videos, watching the procedures- The way the implants bore into the marrow, the way the skin wept as each pin and screw tore into bone. How somber you would seem when gentler methods were proposed. Don't think it went unnoticed.

Eight months ago, you and your friends. Small group of stoners, burnouts, the odd postdoc. Late night drinking after labwork, the way your leg bounced as they announced their discoveries, we mused on our own ideas. You weren't as drunk as you pretended to be when you volunteered to be our subject.

Do you remember the first time? They say you never forget. We didn't have any anesthetic on hand, but you were so brave. Tried to play your ache as bravado, but the way you thrashed as we splayed apart those fingers. The little pool forming between your legs. A few RFID chips, a few wire inlays over your tendons- An experiment in artificially produced muscle memory. I knew before you got off that table that you wanted more. And I craved to give it to you.

Wasn't long before you came to us. What seemed to the rest of us like some fleeting stunt became a vocation. A laundry list of modifications, dozens of academic papers, speculative technologies, little-known materials and decade-old experimental surgeries. You'd been compiling this for a while. Tell me, reading those papers, did you get off then? It's almost sick, really.

Of course, we obliged. Garage skinweaving, drinking beer and passing blunts as we worked our way up your arm. A new interface now. This time aimed at generalized gesture control and interface with the bots your RFID chips were paired with. The spinal implants came next. The way you thrashed in the stirrups, arching as we flayed you. The little spurts dripping with each shot of the airgun, pushing the electrodes deep into your vertebra.

Bit by bit, your little project continued to escalate. I remember when they first started getting reservations. The way our eyes met every time you were on my table, how it was always *me* that you tried to grab- High as we often were, eventually it was transparent. You're not a good actor, little bot. I tried to preserve some of that modesty you'd forgotten, cover your little messes when and where I could. Besides, in the swirl of blood and bile, it would have been hard to detect your little indulgences.

It was Kari that left first. Do you remember her? She was your best friend. You'd talk for hours, known each other since childhood. Chose the same college. She still comes to visit sometimes. Pleading for you to remember. She always leaves in tears, and I always taunt her, saying that perhaps if she'd stayed things wouldn't have gone this far. She wants to avenge you so, so desperately, but it's all there on paper. Your signature, clear as day, forfeiting yourself as medical surplus. No longer a person, just a collection of spare parts and playthings, to be molded and shaped by inquisitive minds like your own.

I remember, winter break. We were having drinks when you shoved the phone in my face. Some new bipedal bot, clunky and barely humanoid.

"That."

"What?"

"I want- I want to be that. I want to be... her."

The tone at the table shifted. They looked at me, nervously, waiting to see my answer. Sheepishly sipping drinks, awkward laughter. Just another drunken fit. Your little stunts actually got Nathan clean. If nothing else, you served as a model of what happens to the intoxicated and ambitious. The distant stare you began to develop, datastreams and wave feeds jacked directly into your occipital. Tasting and hearing the sounds of people's lives, dreams, questions. Overstimulating, wasn't it? Shopping lists, vent posts, horny lewds, murder, live death, news, letters to fucking Santa- It was so cute watching you bump into things at first. The way you'd dribble a bit, staring off into space as the unseen world filled your new sensors.

I remember when I had to revoke your driving privileges. Driving behind a few smart cars, the way you began to breathe. Tailgating, chasing them like a dog before landing us in a ditch. Everyone was so shaken, but all I could do was laugh. You were so upset, but I sat with you until the truck came. The last straw for Nora, unfortunately. But not for me.

Every month, something new. Our little heaven, our iron paradise, dingy dorm turned operating theater. The equipment you and I cobbled together, stitching new devices and instruments capable of keeping up with your ever changing body. A garden singing with the hum of machines and the rhythm of pumps. The scent of blood, whiskey, and sex perfumed the air.

The few that remained had become desensitized. Stopped seeing you as a friend and just another project to help get by. A few voyeuristic volunteers chipped in, eager to see the former prodigy wired in the dorms. Some didn't believe you could have ever been human. Just some elaborate puppet, dangling like a Shibari angel. Some thought it gruesome when they saw the entrails, but I could only ever see the beauty of a work in progress. They saw the now, but I shared your vision. I saw what you were becoming, what we were making. We even started charging admissions for some of the other students. Our little sideshow, showing off an unfinished art too bold for the public eye- Or perhaps a coveted sculpture, prized by mine hands and my hands alone.

I helped you drink and eat for a while. Tethered to life support, you couldn't move much. I set up a cot next to you, so you could always get me when you needed. Sometimes I laid underneath you, head resting gently against what soft tissue remained. I'd always pretend to sleep when you struggled in your bonds, trying to grind against me, loosen your wrists enough to touch me. You tried to be so quiet. But I had learned your new quirks, the particular hum of your fans, the little stutter when your auxiliary coolant pump started kicking in. Learning your new speech. The way you sang.

I remember the new legs. You weren't stable yet. We had to put you through your paces. Watching old Boston Dynamics videos, I came up with ideas. Proudly taking you to parks and bars, inviting strangers and passers by to kick you, beat you, try and break you. You disappointed a few times, but the fault wasn't yours really. I hadn't made you strong enough yet. The way you gagged in shock when your leg bent backwards, metal splitting and oozing an inky black. I ran you home, carried you in my arms to the car.

Soon you were able to take it. The people came, spitting, and beating, and breaking you. And every time, you got back up. You were even polite about it, thanked them for their contribution to improving your durability features. You felt slutty every time, and I loved seeing it on your face.

I was so proud.

Do you remember it? Somewhere in there. The way you invited me into your body, tasting me, feeling me one last time before you surrendered. It was a tearful afterglow, but I remember the warmth of those now-cold cheeks- The salt of your sweat and tears on my lips as I brushed what hair remained to the side. It was going to be okay.

You screamed as we began. My hand and it's tools whirring inside of you, peeling you apart, tearing out the organs you no longer needed. The blood spilling from your lips, choking on yourself as I kissed you. The way your eyes fluttered, slowly losing yourself. I felt you quiver around my arm, pulsing and contracting as you came. I couldn't help but taste it. Biting the soft of your stomach, the last pieces of you I would be forevermore deprived of once your vision reached it's fruition.

I cried when it was done. All the reservations, all the pain, all the shame I felt finally bubbled forth. I had given you what you wanted. Always. But could I take this next step? Could I honor your wishes? Could I bring myself further?

I couldn't disappoint you. Now now. You had trusted me, and time was running then. You weren't going to die on my table. I set to work, unaided, frantically tearing away that head and suspending it in the biogel. I preserved as much of the corpus collosum as I could, rigging up the pumps and neural adapters to keep you sentient, alive, well. Oxygenators, artificial spinal fluid, new filtration to remove waste pooling under the dura mater, needles to regulate myelin levels and neuron interactions, artificial stimuli to remind you, somewhere in that buried well of consciousness, I was still out here. Still working, toiling, for you. I hadn't broken your trust yet. I kept your skull.

New eyes. A unique biomechanical composite detector, largely proteins with a few living components nestled between wafers of biofilm, borrowing inspiration from the ogre-faced spider. New teeth, metallic and sharp, predatory and pure. A new voicebox, synthetic polymer tendons vibrating like a larynx- The voice you always wanted. I hope to hear it sing.

Its been nine days since you came online. I haven't heard much from you. You drool and drone, carrying on. I catch you exploring your new body sometimes. It's a sight to behold.

Maybe this is what you wanted. To be some little toy, a chirping little pet. A marvel of engineering and science, an erotic sculpture of silicon and synthetic divinity.

But sometimes, I miss her. The girl who spoke for hours, hands dancing over the keyboard writing code and huffing at smut. The walks we took, the long academic discussions. I look at her now, hardly recognizable, but I'm so proud. I stifle my own yearning and appreciate what she has become. What she was always destined to be. You wanted to be broken.

And so I did.

Maybe one day, soon, the extruders will finish wiring together your neural interface. You'll come awake again, and can appreciate this new form to it's fullest.

My hand awaits you there, my love~

You always know how to make this girl blush and cry wow. I'll never be able to stop thinking about this.

#glitch.ask #virtualgirlafterdark #anonymous #cw: gore #surgery #empty spaces #fav

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she-is-juniper · 1 year

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temptation greets you like your naughty friend (joel miller x reader) // chapter one

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader chapter title: the arrangement summary: joel miller likes to be made to feel in control; reader like to be made to feel helpless. thus, an arrangement is born, no strings attached. but there’s more than meets the eye to this gruff survivor.... This story takes place in the Boston QZ roughly 10 years after the outbreak begins, and Reader and Joel are business partners in the illegal smuggling trade. word count: 5K rating: E (Explicit) ***18+ only. minors DNI or you will be blocked. content/warnings: there’s a lot…. dom!Joel, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, established relationship, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his late 40s), oral s*x (f receiving), squ*rting, some degradation/humiliation but in a lighthearted way, some begging, a splash of a “sir” kink, some angst and resolution, porn with a bit of a plot, spanking, power play (all of this is consensual). Also Tess exists but she and Joel are not together a/n: ah, yes, the fanfic to end a hiatus... ♡ I recommend reading this one before bed so you can, yknow, have nice wet dreams about it while you sleep. to my long time readers/fans: hiii i missed y'all! to my new readers/fans: enjoyyy and please reach out to introduce yourself! i’m always looking to make new friends ◡̈ ((I do not claim to own the last of us or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape. And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—it’s the only form of repayment i ask for!!! thank you in advance!))

