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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

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Love Sick

Masterlist

Summary: A story about how Spencer’s worst decision ever somehow ends up being his best.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves! This fic is loosely based on a request I got about Spencer faking an illness to keep the reader from going on a date.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: swearing

Word Count: 4k

Spencer has done a terrible, awful thing.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t know what came over him, but that would be untrue and he’s already met today’s quota on little white lies. Spencer knows exactly what possessed him to call you up at seven thirty on a Saturday night, and it wasn’t so that the two of you could discuss the weather or the recent upward trend in the stock market. Spencer’s spontaneous (panicked) phone call to you was a brazen attempt to abate the green-eyed monster that had been whispering dreadful things in his ear for the better part of a week.

To put it simply; Spencer is jealous, and he’s dealing with it rather poorly.

So poorly that he’s resorted to sabotage.

As he sits on his couch and worries at a hole in the bottom of his designated lounging sweatshirt, Spencer attempts to justify his actions. His tiny fib won’t hurt anyone . . . except, perhaps, one annoyingly perfect and stupidly handsome veterinarian. But Spencer can live with that. Potentially scorning an animal care specialist isn’t the thing that has his stomach in knots. That, he can live with. Spencer doesn’t even have pets, so there’s no longterm consequences as far as the vet is concerned. The notion of lying to you, on the other hand?

Spencer is positively sick with nerves.

He’s not sure why. Spencer’s gotten rather good at lying to you. Several months of pining for you from across the hallway of your shared apartment complex has turned him into quite the master of deceit, after all. He was a sucker from the moment he opened his door and lay his eyes on you, arms outstretched and wielding a plate of homemade sweets. The cookies were lovely, but the breathtaking smile on your face is what really did him in.

Since that first day, Spencer’s gone out of his way to ensure that he’s on the receiving end of that smile as often as possible. His efforts are never in vain; for reasons unbeknownst to him, you seem to enjoy spending time with him just as much as he did you. This mutual fondness results in most of Spencer’s off days being spent in your company. Spencer was certain that, with time, he would work up the nerve to ask you out on a date. He’s halfway to convincing himself that you might even say yes when your cat makes the unfortunate decision to steal a brownie from your plate and gulp the whole thing down.

Enter, aforementioned veterinarian.

The sound of your door opening from across the hall has Spencer breaking out into a cold sweat. His hand is halfway to his forehead, ready to wipe away the perspiration when he pauses. His body’s anxious reaction might just help him sell his story. Yes, Spencer thinks, this is a good thing. Authenticity, and all that.

Several soft footsteps are muffled by the door that separates him from you, and then his doorknob jiggles as you struggle to fit your key into the lock. A jolt of adrenaline surges through Spencer and in the blink of an eye he’s on his feet and sprinting to his bathroom in the name of authenticity. If he wants to keep up this ridiculous façade, and he really, really does, Spencer is prepared to fake it until he makes it. The alternative is far too mortifying. Failure is not an option.

Spencer cringes when he lifts his eyes to meet his reflection. He’s been told more than once that he’s an absolutely terrible liar, and the wide, guilty eyes that stare back at him confirm this. All it will take is one look at him and you’ll know something’s amiss. Perhaps it isn’t too late for Spencer to come clean. It would be embarrassing, yeah, but no less embarrassing than it would be an hour from now when you call him on his shit. But then again, there is always the possibility that you will get angry with him and leave, and Spencer isn’t willing to risk you walking away from him. Not tonight.

Spencer barely has the time to splash some cold water on his face and dive to the bathroom floor before you’re pushing open the door to his apartment and calling out his name. His brain, the part that isn’t rendered useless in his panicked state, reminds him of just how many germs can be found on the average bathroom floor. It’s enough to make him pause, but only for a moment. He takes a deep breath before slumping over against the toilet.

Showtime.

“M’ in here,” Spencer calls out in his croakiest voice. It comes out exactly as he intended, all rough and pitiful. Maybe he can pull this off, after all.

The soft pitter patter of your bare feet makes his heart rate increase exponentially. Spencer steels himself, recites a reassuring mantra in his head. I can do this; I can do this.

Spencer’s poor, overworked heart gets a much-needed rest when you step into the doorway. In fact, he’s almost certain it stops completely at the sight of you in a tiny red dress. A tiny red dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Spencer can’t even see past his mounting panic to enjoy the way you look. That damn red dress serves as a brutal reminder of why he’s sitting in his bathroom floor, clutching his toilet bowl and damn near drowning in a nervous sweat.

The thing is, Spencer hadn’t intended on sabotaging your date with the vet. He had every intention of staying in, wallowing in his sorrows and waiting up for you. Spencer even said this to Derek, who was kind enough to call him and remind him of how big of a jackass he was. Spencer didn’t need the reminder. He was well aware.

But then Derek said something that made Spencer’s blood run cold.

“And what exactly do you plan to do if she doesn’t come home?”

So, really, it’s Derek’s fault that Spencer promptly ended the call and dialed your number. It’s also Derek’s fault that Spencer is about to give the most convincing performance of his entire fucking life.

“I’m sorry I called you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just feel so awful.” And he does feel awful, just not in the way you think.

You’re quick to close the distance between the two of you, dropping to your knees and brushing stray pieces of hair away from Spencer’s clammy forehead. His skin sings where your hand grazes it. If he didn’t have a fever before, he will if you don’t stop touching him.

“Don’t ever apologize, Spence. I wish you’d have called me sooner,” you murmur. Warm, concerned eyes drag across Spencer’s bedraggled appearance. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

Spencer gulps. “A few hours, I guess. I ate my leftovers from last night for lunch. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.”Lies, lies, lies!

Your brow furrows. “That’s strange. I ate mine, too, and I feel fine.”

Spencer doesn’t really have an argument for that, so he fakes a pained groan and rests his head against his arm. He closes his eyes and prays the intro to theater class he took in high school will pay off.

You must deem his act convincing enough because you press a soft kiss to the top of his hair and stand. Spencer hears the sound of a cabinet opening, followed by the sound of running water.

The tender touch of your hand on his shoulder has him raising his head and looking up at you, inquisitive. You place a cold washrag to his forehead, and Spencer melts into the touch. It feels heavenly against his hot skin.