———

A hardened man like Joel Miller has a lot to offer a woman like you. Particularly in the form of desperate, mind-numbing sex.

The kind of sex that makes you forget your own name. Makes you forget the sting of whatever injuries you’d suffered this week at the hands of thugs and hunters. Not to mention, makes you forget, even if just for an hour or two, the fact that you’re living in the aftermath of the apocalypse in a world savaged by infected monsters.

That’s the kind of sex you and Joel both crave. The kind that takes away the crushing weight of repressed memories and feelings. The kind of sex where there’s nothing left to think about but the way his cock fills you up and his lips steal the breath from your lungs. The kind of sex that, after a day’s worth of decision fatigue as Tess’s right-hand woman as a contraband smuggler in the Boston QZ, you finally don’t have to make a single decision for yourself, as your pleasure is entirely in Joel’s expert hands.

Just sex, nothing else. Plain and simple. That’s the arrangement as you know it. No cuddling in bed after, no exchanging tender kisses, no talking about your feelings or any bullshit like that. Just rough, dirty sex to get your minds off the shittiness of your lives.

No shame. Everyone who’s survived the pandemic thus far has found their own unique means of self-medication. For some, it’s drugs, or alcohol, or murder. For you and Joel, it’s fucking.

As for when the encounters would take place, it depends on the day or week. Today, after a particularly shitty week for the both of you, all it takes is a mutual look shared from across the room in the rations distribution center.

You’re near the front of the rations line when you spot him coming in toward the back. Joel surveys the crowded hall, the line of his brows furrowed into his signature harsh scowl. You meet the man’s gaze with glassy eyes of your own. In that moment you swear you notice his frown soften as he looks at you, although a tendon tightens on his temple. It’s a look that confirms he’s had just as god awful a week as you had, although there’s something more there today that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You look away and sigh, wincing a little at the pain from a bruised rib that’s only just started to heal. Your injury’s pretty mild, though, and nothing compared to the state you’d left the other guy in. Oh, well. At least you got a few extra ration cards out of it, which you now hand to the FEDRA officer in exchange for a box of supplies and provisions. Mostly non-perishable food, but there’s also some medicines, toiletries, socks, soap—thank fuck, more soap.

On your way out of the hall, you meet Joel’s gaze once more. Not a word is exchanged, but with an almost imperceptible nod of his chin, you know you’ll be hearing his knock at your door at 2300 sharp. God knows you need his specific methods of distraction right now.

– – –

Three raps of his knuckles against your apartment door at 2300 exactly, and Joel’s all over you.

It happens so fast. As soon as you open the door, Joel seizes you by the arms and spins your body with his, slamming your body to the door with his own momentum to close it shut. Your sore rib burns from the impact and you hiss, “Ouch, asshole.”

“Toughen up, princess,” he growls. There’s nothing endearing about the pet name, it’s not like that. In fact, he says it almost demeaningly, which is on par for your relationship with the smuggler. But there’s a primal sort of desperation in the tone of his voice, and your arousal at that prospect spreads over your whole body and finds a home right in between your legs.

Joel’s hands wrench your arms above your head and pin them there as his mouth attacks yours, effectively muffling the surprised squeal that emits from your throat. His mouth is hot, his grown-out stubble scratching the delicate skin of your face in a delicious contrast, his breath faintly spiced from whiskey. You melt into him, arching your body into his, and a surly grunt resonates from his throat. He gathers your wrists in one hand pinned to the door and brings his free hand down to the nape of your neck, not so gently pulling at the base of your hair. He pulls away from the kiss and regards your exposed neck, where you swear he can see your pulse thumping in your throat. You wish he would kiss you there, but he holds back.

“Still on the mend?” he asks, bringing his hand down to your ribcage and barely brushing against the bruise.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Tell me if you want me to be gentler,” he says.

You almost scoff. The name “Joel Miller” and the word “gentle” don’t go together. Nothing about that man is gentle. And nothing about what you and he do together behind closed doors has ever been or will ever be gentle. Part of you wonders if Joel would rather go on home than fuck you gently.

Besides, you don’t want it to be gentle. Not one bit.

You slip one of your arms out from where he’s pinning them against the door. You grab his hand and slide it from your rib under your shirt to your breast, squeezing yourself with his palm. “I’m tougher than you think, Miller,” you purr.

It’s your way of giving him permission to do with you what he wants.

“Are you, now?” he drawls. He takes your initiative and runs with it, pinching your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, just a little at first, and then much harder. You gasp, heat flooding your lower stomach. “You think you can handle me tonight, huh, darlin’?”

You reach for his crotch, feeling the erection you know he’s probably had all night, and smile at the strained breath he releases. “Should be asking you the same question, don’t you think?” you say.

It’s a thoroughly bratty response, not to mention completely loaded, and you and Joel both seem to know it. Joel calls the shots in these encounters, not you. Which is exactly how you both like it.

Joel hitches your leg up and situates his hips in between your legs. You can feel his dick pressed against your inner thigh now. He tangles his hands in your hair and kisses you fiercely again. The only time Joel ever kisses you is before he fucks you. Never after. You’re sure that somewhere, buried deep down inside you, you secretly wish Joel would kiss you after sex, too. But that simply isn’t what this arrangement is about.

You hang onto the moment as long as possible, lacing your fingers behind his neck and pulling him even closer. His once neatly slicked back hair now mussed from your fingers, and his skin smells like firewood and soap.

Outside, the female military voice recording announcing the strict enforcement of curfew echoes through the QZ, but you and Joel barely notice. You’re lost in him, the feel of his body, the touch of his rough hands, and allow yourself to fall into the mindless, primal motions of sex.

You and Joel have done this many times over the past few months. Sometimes, when all was quiet and going relatively well in the QZ, you didn’t feel the need to visit him quite as often. But your need to see each other only increasing in frequency when things seemed to get worse… and things surely have gotten a lot fucking worse lately. FEDRA cracking down on everyday civilian freedoms. Rising animosity between the factions of smugglers within the QZ, causing many of Tess’s deals for ammo and pills going south more often than not. Firefly attacks within the city walls with no regard for innocent lives. Oh, and not to mention the ever-present problem of the growing number of infected just outside the city…

All of which to say, you and Joel have been seeing a lot of each other as of late.

Clothes fall to the floor. Joel’s new shirt that must have come with his set of provisions today, your favorite holey sweater you can’t bear to toss, his pants, your pants, shoes and socks. The next thing you know, you’re flat on your bed beneath him.

In your past life, would you have been with someone like Joel if you knew of all the bad things he’s done? Would it have overpowered the intense attraction you felt toward him, causing you to be repulsed by him? Probably then.

But not now. You don’t care what he’s done in the name of survival. You both have committed your fair share of inhumanities. But this is just how your lives turned out. Neither you nor Joel had chosen the life of smugglers, but the perseverance to survive takes over one way or another.

But none of that matters right now. All that matters is the need to eliminate any space and barrier between your hot, needy body and his.

He’s a menacing sight with his intimidatingly large muscles, the result of nearly five decades worth of manual labor, and the numerous scars peppered over his skin from countless tussles. He looms above you like a thundercloud, like a predatory cat prowling for its meal. You think to yourself how lucky you are to be on his side as an ally in your nefarious affairs—and not just an ally, but a business partner of all things. Because someone like Joel Miller would be a scary as fuck to have as an enemy.

Joel hooks his thumbs under the hems of your underwear and wastes no time to yank them down and off your legs. He pries your legs apart as far as you’ll let him, nearly drooling at the sight of you completely naked for him. You almost feel self-conscious, but you know if you try to shy away or close your legs now, it would do absolutely no good. Joel’s a very single-minded man. When he puts his mind to something, there’s absolutely no stopping him.

It always takes you aback when Joel doesn’t immediately penetrate you, especially with that glint in his eyes like the one he has now. But he never rushes that part, not even when you really wish he would. Instead, as per usual, he dips down and buries his face in your pussy.

“Joel,” you whine out his name, your body lurching—away from him? Closer toward him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that his mouth on your pussy like this feels so intense that it would be impossible not to squirm. You wonder if he does this for himself or for you. “You really don’t have to,” you manage to get out.

The look of sheer wrath he gives you…it’s as if you’d just told him you’d given away all the contraband he’d smuggled to FEDRA. “You think I only do this for you?” he rasps.

“I don’t know," you squeak out with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I know you do it every time, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel obligated—”

“Obligated?” Joel barks a laugh. “Don’t be so naive. You think I would eat your pussy if I didn’t want to?”

Wetness pooled at your core. “Fuck, Joel.”

“I wanna make you squirm first,” he growls. “Wanna make you so needy and wet for me that you don’t think about anything else.” His breath fanned out over your pussy, and you shivered, your thighs squeezing together. He pries them apart again. “You say some bullshit like that again, I’ll tie your ankles to the goddamn bedposts so you can’t even think about closing your legs. You hear me?”

Your eyes widen and your stomach flutters. Does he not know how much the idea of that turns you on? “Yes,” you croak.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl.”

He doesn’t need to tie your ankles to the bedposts when he’s got the leverage of his body weight to press your legs apart. His mouth is on you again in an instant and you gasp embarrassingly loudly, falling flat against the mattress.

He eats you out with the fervor and desperation of a parched man finding water, pressing his entire face into you as though he couldn’t possibly get close enough. Joel’s lips trap your clit in a tight suction, his tongue swirling in practiced circles in a way that makes your hairline break out in a sweat. You moan too loudly again, reaching for the nearest pillow to stifle the sound for the sake of your poor neighbors.

Just when he’s gotten into a groove, Joel releases the suction of his mouth with a pop and buries his whole face even lower, his tongue drawing a lavish line up your entrance before moving inside you, his nose pressed against your clit. He’s absolutely ravenous, and you have no semblance of control left in your body. Your legs jolt, and he presses them even further apart in response. The sparks at the pit of your stomach bloom and bloom.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” he moans into you. You moan in response, tangling your hands in his silvering hair. Baby, that one is new. Baby’s almost too sweet coming from a man like Joel’s lips. A little red flag goes up in your mind but you quickly forget all about it as he continues to lap at you.

Joel breaks away only to wet his finger with his saliva and you watch in awe as he pushes it into you. You see stars as he curls his adept middle finger up toward your belly button. You dig your nails into his arms and keen his name again.

The waves of pleasure grow and grow, like a tsunami on the horizon approaching fast and sure, and your breathing grows erratic. Joel is relentless, tireless, his lips finding your clit again, and it’s as if he knows he’s found the sweet spot, knows the exact speed and intensity to stay at to push you over the edge. His eyes close as if in total bliss, seemingly motionless, and only you as the recipient of this unholy worship could ever know just how expertly fast his tongue is moving against your clit. The combination of that with his digit curling up into you over and over breaks you of any resolve you might have had left.

You should warn him you're going to come. You have before. But you know how well he knows you now. He knows you're right on the edge. So he presses his palm to the soft part of your stomach, just below your belly button, and that does it. He knows me so goddamn well.

You come completely undone, the waves of your orgasm furiously overtaking your whole body. You arch your back and clench your walls around Joel’s finger, unable to keep from writhing in pleasure, unable to hold back the choked moans from your throat.

“That’s right, ride it out, darlin’,” Joel praises you. “Love feeling you squeeze my finger so tight. Good girl.” He sits up and watches your body come down from the high, gently coaxing about what’s left of your convulsions with his finger. But even once they subside, he doesn’t pull it out, instead continuing to curling it into you again over and over. You weren’t expecting a break—Joel never needs one, never gives one unless you ask—but you wonder how on earth you’re going to survive this. With a desperate, pleading sound, you peer up at him in disbelief.

“It’s too much,” you whimper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head furiously. Joel almost smiles at that, almost as though he knew your response already. He repositions himself so he’s propped up on his elbow beside your body, his other hand still at your slippery entrance. His finger slides in and out with each movement, the pad of his finger gliding against precisely the right place inside you. It’s a sensation only another person could satisfy in you, and you find yourself silently thanking your lucky stars that Joel knows how to do it so well. He knows your body so well after just a few months, knows exactly what you need is a break from the clitoral stimulation, yet added stimulation elsewhere.

Pressure builds in your pelvis, a different kind of pressure than before. Your jaw falls open when his tempo picks up. Joel presses his forehead to yours, sharing your breaths, before he moves to your ear and starts whispering.

“Takin’ my finger so well,” he breathes, and goosebumps erupt across your whole body. “Wanna see if you can handle another one?”

You nod breathlessly and he slides his ring finger in with the middle finger. A jolt of energy overtakes your body. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck. The last time he fingered you like this, you had completely soaked the mattress. You had luckily remembered to lay a couple of towels down under the sheets this time, just in case, but still. You’d been humiliated. You hadn’t said anything about it last time, but you knew what had happened, and you knew that he knew.

And now he’s going to make you squirt again. Which means that he likes it.

Joel sets into a relentless pace and the dreaded pressure grows and grows. “That’s my good little slut,” he growls. “Want you to let go for me, make my fingers wet.”

You can’t help it. The pressure in your core explodes. A slick wetness seeps all over Joel’s fingers and into the sheets around your hips. Joel moans into your neck. You feel yourself turning so hot you break a sweat.

“Oh god,” you moan, suddenly lightheaded, and you cover your face. You feel him wrench your hands away and he stares at you in astonishment.

“Are you…embarrassed?” he gapes.

“Yes,” you respond, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His face shifts slightly from disbelief into an almost sinister expression. “Look at you. All humiliated at the mess I made you make for me.”

The fact that he takes pleasure in your humiliation turns you on more than you’re willing to admit. “Fuck you, Joel,” you bark back, but there’s no energy left in your voice for malice.

Joel grips your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t call the shots here. If I want you to make a fuckin’ mess for me, then you will.”

If he hadn’t been manhandling you before, he’s manhandling you now, pulling your limp body into the exact position he wants: on your stomach, your thighs pressed together, your ass pointed up at him perfectly.

You realize then that he’s been touching himself for quite some time through his boxers, only now he’s sliding them off his body, revealing his dick, weeping and swollen and angry red. If you had any ounce of energy left in your body, you’d flip yourself over so you were on top and wrap your mouth around it. But he’s faster than you can replenish your energy, and in one feverish motion, he’s mounting you from behind, his dick pressed against the base of your ass.

“Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you raw into these sheets.”

You know Joel, know what he’s doing. He’s playing up the moment, building the anticipation, but he’s also gauging your consent. He’s asking your permission.

“Please,” you mewl. “Please fuck me, sir. I want you so bad.”

“Good,” he responds. “Good girl.” And then he’s plowing his dick into you.

Holy fuck. The momentum of his first thrust pushes you several inches up the bed and you cry out, inviting the mix of pain and pleasure with eagerness. He’s so much fucking bigger than his fingers, even though his fingers are nothing short of girthy themselves.

He pulls out unbearably slow, almost all the way out, until just the ridge of his head remains inside you, before he grips your hips with a fervor and thrusts back into you with a grunt. And again, and again. A rush of emotions floods through you at the feeling…among them, a sense of security, a total trust in him, the reassurance at the knowledge that Joel would stop if you told him you wanted to.

God, you don’t want him to stop.

“Mine,” he growls, gathering your arms behind your back, and your muscles burn. “You hear me? Your pussy’s fucking mine, sweetheart.”

You have no coherent response, only his name.

Joel uses your bended arms locked behind you as leverage, gripping them with desperation as he rams into you over and over again, taking what’s his. His dick feels unreal inside you, slipping in and out like it’s made for you. The position of your arms plays tricks on your mind, makes you feel trapped in the best way possible, like there’s no escape from this. Which, of course, there is an escape—the simple phrase stop, something you and Joel had agreed upon weeks prior—and yet, the false sense of helplessness is exactly what you’re going for.

And what is it for Joel that gets him going about this, you wonder briefly? Is it the false sense of control, something he’s felt devoid of in real life for years now? Is it the fact that for just one night, everything that happens will have been something that Joel had direct influence over? Did he need that catharsis of complete control as much as you needed the catharsis of being out of control? You wonder if maybe you and Joel were made to find each other in these awful, bleak times, if maybe though you fight day in and day out about business, if you were made for each other in this way.

A strange sensation along the spine of your back. It’s Joel’s lips, soft and wet along with the scratch of his beard. Juxtaposed with the unforgiving force of his hips crashing into your ass, you melt into him. He's never done that while he fucks you before. Joel releases your arms and kisses your back again, seeming to soak in the feel of your skin on his lips. He moves up to your neck, still mounted on top of you, still sliding in and out of you with a vigor, but his mouth comes to rest by your ear.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

Oh, god. That was tender. You didn’t hate it, but talk about uncharacteristic for Joel Miller. Red flag goes up again. You squash it down, not wanting to kill the moment. You reach behind and comb your fingers through his hair. “Joel, oh my god, Joel.”

Maybe it’s as if he realized he’d breached some unspoken protocol with that lapse in his tough-guy persona, but Joel seems to snap to reality. With a new intensity, he pulls out of you to draw your hips up, propping you up on your knees and elbows. A much less tender, much more primal position. He kneels behind you and brings your hips back to meet his dick again, bottoming out in one motion.

You cry out and arch your back. This new angle is intense. Tender Joel Miller is gone, at least for now. He seals that notion with a hard slap of his palm on your ass.