“Do you think you could manage to take a shower?” you prompt, earning a feeble nod from Spencer. He doesn’t even have to fake the way he trembles as you run the damp cloth down his neck. “I think I have some broccoli and cheddar soup at my apartment. I’ll go change and grab it while you shower.”

Elation spreads through Spencer, pouring from his heart until it reaches the very tips of his extremities. He can’t believe his scheme hasn’t blown up in his face already.

With the help of your outstretched hand, Spencer rises to his feet and braces himself against the shower door. You make no move to remove your hand from his, and that gives him the courage to ask his next question.

“What about your date?”

You shrug and an easy smile spreads across your face. Spencer feels faint. He blames it on his imaginary illness.

“Don’t worry about that. The only thing I’m concerned with right now is taking care of you.”

Spencer bites down hard on the flesh of his cheek to keep a smug grin at bay. This is a victory he’ll have to celebrate at a later date.

Spencer enters his living room, freshly showered and donned in clean pajamas, to the sound of your voice speaking quietly into your cellphone. He halts just before he enters his kitchen, straining to catch a snippet of your conversation. As he leans closer to the sound of your voice, Spencer halfheartedly chastises himself. First, he deceives you, now he’s resorting to eavesdropping. Rock, meet bottom.

He’s just about to wrench himself away and retreat to the couch, when:

“I really am sorry about cancelling, especially on such short notice.” A short stretch of silence follows. “Next Saturday? Oh. Um, yeah, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Spencer is very much like a popped balloon; the earlier feelings of elation leave him in a harsh gust. Next Saturday? He barely managed to derail this Saturday’s date! No way he could get away with it a second time.

In the midst of his inner turmoil, Spencer misses you exchanging goodbyes with the vet before collecting Spencer’s bowl of soup. He’s still standing there, absolutely crestfallen, when you round the corner. You nearly collide with his chest, narrowly avoiding it by skidding to a halt in front of him. Your eyes run up his frame, assessing him, until they rest on his face.

“You scared me, Spence,” you chuckle. You cock your head to the side. Spencer imagines his expression is none dissimilar to that of a disgruntled frog. “You feeling okay? You’re not going to puke again, are you?”

Honestly, he might. The idea of you rescheduling your date with the vet is about as vomit inducing as it gets.

“I’m fine,” Spencer says on an exhale. Funnily, it’s probably the biggest lie he’s told all day. “The shower helped.”

His delivery is flat, but you don’t seem to mind. You smile up at him, relieved, and Spencer’s chest aches.

“I was thinking you and I could watch a movie?” you offer, and Spencer nods his assent. He can’t fathom turning you down. Not when you’re wearing an old sweatshirt you stole from his closet and a pair of fuzzy socks with little hearts on them. The ache intensifies.

“What are we watching?”

You plop down on the couch and look at him expectantly. He follows in suit, settling in beside you.

“I was thinking that you could choose,” you murmur as you place the bowl in his hands. Spencer shoots a teasing smile your way as he raises the spoon to his mouth.

“You mean, you’re actually going to let me pick the movie? I should get sick more often.”

His cheek earns him an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter. “You always pick the movie.”

He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s gotten to pick the movie.

Spencer is about to launch into an impassioned rebuttal when the feeling of your fingers scratching against his scalp renders him speechless. His eyes dart to your face as you concentrate on scrolling through the TV guide, seemingly unaware of the effect the simple act has on him. Meanwhile, Spencer’s brain is short-circuiting.

You begin to read off a list of potential movies to him, but Spencer barely hears you. He’s practically purring as you twirl his curls around lithe fingers, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as an intense feeling of euphoria washes over him. Maybe it’s because he’s touch starved, or maybe it’s because it’s been so long since someone just looked after him. Whatever it is, Spencer embraces it wholeheartedly.

“-heard it’s pretty good. So, what do you say, Spence?”

Spencer pulls himself back to the present, blinking lazily at you. You’re looking at him, expectant, and Spencer’s eyes flit to the TV. His eyes skim its contents, reading briefly about a movie in which some family moves into a haunted house.

His face breaks out into a grin and he nods, because Spencer’s known you long enough to recognize that watching a horror movie usually results in you pressed tightly to his side and clinging to his hand. He also knows that nine times out of ten, you choose to watch a horror movie over anything else. No wonder he always lets you choose.

And sure enough, not even ten minutes in, Spencer is ditching his bowl of soup and pulling you into his arms. Once you’ve draped a blanket around the two of you settled in, you glance up at him.

“How are you feeling, Spence?”

Spencer responds by saying that he’s suddenly feeling much better.

Spencer Reid - 1, Veterinarian – 0

Spencer’s not sure at which point he fell asleep. All he knows is that he certainly does not remember sprawling out across your body, nor does he remember tucking his head into the crook of your neck. But this is how he finds himself when the sun begins to pour in through his windows the next morning, and Spencer can’t bring himself to care about how he came to be there.

Spencer guesstimates that it’s no later than seven in the morning. You’re still fast asleep underneath him, your chest rising and falling rhythmically with every breath. It’s early, and it’s Sunday, and Spencer can’t think of a single reason to wake you. Instead, he snuggles in closer, because he’d be a fool not to enjoy this while it lasts.

Unfortunately, the shrill sound of Spencer’s ringing phone shatters the serenity. He prays that it won’t disturb you, that you’ll remain oblivious and continue to sleep, but that hope is shattered when you begin to shift underneath him. Spencer makes quick work of peeling himself off of you before dashing to his kitchen and snatching his phone off the table.

He’s prepared to verbally assault whoever has the audacity to defile the sanctity of lazy Sunday mornings when a quick peek into the living room finds you still fast asleep on his sofa. He smiles, soft and fond, before pressing the accept button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were still alive.” Spencer’s smile transforms into a grimace. Apparently, Derek Morgan doesn’t believe in lie-ins. “I was preparing myself for a rescue mission.”

“It’s seven in the morning. I was asleep.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Who pissed in your Cheerios, Pretty Boy?”

“You, when you decided that it was acceptable to ring me before eight,” Spencer whisper shouts. He knows that he’s being touchy, to say the least, but who can blame him? Five minutes ago, he was cuddling with the most beautiful girl he’s ever had the privilege to lay eyes on. Now, he’s shooting the breeze with a colleague. Obviously, Spencer would prefer the former to the latter.

“Jesus, kid. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that girl of yours didn’t make it home, after all. You okay?”