He fucks you hard and fast and it’s precisely what you want. Waves of desire start to ebb and flow in your pelvis once again. You wince in surprise as you feel Joel bring his head down to bite your shoulder lightly. Nope, nothing tender about this.

“Oh my god, Joel, I’m— you’re gonna make me—”

“Make you what?” Joel demands. “Make you come again, pretty girl?”

You can’t make another sound; you feel so fucked out you could only nod as he brought you closer and closer. But Joel wanted more.

“You heard me, tell me how good I make you feel,” he growled and bit down on your shoulder harder this time. “Tell me you’re gonna come all over my dick.”

Telling Joel anything would be a little hard to do considering he’s fucking you so hard you could hardly breathe let alone speak, but Joel was now hell bent on hearing you. He slaps your ass again, even harder, and your knees nearly buckle. But you manage to locate your voice.

“You feel so good,” you sob out, falling forward onto your elbows while Joel keeps a tight grip on your hips. “I'm gonna come again.”

“You want that?” Joel says in almost a sneer from behind you. “You wanna come for me again, my dirty little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, your voice hitching each time he rams into you, “please, please.”

“Love it when you beg like that for me. So desperate, it’s pitiful. Fuck,” he groans, seeming to somehow swell inside of you even more. Droplets of wetness roll down your thighs, your pleasure mixed with his precum. “You better not come until I say so.”

His request may or may not be plausible, given how fast approaching your orgasm was coming over you. You had no choice but to take him how he wanted you to and try to hold off your orgasm as long as you could. Joel keeps a firm grip on your sides as he snaps his hips, and the explicit slapping sounds of skin on skin fill your bedroom.

“Oh-oh-my-g-god,” you gasp out, moaning with each perfectly angled thrust, nearly in tears from how deep he is. You’re teetering right on the edge, dangerously close to the edge, but you realize then, so is he, if his heavy breathing and moaning is any indication.

“Come on, Joel, baby, cum deep in my pussy, make me yours…” The pet name had just slipped out of your mouth again. Reservations be fucked. If you wanted to be tender and intimate right now, so fucking be it.

Sure enough, Joel gasps and grunts with more bravado than you’d ever heard from him before, as if hearing you call him baby had made him come on command. You feel a flood of warmth gush inside you, filling you up as he stills and drops his head to your shoulder. The final bucking of his hips and the visceral, shuddering whimper that comes from his throat set you off as well. You can’t hold back the cry that comes from somewhere deep in your body. “I’m coming, Joel, I can’t help it—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me now. I got you. It’s okay.”

You come hard and keep coming for longer than you thought was possible. Explosions of pleasure wrack your body and were it not for Joel holding you up, you’d have collapsed into the mattress. You’re clenching so hard around Joel’s dick that you wonder if it might hurt him, but he doesn’t protest, just moans right along with you.

You’re still trembling from the aftershocks as Joel pulls you up so your back is pressed against his chest and you both take a moment to catch your breath. Joel cups your breasts and kneads them in his hands as he comes down from his high, and in your daze you were dimly aware that he’s peppering several soft kisses along your shoulder blades, humming against your skin.

Again with the intimacy. What is going on?

“Joel?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you...dying or something?”

“What?”

“Or, like, secretly infected or some shit you don’t wanna tell me?”

He huffs, peeling himself off of you. You ignore the feeling of his cum dribbling out of you and turn to look at him. He’s scowling now, to no one’s surprise.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he barks. Aggravated, yet again. Oh, well, it's not like you were going to get any aftercare from him anyway—not part of the arrangement.

But nor was all that other shit he'd done.

“You’re acting…weird,” you accuse, your heart still pounding from before.

“I’m not acting weird,” he snaps back, defensive.

“You’re not acting like yourself, is all I mean,” you respond, crossing your arms and legs.

He watches you, that same tendon in his temple tensing up. “I have no idea what the devil you’re talking about,” he mutters, looking away.

“You have no idea what—” you repeat, shaking your head before explaining, “Joel, that was different.”

“What was different?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“That! The whole…” you say uselessly, gesturing between you and him.

He just stares at you. If he’s catching your drift, he must just be playing dumb now. “I’m gonna go,” he grumbles, standing to slip back on his boxers. “Come find me again when you start makin’ sense and stop drabblin’ on about nonsense.”

“Wait, stop, stop. Stop it, Joel,” you say, gripping his arm. “Jesus, will you let me talk? Why are you trying to run away?”

He glares down at you, his jaw rigid. A few tense seconds pass. “Go ahead,” he says at last, in response to the first question. As for the second question, you figure he’s trying to work that one out himself.

Now that you have his attention, you’re stunned. What exactly was the issue you were trying to bring up? He was being too sweet to you?

As if you can feel your own defenses coming up around you, you look around for your sweater and underwear, not wanting to be the only one unclothed here. Joel watches you wordlessly as you pull on your clothes, and your resolve grows stronger.

“That felt different,” you repeat, looking into his eyes for some sign that he agrees with you. “Didn’t it?”

Joel says nothing. In the silent space, your words come spilling out.

“Like… I don’t know, I just feel like something changed tonight. You felt different this time.”

Joel frowns in confusion and looks down at his crotch.

“No, not like that.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “It’s the things you…did. And said. It just felt different to me.”

“Like what?” Joel said, still playing dumb. You sigh again in exasperation. Is he really going to make you bring up specific examples?

“I mean, like…the kisses. And…and why’d you call me beautiful?” you insist.

He glowers. “What, so I can’t call you beautiful?”

“No, I—I mean, you can, I just… You’ve never said anything like that to me before,” you respond. He truly hasn't. He's called you sexy, called your pussy pretty, things like that. But he's never leaned down to whisper in your ear that he thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world while railing the fuck out of you.

"Well, I did now. But I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you were gonna get all weird about it.”

Jesus, he could be so fucking immature for a man in his late 40s. “It just took me off guard, that’s all.”

“Well, if that’s all, I don’t understand what’s the big problem.”

Why isn’t he understanding? You can’t help it, you explode. “That isn’t what we agreed on, Joel,” you say, your voice more insistent.

“What isn’t?”

“The...kissing, and the calling each other pet names, and the exchanging niceties,” you say emphatically. “Shit like that. That’s not what this arrangement is supposed to be about.” You started this with Joel to avoid your feelings…

Not to catch them for each other.

Joel leans down closer to you, cynicism in his voice as he says, “And what is it that this arrangement’s supposed to be about, then?”

“Sex!” you shout, raising your arms in exasperation. “Just sex!”

Right?

Joel says nothing. He stands and silently puts on the rest of his clothes before giving you the hardest stare you’ve ever seen from him since you met him half a year ago.

“Maybe for you.”

Your mouth goes dry. But before you can think of a response, Joel slips his shoes on and mutters. “I’m gonna go. Don’t come after me tonight.” Without another word, he leaves your dingy apartment, leaving you alone with your jaw on the floor. And in that moment, you realize, you had Joel Miller all wrong.

———

a/n: …i’m kind of embarrassed to put this on the internet but hey at least no one i know follows me so!!! hopefully at least! hahahahah 😭

Thank you so much for reading! I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome!

For real though. Leaving feedback is just the common courtesy thing to do when you consume free, unpaid creative works online. Like I promise i do write for myself hehe but it really helps give me momentum to keep writing when i know that people genuinely liked my work!

For fanfic, blurb, or headcanon requests about TLOU, please send me asks!

Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

Taglist: y'all didn’t explicitly ask to be tagged but you did like my last post gauging interest in this fic so i went ahead and tagged y'all!

@amazonabxtch @katluverxd @bowie-frommars @tasmbestspdrman @ka-x-in @mouseymagines @fandom-queen67 @bfences @rosegoldarti @xlengueterax @lol-im-done @aanie-lg @toobsessedsstuff @theangstypioneer @leonkennedyslefthand @lizajane2 @typingcorgi @julietamidala @floralcyanide @bilualien @austinnpowerss

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #hbo tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal

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dspd · 5 months

Text

Head cannon for why Loki's face shape changes so much from the first Thor to the end of season 2 of the Loki TV show when it's been canonically not that long and he's already at least a thousand years old:

Well Loki was born a boy she was more often than not a girl as a child when she was closer to and wanted to be more like Frigga. Then, as Loki grew up and was more influenced by Thor and Odin and everyone else wanting to be a warrior, Loki reluctantly started shapeshifting into a boy more often. But since he was more inclined to be like Frigga he'd be uncomfortable and subtly alter himself to a more androgenous look that's closer to how he felt. He thinned his jaw, grew long curly hair, and gave himself a muscled but svelt look.

And as much as he liked the look - and as much as he adored his brother back then - Thor, in that thoughtless cruel way that even Asgardians can have, would poke fun with painful jokes that pricked the back of his eyes and sent him crying to his mother's strong, sheltering, loving embrace more than once.

Still, Loki is still more inclined to quietly rebel against Odin and it becomes a favored form.