The guilty feeling returns and Spencer cringes. “Uh, define ‘okay.’”

Derek curses on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, kid. Try not to beat yourself up about it, okay? There’s plenty of fish in the sea, you’ve just gotta put yourself out there. How’s this; you and me will go out next weekend and bar hop. I’ll teach you some Derek Morgan tricks of the trade. Soon enough, you’ll have forgotten all about her.”

“I don’t know, that might be hard.” Spencer scratches the back of his neck. “She’s asleep on my couch right now.”

A long stretch of silence comes from the other end of the line, and Spencer thinks for a moment that the call dropped. Unfortunately, he isn’t that lucky. A booming laugh erupts from the speaker and makes him jump out of his skin.

“My man!” Derek laughs, incredulous. “I didn’t think you had it in you, I’ll be honest.”

“It’s not what you think-”

“How did you manage that? Did the Good Doctor make a grand romantic gesture? Damn, I really hate that I missed that.”

“No, there were no gestures. And it’s not-”

Derek cuts him off. Again. “How’d she take the news? I’m assuming she took it well, if she stayed the night.”

“I didn’t tell her anything!” Spencer spits out, frustrated. “I… I told her I was sick. She came over to take care of me, and we fell asleep on the couch.”

Spencer’s proclamation is met with another long silence.

“So, you sabotaged the date?”

Spencer winces. “I did not sabotage it. I just… manipulated the situation a little.”

“Oh, you certainly did,” Derek chuckles. “How did you pull that off? I’ve seen you try to lie. That shit is laughable.”

Spencer opens his mouth to defend himself, but the pitter patter of socked feet approaching him from behind has his mouth running dry.

“Yeah, Spencer. How did you pull that off?”

Spencer had been correct in his earlier assumptions. The inevitable moment in which you called him out on his shit has arrived, and it’s every bit as mortifying as he expected. So mortifying that he can practically feel the blood drain from his face. And the thing is that he knows he deserves whatever you’re about to throw his way… it’s just that the thought of you being angry with him kind of makes him want to cry. And that would only add to the mortification.

He turns around slowly, his body rigid, until he’s met with the adorably rumpled vision of you with your arms crossed and your hair sticking up in all directions.

Spencer’s never seen anything quite so mesmerizing, and it hurts because he knows he’s ruined everything. He’ll never get to watch another scary movie with you tucked neatly against his side, or wake up in your arms again. He’ll never get to kiss you.

And the worst of all; Spencer will never get to tell you how he really feels. It’s a crying shame, because he thinks he could have been really good at loving you.

“Hey, Derek, I gotta go.”

Spencer presses the end call button and immerses himself in what has to be the most awkward stand-off of all time. You stand there, arms crossed, head cocked to the side with one hip jutted out. Spencer isn’t sure how you manage to look intimidating and endearing at the same time. He supposes the fuzzy socks are to blame.

Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. Spencer is approximately three seconds away from dropping to his knees and groveling when you finally speak.

“You sabotaged my date.”

Spencer lets out a strangled laugh. Perhaps humor is the way to go? It couldn’t hurt to try. In his opinion, the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. “I think sabotage is a strong word. I prefer the term obstruct.”

You let loose a laugh of your own, but this one holds no humor. “And I prefer keeping the company of people who don’t lie to me.” Okay, maybe it can get worse.

Spencer visibly deflates. It was a stupid idea. He’s never been a funny guy.

“I am so, so, so incredibly sorry.” Sorry for lying to you, that is. Spencer isn’t in the least bit apologetic for ruining your date. Given the chance, he’d do it again - in a more tactful way, of course. Preferably, in such a way that didn’t involve him laying in his bathroom floor.

Spencer attempts to take a step forward, only to be rooted to the spot when you fix him with a look. He’s not funny but he is smart – smart enough to know better than to push it.

“Why did you do it?”

Spencer was really hoping you wouldn’t ask that.

“I-I…”

Apparently, an eidetic memory doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to confrontations involving pretty girls. One quirk of an immaculately plucked eyebrow and Spencer loses the ability to recall a single word of the English language. It’s tragic, really.

“Spit it out, Spencer.”

“I didn’t want you to go on the date.” It’s like ripping off a band aid, the way the words tumble from his lips. It’s painless at first, but then the sting sets in when he realizes what he’s done.

Your lack of reaction doesn’t help. Your face remains passive, as if he didn’t just offer himself to you on a silver platter. Spencer squirms uncomfortably.

“Why didn’t you want me to go on the date?”

God, this is excruciating. You’re clearly out for blood, and the twinkle in your eye shows just how much you’re enjoying this. Spencer would have never taken you for a sadist.

“Because…” Spencer trails off and allows his eyes to drift closed. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it his way. With his eyes closed, because he can’t bear the thought of looking you in the eye when you reject him. “B-Because I like you. A lot.”

Spencer hasn’t had a lot of practice at being wrong. In fact, he’s spent the majority of his life being right. It seems the universe is making up for that now, because he can’t seem to get a single goddamn thing right today.

You laugh at him. You actually laugh in his face. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“You like me.” It isn’t a question.

Spencer keeps his eyes shut tight.

“Y-Yeah.”

You know how they say if you take away one of a person’s senses, all of the others are heightened? Spencer couldn’t disagree more. In the midst of his despair, he’s completely unaware that you’ve crossed the room and are now standing directly in front of him until you speak again.

“Well, that’s rather unfortunate,” you sigh. Spencer inhales a sharp breath when he realizes you’re close enough to touch. Still, he keeps his eyes closed.

“Uh, why is that?”

Spencer nearly jumps out of his skin when your hand reaches up and caresses the side of his jaw.

“Because, Spencer,” you murmur, silky and sweet. “I was hoping you just might love me.”

Spencer’s eyes fly open and he’s greeted by a lazy, contented smile. It’s similar to the one that greeted him when he opened his front door on that very first day, but it’s better somehow. Later reflection will determine that it’s better because it’s the kind of smile reserved just for him. And that’s all he’s ever wanted, really.

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” You tilt your head up and rest your palm on Spencer’s chest. His heartbeat is erratic, thundering hard against his ribcage. He’d surely be embarrassed if he wasn’t about to faint from shock. “Do you love me, Spencer Reid?”

Spencer doesn’t even have to think twice.

“More than anything.”