But then, after he sees how fruitless it was in the Sacred Timeline, when he sees how they still lost and died painfully and Odin never acknowledged them for who they were to his end, Loki just...stops caring so much about rebelling against the closest thing they'd had to a father figure.

He's so tired.

Loki keeps his male persona up in the TVA, feels the smallest bit more protected, and has that slight advantage of sexism in all its forms even in as peculiar a place as Mobius' side. It helps that Mobius seems enamored with the more masculine parts of his current form. At first, when he's still terrified for his life, he's tense, nerves screaming as Mobius places a hand so high on his shoulder, that his fingertips slip beneath the ring around his neck.

Later Loki finds himself softening, sliding between the wary "he" that he'd become before becoming a Variant and the more amorphous self he'd enjoyed as a child, learning seidr at his mother's knee. Something about the easy touches Mobius gives reminds him of his less frictious childhood. Soothing.

And when Loki meets Sylvie, a less lucky Variant who managed to stay true to her self, changing fluidly between she and they (and sometimes him) but always keeping a face that reminds him of Frigga, he feels like he can try it himself. It's more than unsettling to walk down the hallways of the TVA in a shape, any shape other than the one known as Variant L1230 and she's ready to bolt as her face rounds, her body shrinks and curves, hair lightening closer to the shadowed strawberry gold she'd preferred when female. But she's still recognized, Casey grinning and pausing to tell her that he got a pet fish and they're really cool.

Oh. Right.

TVA.

Loki somehow forgot they don't look at the surface if they look at you at all. Her temporal aura is the same, regardless of the flesh that houses it.

And if that isn't the most effervescent, bubbling affirmation she's ever had.

An indeterminate amount of time later, as time is different in the TVA, Loki ends up chasing a Kang variant who's closing in on the formula to start the interdimensional war He Who Remains...remained to prevent. Loki is panting, chasing him, dashing madly between pedestrians in the crowd, losing to the Variant and -

He's bounding forward, faster than ever on all fours, leaping up onto the parked cars, pushing off with his hind legs, claws digging in and swiping, severing the tendons in the Variant's legs.

The metallic smell of blood is bright and heavy and heady and -

Mobius is sliding between him and his prey, crowding in towards Loki's snout, one hand reaching for his wet muzzle. "Hey, buddy," Mobius murmurs, smiling that signature easy, appreciative smile, crooked nose wrinkling a little. It doesn't reach his eyes. Loki isn't sure why Mobius seems so hesitant, but he pushes his head forward anyway, accepting the touch with a slight rumble.

It feels nice.

When Mobius's hand slips off the back of Loki's skull, he nearly whines, scrabbling around to shove his head under those wonderfully scratchy nails again. When Mobius finds the best spot under his jaw, Loki melts into a loud, rumbling puddle, eyes sliding shut and head dropping into Mobius's hand.

Mobius grunts. "Damn, Loki, your head is heavier than an entire ten year old."

Loki flicks an ear and doesn't move.

As it turns out, unlike with Odin's exacting expectations in Asgard, Loki doesn't doesn't even have to be human to be accepted for who they are.

#this has been sitting in my drafts and I finally accepted that I'll never edit it #marvel's loki #loki s1 #loki s2 #loki laufeyson #loki friggasdottir #genderfluid loki #shapeshifting loki #tva #mobius m mobius #casey #is casey officially casey c casey like mobius???#my writing #nonbinary affirming drabble #lokius #a teensey bit

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finniestoncrane · 2 years

Note

I don't know if you have done before, but would you be willing to write about a chubby Dano!Riddler? Love your blog!

I'm Too Much

Dano!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 2.7k god i want to hold that soft boy and make him feel loved, chubby!dano is my favourite flavour like for sure. i'm sorry this was so angsty but there's still smut lmao 💚 and also i'm sorry it got so long i just let my feelings dictate this one also thank you to the discord server for hyping this up ;-; request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: self-image issues, hurtful language, self-deprecation, body worship, crying, oral sex

From the bedroom, you could hear shuffling, mumbles and exasperated sighs. Usually, it did take Eddie a few minutes of awkward fabric wrangling to get into his full Riddler getup, but he’d been in the bedroom for thirty minutes, and he was supposed to leave twenty minutes ago. You only got up to investigate when you heard the clattering, the sounds of something being kicked around.

Stepping into the door frame, easing the door open gently, you found him back to you, bracing against the wall, his mask and tools by his feet, boots off, still in his boxers and t-shirt with his signature green jacket on.

“Hey, Eddie-”

He jumped, turning quickly and holding the sides of the jacket closed over him, stomping towards you and trying to intimidate you, to push you away.

“I’m-I’m getting ready, get out!”

“You’ve been in here for thirty minutes…I just came to check-”

“Well, it doesn’t matter because I’m not going so I’m just going to get ready for bed.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, pushing you slightly, the other reaching for the door and beginning to close it.

“Eddie, don’t do that, don’t push me.”

Edward stepped back, face red, eyes averted from you. Stepping back from you, he stood awkwardly, eyeing the room, checking the door behind you as though he were trying to plan his escape.

“Eddie…what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He reached his hand up, wiping his nose and cheeks with the sleeve of the jacket. He looked up at you, glasses steamed up, tiny pools between the bottom of the lenses and his cheeks. “Nothing. Could you please just…leave me alone?”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

He hesitated, face screwing up into an angry little scowl.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want it.”

“Edward Nashton! Quit the attitude, I’m just trying to help.”

“Ok, well help by giving me some peace and quiet!”

With his cheeks and forehead flushed in red, neck following quickly behind them, you were drawn into him, staring at the way the vein on his temples was pressed out, the way the tendons in his neck were tensed and stretched. And yet, there was no anger behind his eyes, just damp sorrow.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled it softly, his voice cracking, throat raw and choked. “I just…I want…I don’t…”

“Hey! Hey, it’s ok. You’re ok.”

“I’m not ok though!”

“Eddie, you are, you really are.”

“No! You’re not listening to me!”

He brought his hands up, balling them into tightly clenched fists, tapping them softly against the sides of his head and then gripping some of his hair, not pulling, but clutching. You raised your hand to his forearm, gently, trying to pull him away, but he shoved you back.

“Woah…”

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! See? See what I mean? I’m just…”

“What, Eddie?”

“I’m horrible!”

He sighed heavily, groaning as he slumped onto the bed. With his head in his hands, you felt comfortable easing forward, entering the room further, the closer you got the easier it was to see his back slightly shifting, shoulders gently shaking.

Your heart sank, a palpable feeling that left you feeling faint and nauseous, but you made it to the bed beside him where at first, he shrank away from your touch before letting himself melt into your embrace, his head on your shoulder where he let his sobs out.

“Oh…oh sweet baby.” With one hand rubbing his shoulder, you let the other tousle his hair, fingers twirling around the soft, delicate strands. “Do you want to talk-”

“No thank you.” His sniffles continued, but he had managed to stop the heavy, chest heaving sobs. Now, he whimpered, muffled against your body, soothing himself, you noticed, as he picked at his fingernails.

“Well, if you feel-”

“My jacket won’t zip up.”

You sat up straight, staring ahead and processing his words. Was the zipper broken? Often, little things like that could set him off, and he could get attached to physical items too, very sentimental.

“Hey, we can fix it if it’s broken, silly.”

“It’s not broken, I…I’m broken.”

As he let out a deep sigh, you held him closer.

“Eddie, you’re not…you’re not broken. You’re fine!”

“I’m not, I’m…I’m clumsy. And I take up too much room! I smother you. I’m…I’m too big. I’m too big for my jacket! I-I’m too big. I’m too…much.”

“Oh, Eddie. Oh no. Come here.” You tried to pull him onto your further, but he pushed back, standing up and backing into the corner, almost cowering, his lip wobbling as he spoke. He put his hands up defensively, trying to hold you off as though you were going to force yourself, your touch and your comfort, upon him.

“Don’t…don’t do that! Because I’ll just crush you. Or I’ll hurt you. I don’t…I don’t want to be touched, please just leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that, Eddie. I can’t leave you by yourself like this.”

“Fine!”

He stormed out of the room quickly, making his way into the bathroom, slamming the door closed and locking it behind him before you could get to him. You slumped against the wall beside the door, listening quietly. You knew you should let him have his space, but you were going to be right outside when he eventually decided to come out.

Behind the door, Edward stood on the cold tiles of the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He kept the jacket on, unzipped at the front, slightly too tight around the arms. Uncomfortable. Uncomfortable enough that it made him feel scared, anxious, claustrophobic. Sad. The texture felt wrong, the colour seemed wrong. And the morals behind it no longer mattered because he wasn’t angry at anything else in the world except for him, his body.

Staring into the mirror, he narrowed his eyebrows at himself, mind rushing with all of the horrible things he thought of himself in that moment. Lifting his t-shirt up slightly, he pinched at his stomach. Holding his love handles, he jiggled them, sighing at the sight. With his forefinger, he prodded at the soft skin below his belly button. He put his palm around the bottom of his stomach, lifting it up and letting it drop before placing his palms on the sink and pushing his glasses to his forehead, trying not to smudge them further with the tears that flowed freely.