“Good.” Your thumb brushes across the apple of his cheek, eliciting a full body shudder. “I was beginning to think you would never catch up.”

Spencer must be hallucinating. That, or this is all a dream and any second now his alarm is going to go off. He subtly pinches himself on the thigh to test the theory. You can imagine his surprise when nothing changes. He doesn’t wake up in a pile of his own drool, and now the skin on his thigh stings.

“You . . . You like me, too?”

You shake your head. “No, Spencer. I love you, too. Why do you think I bake you cookies and spend all of my free time in your apartment?”

“Because my couch is better than yours?” Spencer deadpans.

“I mean, that certainly doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the only reason.”

“What about the vet?” It must be his guilty conscious talking, because Spencer cannot conjure up any other reason he has for asking such a moronic question. He, personally, could not care less about the vet. Full offense intended.

“Cameron is a nice guy, sure,” you trail off. Spencer doesn’t miss the way your eyes drift down to his lips before returning to his eyes. “But he’s not really my type.”

“And what is your type, exactly?” A giddy grin finds its way to Spencer’s face. He’s notorious for being chronically clueless, but even the master of imperception himself can see where this is going.

You snort, and it’s adorable. “Liars, apparently.”

It’s impossible to determine who moves first, but that doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the end result of Spencer’s lips colliding with yours. It’s earth-shatteringly lovely; slow and sweet and tentative. There’s no rushing, no frantic fumbling of hands. Just the reverent drag of your lips against his, warm and intoxicating.

Spencer eventually regains the use of his limbs and when he does, he’s snaking one arm around your waist as the other entangles itself in your wonderfully unruly hair.

You sigh a happy sigh against his lips and Spencer’s heart soars. In a completely unforeseen turn of events, the possibility of more lazy Sunday mornings is now back on the table. Thank God he’s better at lying than he gave himself credit for.

God, and Derek Morgan’s meddling ass.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff

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beigehearts · 3 years

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I actually really like this idea and have been thinking about it but was wondering if it was too- sensitive? But now that I know others want it I will write it. Please please please do not read this is you are sensitive to the subject.

TRIGGER WARNING CONTENT WARNING attempted s uicide, mentions of s uicide

Yandere Adult Trio when you try to commit s uicide drabbles

Hisoka

You were desperate to escape this sadistic and cruel kidnapper. He took you from your home, and into somewhere unknown. It took you a while to realize why he wanted you at all... The reason shook your entire being- he claimed that you were meant to be his. That no one else could have you because you belong to him, he is the only person capable of loving you. He has drilled this into your brain but you never let it stick.

Nothing has worked, you tried attacking him, pretending to be sick, escape attempts: it all ends up with you in pain. How can someone who claims to love you, and holds you so closely, hurt you in the ways he has. It’s hard to admit but he had to put a splint on your wrist, after breaking it when you tried to run.

There’s only one option left. You can’t make it out of here alive, so you won’t. the place he has you is very confusing, the door is locked, and you can only assume there is a hallway outside of it. But when you look out of the window, you can barely see the ground because of how high up you are. That’s your escape.

It’s a large window that you will have to pry open. Hisoka does leave you alone occasionally but also leaves no room for escape. Though you don’t think he’s factored in self sabotage.

You have no idea where he is, but the moment he left you ran to the window. You grip the edge with your fingers and pull as hard as you can. Your hands begin to go white against the pressure, until you here a tiny “click”. You go flying back when the window shoots open in front of you. This is your chance. And on the off chance you survive- you’ll figure something out.

The wind is blowing, and is quite chilly. When you step out on the slight edge of the outside wall, your heart begins to pound. It’s time.

Wind whistles in your ears and your heart is pounding so hard you wonder why it hasn’t popped out of your chest. For a moment it feels like you’re flying- and you feel peace at last. This was never how you expected to go out, but it will have to do. You close your eyes and accept your fate, falling so fastly that you look like a blur.

‘Glump’. You bounce upwards and all the air in your body is knocked out of you. You’re left hanging outside of the building, still unable to see the ground despite how long you had been falling. It feels as if someone is holding your leg, the rest of your body dangling upside down. Just barely you manage to crane your head upwards- you’re floating?

You take a closer look, at the window which you fell from, is Hisoka waving down at you as if you didn’t just jump off the building. There is no escape... There is no escape from this nightmare. You’re pulled upwards until Hisoka grabs your body with his hands and pulls you back through the window.

You’re gasping for air, shock setting into your body and leaving you shaking. He smiles down at you, and sets you down on the shared bed. “I didn’t think you would go that far my pet.”

His gaze is burning holes through your head, but you’re more worried about not hyperventilating. He sits down next to you, a smile still on his face. Before you know it, there is no chance of catching your breath. His hand is wrapped tightly around your throat and you let out a weak excuse for a gasp.

“Oh my sweet pet. Please don’t do that again. I might have to punish you, but I’ll let you off this once since you look so cute this way.”

Illumi (fem!reader)

You just can’t take it anymore. The torture that he calls training. The extreme punishments that have left you with scars. The promise that you will be the mother of his child. And if not, you are useless. Your back is covered in scars, all from whips and chains that he has used as ‘discipline’ even if you were doing as you were told. Eventually he said, “I love you. My wife to be. The future mother of my children. It is only natural that I try to make you be better.”

If his version of making you better is torture then that’s not happening. At this point you would rather die than endure what he has put you through. He is thorough in keeping the room you are in “baby proofed”. There’s not a single sharp corner, no sharp objects, and no weapons of any kind. The lights are implanted in the ceiling so it’s not like you could use a lamp for anything.

The thought of attacking him is out of the question. You must find something for yourself. Eventually you find something that might work. He brings in plastic plates for you to eat off of. You’re sure if you attacked him with a plate he would make you eat off of the floor. You already have to eat with your hands.

You take the plate and bend it until it cracks, and splits in half. You continue to break it up into small pieces until you have something resembling a triangle with two soft edges and one sharp. Luckily he gives you hard plastic plates and not styrofoam ones, he has some class it seems.

Might as well get comfortable. You put some pillows and blankets down on the soft carpet and make a small bed to lay on. You sit up and find that you’re shaking. Your hands are shaking- but that’s to be expected. You put the piece of plastic against your wrist, it’s cold.