He was too big. Too much. Horrible. And as disgusting as he was on the outside, he felt worse on the inside. There was no fixing him. No amount of revenge, not even curing Gotham of the curses it was afflicted with, could make up for how rotten he was at the core. He was mould, maggots, sickly sweet like death. And now, the exterior matched.

Eddie felt his grasp on you was tentative as it was. That maybe, the only thing keeping you there, was that you thought he was cute the first time you met. But he couldn’t even keep that in check. No, now, not only did you have a mentally ill boyfriend who could fly off the handle and push you, he was also…too much on the outside. And in that moment, he made up his mind, to let you off the hook for him.

When the bathroom door unlocked, you were standing up straight and facing it in pensive anticipation before Eddie had even opened it.

“Oh.”

“Eddie…”

“You should leave.”

“The…hall?”

“No. The apartment. Or I’ll leave. I can transfer the lease, if you want. But you’re free to go.”

“Free…like I’m…held hostage?”

“Yes. By me. But I can promise you that I won’t hold it against you. You don’t have to be scared of me. I won’t…I won’t react. I won’t try and hurt you or stop you.”

“Oh, Eddie.”

His words were distorted as he whimpered and choked back his sobs, tears falling, sniffling and licking at his lips as he tried to get his words out.

“Because you’re too good for me…and I’m…nothing…no I’m worse than nothing…I’m a lot…big…stupid…”

Taking his hands in yours, holding tight as he made a weak attempt to tear them away from you, shirking at the touch, how warm you were, you stroked the back of them with your thumb.

“First of all, I’d rather have too much of you than none of you, huh?” You let go of one of his hands, nudging his chin up with your fingers, wiping at the tears that fell on his cheeks. “And besides that, Eddie. You could never be too much. You’re perfect.”

“So I wasn’t perfect before?”

“Were you Edward Nashton before?”

“I…guess.”

“And are you Edward Nashton now?”

“I mean…yes?”

“Well then Edward Nashton is perfect, regardless of what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, what he’s planning, or what he looks like.”

“But you couldn’t…you can’t possibly-”

You cut him off with a kiss, your lips meeting his, soft but firm. When he pulled back lightly, you followed him, pressing your palms to his chest to hold him still against the wall, your fingers teasing at his t-shirt as you let the kiss deepen. And yet, he still mumbled against you, not pushing you away, but gripping your forearms to keep you from getting closer.

“St-stop…wait…”

Leaning back, hands still on his chest, you stared straight into his eyes, trying to push past the veneer of strength he was still trying to keep up, despite the tears that stained his cheeks and the lenses of his glasses. As you spoke to him, all efforts to keep you at arm’s length, physically and emotionally, were suppressed by his deeper need to be held, touched, loved.

“Eddie, I love you. I love all of you, however much or little there is of any part. You’re handsome…” you kissed his cheek “…so sweet…” the other “…endearing…” the kisses trailed down his jaw, onto his neck “…and charming…” you kissed his chest, beginning to crouch, finding your knees as you let the kisses trail down his stomach “…warm and soft…” teasing at the hem of his shirt you lifted it slightly, his hands batting you away, turning your focus to the top of his underwear which you teased down, kissing the small tuft of hair that had become visible “…gentle and…”

Eddie’s breath hitched as you pulled his underwear down over his stiffening cock, your pleased exhale at the sight of his member drawing a soft moan from him, his length twitching in reaction.

“You d-don’t…huh…have to…”

“I want to. I want you, Eddie. Every. Single. Bit.”

With your fingers slowly and firmly gripping the base of his cock, you pulled downward, teasing back his foreskin, exposing his head, flushed and wet with precum, before wrapping your lips around it. As you let your tongue flit over the tip, lapping at the sweetly bitter taste of salt that leaked from the slit, you moaned onto him. The gentle vibrations pushed him back into the wall, his jacket cushioning him from the sudden thud. Briefly, you felt his fingers graze over the back of your head before he pulled himself back. You didn’t want to pressure him, or scare him away. If you kept working at him, he'd come around.

Through his clenched jaw he let out a hissing breath, still holding back on himself. By now, he was usually coming undone under your touch, whining and moaning and begging for more, begging for you to make him cum. But he stayed silent, save for the soft, choked groans that managed to escape.

One hand gripped tight onto the front of his thigh, the other trailing between his legs, holding his balls and kneading them lightly, fingers trailing over the sensitive skin as you kept your head moving up and down his shaft at a steady pace. At the sensation, he shuddered, hips twitching forward and pushing the tip of his head to your throat, gagging you. As you coughed, he slipped from between your lips, desperately stuttering an apology.

“I liked it, Eddie. You think you’re too much? You are. You’re so big.” You looked up at him from the floor, batting your eyelashes, letting your lip fall down and your mouth open, ready to accept him again. “Let me make you feel good, Eddie. You know I love you, but I need you to know I want you. I need you to know that I need you.”

It might have been a simplified solution to a larger problem, but in the moment, as he gazed down at you, eyes blank and mouth turning up into a slight smile, you felt that if making him feel physically wanted would open him up further, then that was all you could hope to achieve.

Placing him back in your mouth, one hand gripping the length, pulling your fist up and down along his cock, you open your mouth wide, skin teased back, letting his red and sensitive head smack against your tongue as you groaned. Eddie’s breath was hitching, but he wasn’t breathing out. He looked tense, uncomfortable.

“Eddie, let go. Just…let go.”

You realised then what he had been doing, and though your heart felt like it was breaking you kept up the façade of extreme flirtation and arousal. As he finally let his shoulders drop, his breath coming out in a long, low sigh, you noticed his stomach get less tense too, sticking out a little further, as he’d been trying to hold it in the whole time. Holding back your words, tears threatening to ruin the mood, you pushed on. All you were focused on now was making him feel a semblance of release, hoping that it would loosen him up enough for you to penetrate his thick shell, formed by years of not feeling like he was good enough.

You let your fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, eyes flitting up to see the bottom of his stomach poking out from under it. You teased the fabric up, trying to see more of him, get a better look at his soft, warm skin, a sweet peach colour, biteable and kissable. But he kept pulling his shirt back down. In a forceful move, you yanked the shirt up and over his stomach, resting at his chest, letting your fingers sink into his skin, kneading it and grasping at it desperately. He felt wonderful, undeniably sexy, his features only more loveable with the vulnerability he was letting you share with him. Letting your palms slip to his hips, you pressed your fingers into the softer and chubbier skin there, using his love handles to pull him closer to you, further down your throat.

Gagging lightly, trying to let yourself be a bit sloppier around him, spit dribbling down your chin as you looked up to find him staring back at you with little more than awe, all other thoughts unable to get through past his impending orgasm. With his fingers now firmly at the back of your head, wrapped around strands of your hair, he held you steady as he bucked his hips into you, choked gasps making their way over his lips before he pursed them, tongue poking out in concentration as he let himself spill out into your mouth, manging out a stuttered apology as he pulled himself from you.

You licked your lips, swallowing his load, hoping he saw it as a commitment to how badly you wanted all of him. Wish his palms under your elbows, he helped you stand up, wrapping his body around you. Putting your arms around his back, underneath the jacket, you held him close, humming softly in the embrace. Without breaking the hug, Edward finally spoke in a calm tone.

“If you wouldn’t mind…I’d like to order some food and maybe we can…talk?”

“Only if you keep this exact outfit on. It’s very cute.” Stepping back, he adjusted his glasses, reaching to pull his t-shirt down but he caught your eye, instead letting his palms glide softly over his skin before taking your hands in his and kissing at your knuckles. It wouldn’t be an easy fix, but you were on your way to convincing him that he was valuable, loved, and worthy of adoration exactly as he was.

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

Text

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

This takes place after the Muzzled series and references Flinching and Touch Starved part 5.

Febuwhump Day 1.5 Part 2

Touch-Starved – Crosshair - Nothing's easy with Crosshair, but after a joke goes too far, he and Doc manage to find a deeper trust in each other.

Warnings: More cursing, panic attack

WC: 4,1117

The heavy padding of the crash seat restraints was deceptively comfortable. I could hear the indecipherable words of Tech and Echo murmuring from the cockpit, unhurried voices a gentle hum atop the Marauder’s engines. Hunter, if his body was feeling kind, was resting in the bunk room. I wasn’t sure where the other two were, but the gentle quiet of the ship was a rare treasure that I found myself too happy to merely exist in.

My eyes had just started to close when something shifted nearby, attention reluctantly glancing to my right. Crosshair sat in the seat to my right, hand stretched toward me though his attention remained pointedly locked on the door to the kitchenette.

I stared groggily at his open palm for a moment, brows furrowed before hesitantly reaching for him. Studying him with a confused weariness, I slowly let my fingers slip through his. His eyes darted down to our hands in a split second of confusion before wrenching away from me with a scowl.

“I’m not asking to hold your kriffing hand.” He snarled, and I felt my eyes close in a slow blink as I drew in a deep, mediated breath, mind still freeing itself from the fringes of sleep.

“Kay, so, what are…” My jaw fell open with a silent ‘oh’, head falling heavily back against the seat. “Words. Crosshair. We use them for a reason.” There was just a faint hint of impatience in my groan, but I was already pushing the harness of dense foam away from my chest. “Sit.” I mumbled before he’d risen more than in inch from his seat, hand quickly reaching out to settle atop his forearm.

For a moment, I thought he’d been so affronted between my initial misunderstanding and subsequent frustration that he’d refuse, but, lips bunched, yielded beneath my touch, and the beginnings of a smile warmed my face as I pulled his arm toward me, gently easing the glove and vambrace free.

There was something captivating about his hands; the play of powerful tendons dancing below thick veins that stretched up the dense muscle of his forearm, the long, dexterous fingers tipped in neatly kept nails and coarse calluses; the way he melted as soon as I dragged my thumb along the center of his palm. He resisted for a moment, but I could see the tension slip from those narrowed eyes, brows abandoning that signature furrow before, finally, he let himself sink back into the chair, head resting contently against the worn padding.

My chest swelled at the sight of his eyes slipping shut, shoulders just beginning to slouch as he let out a deep breath. It had been months since he first let me touch him like this when his wrist was caught in that vine, and he’d seemed even more keen to avoid me after he’d been captured; after I’d had to subject him to that painful treatment because he’d hidden the severity of his injuries; after he’d said those hurtful words that still made my heart clench every time I thought of them.

Now, however, I granted myself permission to treasure this moment: he’d come to me. Without prompt or pain, he’d come to me for the simple pleasure of my touch. I noted the way his breath stilled against the threat of some small grunt or moan as I deftly worked over each finger in turn; the flush of gooseflesh as I meticulously isolated and manipulated the complex network of bone and tendon in his wrist; the way his jaw slackened ever so slightly as I kneaded the wiry muscles of his forearm; the softness in his eyes when he stole that brief glance at me as I finished with slow, sweeping movements up to his elbow and down to the his fingertips.

Carefully setting that limp hand atop his knee, I quietly stood and moved to the seat at his other side, lips still lifted into a gentle smile.

“Would you like me to do this one, too?” I asked, already holding my palm up in invitation. Without a word, he merely nodded and set his other hand in mine, watching in silence as I freed that limb of armor as well.

This time, a tiny grunt did manage to escape him at that first flush of relief from my thumbs dragging firmly along the length of his palm. I heard the click of his jaw slamming shut, but refused to let myself react even enough to glance toward him in hopes of catching sight of a flush creeping up his neck. For any other reason, I’d have gleaned no end of humor from causing the reserved man to blush, but not now; not for this. As I repeated the unhurried worship of his hand, I wanted him comfortable. I wanted him to know that, as long as he trusted me in this way, he was completely safe from any judgement or ridicule, that he was free to enjoy this – that I wanted him to enjoy it as shamelessly and candidly as he could.

“You know,” I murmured quietly as my hands finally stilled around him, letting that final touch linger for just a moment longer, “I don’t just give hand massages. Holding that rifle up all day can’t be comfortable. Are you ever going to let me touch your back again?” I knew I was pushing him, but hoped the gentle cadence of my words and the deep calm still evident in the laxed set of his face might be enough to rid those final whispers of reluctance.

His gaze fell to where my thumb continued shifting absently atop his palm, attention briefly captivated by the gentle touch, before drawing movement back into his own hand, fingers leisurely stretching out and then closing just enough to curl lightly atop my skin. Without a word, he pulled the limb away from me, retrieved his gear, and, with easy, unrushed strides, retreated to the cockpit.

I let out a slow sigh. While his refusal wasn’t surprising enough to even warrant any real disappointment, I still felt the smallest note of failure. He didn’t trust me enough yet, but there was hope.

“That was the problem,” Echo groaned, hand dragging over his face, “Captain Rex knew he’d snuck her into the barracks, that’s why Heavy wasn’t able to distract him with the whole ‘existential crisis’ diversion!”

“So, you was jus’ as confused as she was?!” Wrecker snorted.

“I had no idea what was happening!” He burst with a note of helpless that only fueled mine and Wrecker’s mirth. I’d found myself nestled on my back atop the foot of Hunter’s cot, legs stretched up for my feet to press absently against the bottom of Crosshair’s bunk despite the snarl I knew I’d get if he walked in to see me like that as Wrecker and I listening to the arc recount some of the misadventures his brother roped him into. I couldn’t dismiss the worry that Wrecker might find inspiration in his retellings, but still found myself giggling right alongside the man.

“Fives just said he was calling in a favor – a favor I didn’t owe him, and shoved her in my boot-locker because everyone else’s was too cluttered for her to fit! And then the Captain came in almost the second he closed the lid.”

“And so-so Rex just…” I stammered.

“He was there for hours! I thought the poor girl was going to suffocate! Then he just walks right up to me, kicks my locker, and asks her if she wants to come out yet. I’ve never seen Fives look so defeated!” I let my head tilt back over the edge of Hunter’s bed, body shaking with howls of laughter.

“Having fun?” Face still distorted in a beaming grin, I turned to see Hunter staring pointedly at me, arms looped across his chest, and quickly caught my lips between my teeth.

“Just keeping it warm for you, Serg.” I replied coyly. His eyebrow hitched, but gave no further reply as he watched me quickly roll to my feet. Stretching my arms lavishly over my head, I met his deadpan stare with a look of mock innocence. He relented with a small smirk before nodding toward the back of the ship.

“Tech’s sending our inventory list out when we change hyperlanes. Anything else you need to add?” There was a fondness in his voice that softened the routine question and drew my lips into a small smile.

“Everything should be up to date, but I’ll do another count just to be sure.” I answered warmly knowing that, while I was meticulous in recording what supplies I used, the occasional tube of bacta or roll of bandages still went missing now and then when they elected not to ‘bother’ me with ‘smaller injuries’. He gave an approving nod as I shot Wrecker and Echo a farewell glance before making my way through the ship.

I already had the inventory pulled up on my datapad as I walked through the medbay doors, scrolling through to quickly note what we should be fully stocked with as an easy place to start. I’d made it halfway across the room before my body reacted in a flurry of panic. There was no conscious acknowledgement of the figure leaning in the corner just beside the door, no thought before my arm snapped out to launch the datapad at him with every ounce of force the muscles could manage, no difference in that fleeting moment of terror between the elegant form of the sniper and the memory of that wretched mercenary as my throat closed around a strangled gasp, legs tangling beneath me in a desperate rush to throw myself away from him, to steal even a whisper of distance more between us before crashing back against the cot.

He caught the datapad effortlessly, brows raising in a mocking look that should have brought a flush of embarrassment to my cheeks, but I couldn’t begin to focus on that, heart fluttering painfully against my chest in a ceaseless race to flood my veins with adrenaline.

“Dank Farrik! Crosshair!” The curse erupted from me in a shout I gave no effort in restraining, “Enough with the lurking about in my karking medbay! You want to give someone a heart attack, choose someone who’s not in charge of saving your ungrateful hide every time you lot come up with some suicidal plan!” The tiny smirk he had just enough sense to at least try to bite back only fueled my rage. One hand clutched to my chest as though it might somehow prevent my heart from bursting through my sternum, body rocking beneath violently panting breaths, I dragged my other hand through my hair, fingers clawing against my scalp.

“What do you want?” I could hear the strain in my voice as I struggled to force back some of that unrelenting panic, wide eyes locked on his, and I watched that initial humor slowly fade from the sharp features of his face, brows just drawing together as he studied me with something bordering surprise; concern.

“Thought I’d take you up on your offer.” It took a moment for my mind to make sense of those suddenly hesitant words. My offer… Had it really just been earlier that day that he’d finally come back to me to work the tension from his hands; when I’d voiced that gentle invitation to treat his back with the same healing touch? Mouth hanging open slightly, I let my gaze fall away from him, jaw shifting in a vain attempt to loosen the taut muscles.

A massage… He’d been waiting in here for a massage. I wanted to be thrilled. I wanted to feel the exhilaration of a relief I knew should have accompanied this gesture of confidence and faith, but I felt only that awful cold; the chill of fear surging down my arms and legs, robbing sensation from my fingertips and prickling atop my scalp with that nauseating urge to run. I tried to focus on a slow, controlled breath, fighting the way the air shuttered through slightly pursed lips.

“Yeah,” I sighed, nearly cringing at the initial weakness in the word before starting again, “Yeah, of course…” My throat shifted awkwardly in an attempt to swallow back the lingering stiffness, a hum catching on my next exhale as I tried to force my mind into some semblance of stability. “Your- go ahead and take your armor off. You can… just stack it over on the counter.” My hand motioned vaguely across the room before I turned to retrieve my oils.

He was still for a moment, and my hair bristled at the sensation of his attentive gaze following me, but I refused to acknowledge it. I couldn’t waste this chance. If I turned him away now, he may never let himself reach out again. I just needed to convince my heart to slow, to remember that as long as I was aboard this ship surrounded by these men, I didn’t need to be afraid.