Does this mean you’ll be reborn? Or is there nothing after this? Either way, it must be better than this. You imagine a beautiful field where the grass is as soft as pillows and the sun shines just enough for you to feel warmth. There’s nothing for miles except for grass and you. The grass is cushioning you, making it comfortable to lay. You close your eyes and begin to move your hand downwards. Get it over with.

You pull your arm up so you can make a quick motion downwards but before you can... A hand grabs your wrist holding the plastic so tightly that you hear it crack, and are forced to drop the plastic.

You open your eyes and look up at the man above you. His face continues to show no emotion, but the grip on your wrist does. He is very angry. He lifts you up by your wrist and you hear another loud crack and squeal out in pain. You’re face to face, he’s holding you above the ground so your feet don’t touch, but all the strain is on your one wrist. If it’s not dislocated and broken by now, it would be a miracle.

In his usual commanding but monotone voice he says, “I cannot allow anyone to hurt the future mother of my kids.” He drops you on the ground and your knees take all of the force. “Even if it is the mother herself.”

He huffs and pulls a needle from his shoulder, “I suppose I must control you until you are stable. Or until you can bare my child.”

Chrollo

Honestly it could be worst. Though being held against your will does take a large toll on you. You’re fed everyday and can bathe and can read whenever and whatever. It’s like free living, though prison is also rent free. He is always so soothing and kind, offering to do things for you, get things for you, make things for you. It really seems like he wants to make you happy.

He has been very honest and open with you. He claims he loves you and that he couldn’t let anyone else have a moment in the presence of your beauty. He seems normal until you realize you’ve been kidnapped. You wonder if you would have every suspected him to be crazy if you met him on the street. Truthfully, probably not.

There are probably people in the world who would be grateful for what you have even if it is completely and utterly against your will. But that’s not the full picture. He’s so kind and says such nice things to you. Until you upset him. He never hurts you, and he never touches you aggressively. His threats are what destroy you, his threats that are not empty.

One day you had pushed him away and told him to ‘fuck off’. He became very angry but continued to smile. He walked up to you real slowly and said in a calm voice “I’ll kill your ex and leave their corpse here.” He was not lying. The very next day when you woke up, there was the corpse of your ex. Laying on the floor, staining it with blood and what remains of their organs.

After setting that example he became more subtle. If you could even call it subtle. Whenever you upset or pissed him off, you might find a finger in a bowl, with a ring that you gave your friend on it. You had seen many dismembered body parts- but that’s when you learned to keep your silence and obey lest everyone you love die.

There’s one way out of here and it’s not by escaping. You ripped up some towels and tied them into a noose. Somehow it seemed like it would work.

You stand on the wooden chair, taking long deep breaths, accepting your fate. The makeshift rope hangs from the ceiling, you grab onto it and get ready to put your head through it. Right as you go to reach your head through, the chair underneath you buckles and you fall to the ground with a loud thud.

You feel strong arms wrap around you. How did he get here? When did he get here? He pulls you onto his lap and begins rocking you.

“Oh it looks like you’ve split the back of your head open.” He touches the back of your head and shows his bloodied hand to you as proof. “I had no idea you were feeling like this. You could have told me.”

He kisses your forehead gently but you already know that these actions will accompany something else.

“Unless you were trying to escape me.” He chuckles and holds you firmly against his chest. “Then we would have a problem, wouldn’t we?”

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #yandere illumi #hisoka #hisoka morrow #hisoka x reader #yandere hisoka #adult trio #adult trio x reader #yandere adult trio #hxh #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe

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bokettochild · 3 years

Text

A Hero Protects His Own - Part 1

Ao3

AU is by @ryssbelle I just write for it!!!! Go check them and their awesome AU out!!!!

..........................................................................................................................

Loud.

It’s loud and the camp is overwhelmingly tense as Legend screams harsh words in a language Twilight doesn’t understand. The others sit in silence, either burying their heads in their hands or trying their hardest to ignore it while Sky stares cold and impassive at the vet.

He shrinks back into his hood.

He’s fought the worst of the worst; monsters, evils, shadows and nightmares from realms beyond what the others will ever know, but somehow hearing his brothers screaming at each other like this is what it takes to make him shiver and shrink back.

Or maybe it’s the steel in Sky’s eyes.

He’s tried to separate them, tried to stop Legend antagonizing the Chosen Hero, and for a while he even thought it worked! Sky and Legend had bonded some after what the three of them refer to as “the bunny incident” Legend with a fierce blush and Sky and himself with grins and teasing. The vet would tease them, stand at their side and back them up, and they would do the same for him. That’s just the power of secrets, sharing them makes you closer to other people.

But then they’d been dropped in Legend’s world. They’d come to the veteran’s Hyrule and spent a day at his house and gone out to the forest with Ravio to investigate something strange that the merchant had seen. When they'd come to the cozy cottage, Sky had been teasing Legend and receiving playful jabs in return, but the next morning when everyone woke up there was stone cold silence between the two, Ravio overcome with nervous energy that, to their collective shock, had earned him some rather sharp words from the Skyloftian when the merchant had gotten them lost in the woods.

From there it got worse.

Legend and Sky are almost always at each other's throats now, icy blue and raging indigo burning into each other as Time has struggled to keep them separate, neither willing to explain their spat and Ravio to overcome to even attempt it.

The bunny merchant clings to Warriors even now, their scarves wrapped over the both of them and tying them together as Warriors paints the merchant’s nails, speaking softly and recounting adventures the two had apparently shared in an attempt to distract him from the shouting that fills the camp and the heated stares being shot between two heroes.

Sky’s hand grips the hilt of the Master Sword where it lies in his lap and Legend’s fist at his sides while he stands over the older hero, face twisted up in an ugly expression as he spews words Twilight knows he doesn’t want to understand.

“Make it stop.” Four whimpers, head buried in his side as the smithy’s shoulders tense further with each word. “It hurts.”

“Guys-” He tries, he really does, to be firm, but when there's so much anger already in the air, he knows that yelling will only do so much good, and when Sky’s sharp eyes meet his, usually so gentle and dreamy but now flashing with lightning and shadowed in thunderclouds, it’s all he can do to keep his voice low enough to not worsen things for Four.

“You’re hurting Four.” Time scolds.

Legend’s mouth snaps shut, Sky’s hands twitching as the two both look over the miserable bundle against his side.

“Fine.” Legend snaps, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Apologies.” Sky nods.

It’s easy to believe Sky will be a king one day when he acts like that. There’s no doubt that their usually sleepy friend can rule and command when he sits poker straight, actions clipped as his words and tone deep enough to rival times when he speaks. Gone are the gentle words and reassuring smiles, instead replaced with regal nods and flashing silver eyes. The war cape that usually warms shivering heroes on cold nights is a cape, and the halo cast over the Skyloftian’s honey-hair is a crown in the firelight.

Twilight has to shift in his place.

Thank Ordonia the two both have a soft spot for the smithy, otherwise they’d be here all night! And, while he loves the wolf that nestles inside of his heart, he also hates how the wolf’s senses affect his own. Legend’s shrieks might be annoying to the others, but to himself and Four, they’re agonizing.

Then again, he has to muffle a strained chuckle as Legend stomps past on his way to his bedroll, which is as far as possible from Sky’s without Time raising his brows, rabbits do scream rather loudly, don’t they.

“Are they done?” Four’s eyes actually have tears in them when he looks up, face flushed and miserable as he peeks up out from under the tail end of the wolf pelt.

“Yeah.” He has to keep his voice low as he answers, Four’s headaches are well known to be absolutely awful, and he can’t help but gently pet the smithy’s hair in an attempt to comfort him.

Baby.

Twilight has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Four’s nearly an adult.

Baby. The wolf in his soul rumbles, and Twilight has to mentally restrain himself from pulling the little smithy into his arms and absolutely suffocating him with his fluffy pelt and arms as he holds him as tight as possible. He thinks Four once explained why they want to squeeze babies and small things so much, but he can’t be bothered to dig through all of the smithy’s rants about Hylian behavior in order to remember it.

It was something related to eating though, and the thought makes him wrinkle his nose.

“Good.” Four sighs, flopping fully against him and tugging the pelt over his eyes. “They do that again and I’m gonna slap them both. Jerks.”

A laugh rumbles through his chest as the wolf growls in approval.

Fierce baby. The Wolf laughs.

He’s close to our age. Twilight reminds himself. He jist looks small and young.

Never mind that the smithy has his childish moments, eyes glimmering red and warm as he laughs along with Wind as the two watch some prank or another play out. It’s always hard to tell if Four is just laughing at their misfortune or if he’s the reason for it and is reveling in his genius, because when questioned the smithy always looks so childishly innocent or entirely unimpressed. It’s a difficult thing to pin the blame on the smithy, and they’ve all quite given up. Except Sky.

Sky, who can read Four like a book and is currently shooting worried glances in the smithy’s direction, all fire and rage gone from crystal eyes when the Skyloftian catches sight of the smithy curled up beside him, only his legs and stockinged feet visible beneath the pelt. “Is he okay?”

Twilight nods. “Exhausted, fightin’ a bad headache, but he says it ain’t quite a migraine.”

The other hero nods with a wince. “You got him then?”

Oh definitely. This is his little brother! Of course, he can take care of him! “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He’s feeling guilty.

They are close, he prob’bly just wants to help.

“You good, Sky?”

Crystal blue meets his slowly, a pained smile on his brother’s face as Sky settles down on his other side, reaching over quickly to gently pat Four’s knee before answering. “Yeah. Legend just-” Sky answers, running a hand through his hair with a huff of his puffed-out cheeks. “Vet’s a Hylia Blessed piece of work somedays!”

Laughter spills from him this time, and he can’t stop it even when Four pokes his side irritably. “That has got to be the nicest way I’ve e’er heard someone call another person an ass! Did you just say ‘Hylia blessed’?”

Sky rolls his eyes. “I love Legend same as any of you guys, he’s just...” Another heavy puff of breath, one that he didn’t know Sky could even manage with his asthma, billows out, ruffling the Skyloftian’s bangs as he motions to where Legend is sat with his back against Warriors, Twilight would almost dare to say that the vet is pouting as War reaches over to gently ruffle the vet’s hair fondly while Ravio chirps something nervous and encouraging at him.

“He can a bit difficult.” He finishes, but Sky shakes his head fiercely.

“That’s not it! I deal with difficult people all the time! My best friend was the biggest ass I knew before he stopped trying to one up me and started to actually help. I can handle a bit of sass and snark, I mean, look at us!” Sky exclaims, motioning to the camp and everyone in it.

“Keep it down!” Four hisses. “Headache!”

“Sorry.” He choruses with Sky as the smithy glares up at the both of them before retreating back underneath the protective shade of his wolf pelt.

“It’s not the grouchiness, or the snark.” Sky explains softly, blue eyes pained as they glance at Legend. “We’re just. We have very different opinions about some things.” He’s about to say something when Sky cuts him off, eyes glistening softly in the fire as he stares across at the pouting vet. “I get that he doesn’t care for the goddesses. I’m not happy with it, but I can respect his opinions; they’re valid as much as mine are, and he has his reasons to feel the way he does. But some things-” The Skyloftian shakes his head fiercely, eyes going stony again. “Some things aren’t open for discussion like faith and beliefs. Hard, cold facts can’t be denied, no matter how much Legend would like to.”

There’s a bite in Sky’s voice again, and it makes him flinch back. Beneath his pelt, Four’s fingers clench his tunic, the smithy stiff as a board again. He sneaks an arm around the younger hero, squeezing gently in reassurance as he follows Sky’s gaze to the trio opposite them, where Legend is glaring at a laughing Warriors while Ravio giggles softly along, the three melting back into their seamlessly antagonistically friendly behavior around each other.

“Legend’s smart. But he’s also blind.” Sky bites out bitterly. “And it’s just gonna get him hurt.”

He’s about to ask what Sky means, but at that very moment Wild jumps up from sitting beside Time, ears pricked and eyes wide as a hoarse-shout rings from his cub’s throat. “Monster attack!”

Monsters.

The growl rumbles in his chest as he pulls himself to his feet, Four following with a groan and Sky already sprinting across the camp with the Master Sword drawn and in hand.

The monsters are on them before most of them even have a chance to draw their blades.

Mindless beasts swirl about, blocking his vision of the others as he dances through them, fending off any headed towards the suffering smithy while simultaneously trying to carve a path for himself and Four to where the others are.