As I listened to Crosshair finally begin to walk toward the far wall, however; as I quickly chose an oil and began warming it to a soothing temperature, I couldn’t force the tremble from my breath, couldn’t slip free of that violent need to scan every corner of the room; to lock the door and bar it with everything I could physically move. My teeth ground beneath that crippling frustration, mind screaming in rage at this pointless panic, glare burring into the violent tremors still seizing through my hands, and I wanted to sob at that sharp hurt of defeat.

“Crosshair,” My voice sounded so small as I reluctantly called his name, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him as he immediately stopped moving. “I-” The word caught in my throat, every fiber of my body rebelling against the wretched truth clawing up my throat, “I can’t.” I finally forced it out on a barely audible whisper, chest lurching with a sharp inhale immediately after in a rushed attempt to explain, to somehow prevent this from pushing him away, “Um, I just… just give me a minute, okay?” It sounded like I was begging him, and that almost made it worse, but I couldn’t force that plea from my words, fingers digging into the edges of the countertop, “I’ll come find you in a bit… just… just give me a…” My teeth ground against the way my lungs tried to shutter around the words, chin ducking against my chest, eyes clenching shut in that futile attempt to focus on steadying my breath.

Once more, I heard him go still, felt the intensity of his gaze burning into me, felt my stomach churn amidst that suffocating silence that rent the air around me to sludge. When he retrieved his armor and quietly saw himself from the room, I finally let my legs fold beneath that crushing weight, knees crashing to the hard floor as my torso seized around desperate, gasping breaths, arms locking fast about my chest. I barely noticed my feet scrambling beneath me until the corner of the room pressed against my shoulders, body yielding beneath that fear as my gaze tore around me for any sign of a threat before darting to the sleek durasteel of the door.

I couldn’t bring myself to move for a long while, trapped in the certainty that that panel would slide open at any second. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to shout at myself for the uselessness of this panic. I wanted to mourn the potential damage done to that delicate wisp of trust I’d so nearly gained, but, for those long, agonizing minutes or hours or seconds, I could only cower, hidden pressed into the corner, and wait.

When my limbs finally back to unlock, when exhaustion slowly won out over that fear and I felt the first whispers of clarity reluctantly returning to my thoughts, I let myself sink beneath the wretched understanding of what had happened, of what it could have cost me. I allowed myself a moment longer to breathe before trying to stand.

Groggily, I forced my legs to straighten, shaking them slightly to urge some feeling back into the limbs even as I scowled at the eminent sting of static prickling through newly awakened nerves. What emotion had filled those piercing eyes in the final seconds before he’d left? Disdain? Annoyance? Indifference?

I watched my fingers tap absently atop the chilled counter, no longer plagued by that uncontrollable tremble. The weariness dragging against my movements was an annoyance, but one I could overlook. We’d surely be falling out of hyperspace soon, and I still owed Hunter an updated inventory. Resolving to grant myself only that menial task as some justifiable delay before forcing myself from the room, I tried to use those few minutes to let my mind fall into a thoughtless quiet. There was no point in fretting over the potential of damage done, and blaming myself for it was a pointless misery.

“Cross?” His attention snapped toward me from where he’d been absently dragging a cloth over the visor of his helmet, legs curled tightly beneath him atop the thin mattress of his cot, but he offered no further response at those frightfully insightful eyes locked onto me. I didn’t shy from his gaze, standing quietly just beyond the doorway of the bunkroom. Without a word, I nodded subtly over my shoulder before turning and starting back toward the medbay, ears straining to catch any hint of sound to confirm he was following, and the relief that burst through my chest at the near silent thud of his feet hitting the floor drew a quick sigh from my lips.

I’d already sent the updated list to Tech, confirming there had been a mysterious discrepancy between my records and our physical inventory, and, in an act of either hope of denial, had begun warming my oils before leaving to find the intimidating sniper.

“Let me know if there’s a particular spot that’s bothering you. Otherwise, I’ll just start with your back and shoulders, and go from there.” I told him lightly as though nothing at all had happened earlier. “You can either lay down on your stomach or just sit if that’s more comfortable for you.” Granting him some hint of privacy, I kept my back to him as he slowly began freeing himself of that heavy armor once more, but, when those sounds quieted, I turned to find him still covered in his blacks.

“I didn’t peg you as being self-conscious.” I teased gently. “You’re not going to take your shirt off?”

“Last time I did that, you stabbed me.” The look of unabashed disbelief that quickly stole over me was almost enough to completely rid even the memory of my earlier episode, mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

“You were losing sensation in your hands.” I reminded him pointedly with a scoff, “My deepest apologies for thinking that was something you might prefer to avoid.” His lips twitched in something between a smirk and a scowl, but he let his fingers slip under the hem of his shit and drag it smoothly up his torso. I pointedly turned my attention to my supplies. Unlike Wrecker, I didn’t doubt the man before me would not only notice the flash of appreciation warming my cheeks, but also make absolutely certain that I knew he’d noticed.

Flask of oil in hand, I turned to find him settling comfortably atop the cot, arms folded up to rest his forehead on. Maker, the man was a wealth of immaculately defined muscle; the rich caramel of his skin, though slightly lighter than his brothers, still granted a stunning display of warmth as it danced with the unhurried ebb and flow of his breath.

Steps purposefully quieted, I made my way toward him, pouring a dollop of oil onto my palm before setting the container down carefully at my feet. In sure, gentle motions, I let my hands trail atop the ridge of muscle sweeping up his shoulders to the base of his neck before stretching down the length of his spine, and I couldn’t help but note the threat of tension he was purposefully fighting back.

“Normally, I’d lead you through a breathing exercise,” I murmured warmly, “though, given your specialty, I have a sneaking suspicion it might be a bit rudimentary for you.” He responded with a dismissive grunt, but offered nothing more; so I merely turned my attention back to the elaborate interplay of sculpted muscle before me, subtly beginning to add weight to the long, sweeping strokes in hopes of easing that tension from him so I could really begin.

“I’m sorry.” My body froze at the quiet words, so taken aback for a moment, that even the air stilled in my lungs. “For earlier.” He added as though there was any need to elaborate, and I had to let out a carefully slowed breath before pulling some hint of movement back to my limbs, fingers absently flaring out atop the broad expanse of his shoulders.

“Thank you.” I whispered almost silently, caught for a moment longer in that stillness before drawing my attention back to a gentle rhythm of motion, and my touch shifted slightly to begin targeting that troublesome spot between his shoulder blade and spine. “But I don’t want you to think that was entirely your fault.” I pressed, voice still lowered into a gentle murmur, “You had no way of knowing I’d react like that – I didn’t know I’d react like that.” The leisurely dance of his breath stilled, and I could practically hear the grind of his teeth beneath taut muscles.

“It’s alright, Crosshair.” I promised, heart threatening to burst at the guilt stealing over him. “Just proves that I need to pay more attention to corners.” At that, his head shifted just enough to glance up at me from the corner of his eye, and I didn’t have to force the warm smile that crept over my lips. He hesitated a moment longer before letting himself sink back to the mattress.

Only then, did he finally begin to relax beneath my touch, back occasionally shifting ever so slightly into me as I found dense knots of tangled tissue. Each subtle breath of relief that swept through him as I meticulous worked over every muscle was its own priceless reward, and I found myself all too eager to let my hands move on to continue down the length of each arm in turn before repeating my earlier ministrations to his hands, if only because I knew how the man seemed to favor that touch. I dragged my thumbs along the dense cords of muscle lining his neck until his head rested perfectly limp, and I was thrilled to see him match his breathing to the barely whispered count automatically sighing from my lips.

Finally, I let my hands rest quietly against him, and the stillness that followed was a gentle presence neither of us seemed willing to break for a long while. When he dragged his hands beneath him to push himself up, I merely let my touch slip away in the wake of his motion as he pulled himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He didn’t look at me as he rolled his shoulders, absently testing them in a subtle dance that I couldn’t help but marvel at.

“Better?” I asked, not trying to hide the smile from my voice. His jaw shifted forward, teeth absently catching at the flesh of his inner cheek before giving an almost reluctant nod. “Good.” The depth of my own elation beamed through that single word, and he seemed to quiet further beneath it.

“You know, you’re the first one so far to stay awake.” Lips pulling further into a cheeky grin, I knelt to retrieve my oil. He responded with a dismissive hum, attention following his own arm as he continued aimlessly exploring what was surely an odd weightlessness from the newly loosened limb. “Maybe next time.” I teased. That finally drew his gaze back to me, eyes narrowing into an unamused stare that drew a quiet chuckle from me.

“Thanks.” He nearly mumbled the quiet word as he began dragging his shirt back over that stunning display of elegant muscle.

“Anytime.” I answered, forcefully dragging my attention away from the final glimpse of golden skin, and my heart dropped at the subtle hitch of his brow as those damn eyes stared pointedly at mine. Kriff.

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