“Eyes out for the black one!” Warriors voice rises over the din of blades crashing and monsters squealing, all of the playfulness of the moment before replaced with the practiced calm and clipped tones of a soldier.

“Aye Captain!” Wind shouts back, followed by Wild and Time, the only one’s accustomed to a soldier’s commands, as they thrust themselves into the battle.

The monsters swarm thicker and thicker, but in every spare second, he keeps his eyes open, searching the crowd for the black lizalfoes that’s been the source of so much of their trouble lately. Nothing can be seen save monster after monster of the normal sort, their blood streaking red across the dirt, thin and weak as bodies fall with more ease than any of their previous battles.

“These ‘blins are red blooded!” He calls out. “Keep your guards up! They strong one’s are prob’bly holdin’ back!”

The Ordon Sword sings through the air, but despite his own warning, the monsters are already starting the thin. More stream in from the forest, but they runabout wild like any old ‘blins and lizards, none of the intelligence or strength of their corrupted cousins making an appearance so often recently. The same can be said of the black lizalfoes; no one can spot it, there’s no flash of black in the crowd save for his own pelt as he spins and stabs, dancing easily along to Warriors’ side.

“Any sign?” The captain pants out, parrying an enemy blade and thrusting forwards to skewer the moblin before him.

“None.” He heaves back, raising his shield against his own opponent and pushing back against the spear that embedded it inside. “Have you seen Four? I lost him in the mob?”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before a scream, all too harsh and broken sounded across the field. “Sky!”

Midnight meets royal blue as soldier and rancher lock eyes for all of a moment before swinging out with all their might at their enemies, razing them low and clearing their vision long enough to stare over the field.

Four is clutching at his sword arm, eyes wide and staring as they looked to where Sky has been cast onto the ground a few paces away, thrown by the force of a blow that no doubt had been headed for the smithy himself. No ordinary monster could land a blow on Sky unless he was rushing to someone else’s rescue, and the guilt already filtering into the smithy’s eyes was all that is needed to confirm the thought.

The Master Sword lies on the forest floor, to far from Sky for the knight to grasp it as he pulls himself to his knees, enemies already baring down on him from all directions.

“Sky!” Twin voices shout.

Flying-Heart!!!! The Wolf screams inside of him, pushing his feet forwards to charge to Sky’s side.

Red flashes before him, swirling fabric, the color of aged blood and wine, a hood like a poe’s drawn up over a being’s head, a single blackened hand reaching out from beneath, red swirling over clawed fingers as Sky’s breath comes heaving from his lungs, side bleeding from the blow that had downed him.

A voice, neither high nor low but pitched in such a way that none could hear quite what was being said, murmurs something as the power on the blackened hand pulses.

Monsters rage around the hero and poe-like being, but none step closer to Sky, although their eyes trail to him eagerly every so often when Heroes, desperate to save their brother, aren’t hacking through their numbers.

A moblin rises before Twilight, blocking his vision for precious seconds before a roar built in his chest and his sword cleft the being in two. The second was enough though. Sky’s scream sounds over the field, harsh and grating and agonizing! The wolf throbs inside of him, tearing at the walls of his mind as he attempted to press through the creatures keeping him from his brother.

“Get back you-” Legend’s words are cut off sharply by Time’s scream of rage as the biggoron sword swings and fells three monsters at once. The Master Sword gleams in Legend’s hands as he launches himself at the being, teeth set and eyes flashing as he swings down, making the red-cape dart back as the pink-haired hero came to a halt between hero and monster, Sky’s weakening breath ringing over the field.

The vet’s eyes flash to meet his for only a moment. “Kick ass! We need to end this!”

A firm nod, the wolf is already raging inside him and he gave it full control as his blade and shield fend off and fell enemy after enemy, their screams and blood running over him like the air itself, so little he cares for them. His only job now is to beat back the monsters, give Legend space to work, keep Sky safe.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Like a dirge of war, the wolf’s thoughts swirl with his own, red clouding his vision as the Ordon Sword severs limbs and head and cleft bodies in two. Feet dance the war stomps of bloodlust as eyes flash with the golden of the wolf.

“Portal!” Wild screams over the din of the monsters falling. “Hylia’s!” His pup sounds strained, rage and terror mixing in a cocktail of fury as arrows plunge into the enemy and weapons fly loose across the Champion’s personal battle space, an area where even the monsters drew back in fear while the rest of the heroes give the youngster ample space to cause chaos.

Sure enough, the portal’s golden power is sweeping across the field, the faint brush of feathers over their cheeks and shoulders and the whisper of warmth and honey as the goddess’s strength flows over the field.

“Legend, watch out!” Hyrule’s cry cuts through, and Twilight only has enough time to see the blackened hand swing forwards and catch hold of Legend’s tunic before the golden glow of the shift swept it all away.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #devine beast sky #devine twili beast sky #raven of sky #lu sky #lu legend #lu twilight #lu four #idiot writes angst #danggit! I forgot to tag Ravio on ao3!!!!#uh... yeah #lu ravio #lu time #lu hyrule #lu warriors #lu wind #lu wild #ryssbelle my beloved

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noctumbra · 4 years

Text

❝accidental❞

summary ─ “there’s something…” he whispered, his eyes were still on the screen. fingers moving slowly, trying to feel what was exactly there, you felt your clit throb. oh no, you thought, no, please no.

pairing ─ doctor/gynecologist!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ smut, +18, fingering, fluff, flirting, light dirty talk, sexual tension, hand jobs, oral sex (m receiving)

a/n ─ i told you guys that i will write what’s left from the prompts, and i’m keeping my promise! hope you like it! if you do, please leave a comment! thank you <333

KINKTOBER DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: doctor!bucky + accidental orgasm + medical kink

You fixed your skirt for the hundredth time as you waited for your gynecologist to come back from where he had been called from. You were lucky to have such a good gynecologist; he was focused on his work, paid attention to whatever you said and was always kind and respectful towards you.

He also looked damn good in his baby blue scrubs, but you weren’t going to tell him that, of course.

“I’m so sorry for the wait,” he apologized as he walked inside and closed the door behind him. “I needed to check up on a patient who got c-section couple days ago.” He smiled at you and sat down on his comfy looking chair.

“It’s alright. I know I’m not your only patient,” you dismissed his apology softly, smiling right back at him.

Dr. James Barnes. Your Handsome as Fuck and Gentle as Hell gynecologist.

It’d be a right guess to say that you were crushing on the guy a little, but he was your doctor. You couldn’t afford to find another doctor as good as him, so you always surpassed that side of yourself.

“Hope you’ve been alright,” he started, making a small talk as he opened your file. “Your cycle must have ended two weeks ago, am I right?” You nodded. “That’s good. Do you have any complaints?”

You felt your face heat up a bit. “I have these cramps? They’re like period cramps, but hurt more somehow,” you explained and placed your hands on your lower abdomen. Dr Barnes nodded, his eyebrows were pinched together in concentration. “I started having them after my period ended. Is this normal?”

Dr Barnes hummed. He scribbled down something to his notebook and checked something on his computer. “Would you mind if I check?” He asked, “I would like see if anything is wrong in there before I say something.” You frowned a little, but nodded.

“Sure,” you agreed. Dr Barnes smiled at you widely, his whole face suddenly lightened up. He pushed his chair back and pulled open the small closet by his desk.

“Purple or sea green?” He looked at you calculatingly. You tried not to grin.

“I’m a purple girl myself,” you murmured. Dr Barnes grinned and winked.

“Okay, then, there you go,” he extended you the purple hospital gown. “Please change it there,” he pointed the small area that was made private with a portable privacy screen. “What we’re about to do is invasive so, please make sure that you’re fitting for that.” He smiled again, but this time it was assuring.

“Alright,” you nodded. Moving behind the screen, you pulled it close and quickly shed your clothes and your underwear. Thank fuck I had my waxing done three days ago, you thought as you put your panties in your bag. You sat on the chair, placing your feet and taking the proper position, you wiggled. “I’m ready,” you called out softly.

You were nervous. It wasn’t the first time he was going to see your pussy; he had seen it multiple times before. It didn’t change the fact that you always got nervous, though. Probably because of the position, you thought yourself and hummed quietly.

Dr Barnes cleared his throat gently before you saw him move behind the screen, and he was right in front of you a second later. “Okay,” he murmured, voice soft. “Let’s see.” He put on his white gloves, grabbed the ultrasound wound and placed a condom on it. It was basic things, things that he always did whenever you came for your check-ups, but the concentration on his face, the gloves and the scrub…

Shit, you cursed silently to yourself. Am I getting wet? Great.

“Take a deep breath, please,” he instructed. “This might feel a little cold.” You nodded. Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling. You felt the slick tip of wand touching the lips of your pussy, and then you felt it slide inside. You shuddered. It was an involuntary movement, but you knew that it was also because of your doctor. “Okay…” he whispered. His steel blue eyes were on the ultrasound screen, trying to see if there was something wrong.

The wand grazed something, and you jolted on your seat, moaning accidentally.

“Did that hurt?” Dr Barnes asked immediately.

“A little,” you answered him, nodding your head slowly. Whatever that thing just touched, it sent a very strong tingling feeling right to your toes, but you weren’t going to say that to him of course. He didn’t say anything but continued to move the wand inside you gently.

It grazed over that place again, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning loudly this time. It didn’t hurt so much but something was sensitive there.

“Would you mind if I use my fingers? Something is there, but I can’t see it clearly from here,” he pointed the screen. “Maybe I can understand what it is if I touch it.” You nodded. He pulled the wand out. “Alright, tell me if I so something wrong, though.” You nodded again and wished this conversation was happening under different circumstances.

You felt his fingers at your entrance. Two of them slid inside of you easily; his long fingers were able to reach that place without having a trouble. You jerked and moaned unintentionally again. Dr Barnes hummed thoughtfully and grazed over that thing again. Just flinching slightly this time, you moaned. You really wanted to keep this professional, but whatever he was doing there was making you feel good somehow.

“There’s something…” he whispered, his eyes were still on the screen. Fingers moving slowly, trying to feel what was exactly there, you felt your clit throb. Oh no, you thought, No, please no.

Under a minute, he was pumping his fingers in and out of you for real. It wasn’t fast or so slow, but it was a pace or some sorts and you’ve been wet ever since you saw him putting the gloves on. Your clit throbbed violently, your toes were curling and your nipples were aching just a little.

You knew you were about to fucking come.

“Hmm,” Dr Barnes hummed again. When you looked at him, you saw his eyes fixed on you, not the screen. They were dark, his pupils were dilated. He knew that you were right there, could feel you tightening around his fingers, and it made your face burn madly. “Whatever this is, it’s quiet something, isn’t it.”

His fingers curled inside of you, and that was it.

Your toes curled, clit throbbed and thigh muscles tightened: You came right on his fingers. A shocked gasp escaped from you and you choked on your moan. For a second, you thought you might have been imagining all of this, but you were aware of that you weren’t dreaming anything: Dr Barnes’ fingers increased their pace, his thumb found a seat on your clit and he continued to graze over that spot.

“Need to feel one more time,” he murmured. “I’m almost sure.”

Oh no.

Before you could come down from your current orgasm, Dr Barnes’ fingers were carrying you to another one. You moaned; it was impossible to stop them now. Your hands tightened on your sides and you somehow managed to widen the stance of your legs. His dark eyes were focused on you so intently, you shivered under their gaze.

“Hmm,” he hummed, standing up from his seat. He was standing between your legs now. Looking big and straining the scrubs, his lab coat, your doctor looked so yummy. His fingers were still in you, pumping and curling and you were there. If he just…

“Fuck!” You moaned loudly as you climaxed, thighs shaking. You heard him cooing at you softly. He withdrew his fingers, snapping the gloves off, he leaned over the chair and tucked your hair. In front of his scrubs were touching your bare pussy. You shivered.

“Honey,” he whispered. You shivered again at his voice tone. “Deep breaths, that’s right.” You panted a couple more minutes, but he was right beside you. He stroked your cheeks, played with your hair softly and cooed at you. You hummed. “That was something, huh,” he joked silently. You chuckled, but your face didn’t stop increasing the heat on your face. You sneaked your hand in front his scrubs, hearing him taking a sharp breath.

“Deep breaths, Doc,” you whispered. “There’s something that I need to feel, your scrubs don’t let me see it properly.” Bucky chuckled which turned into a moan, groaning deep in his chest as you wrapped your hand around him. He was rock hard. You knew right away that it wasn’t going to take too long for him to come in your hand.

Bucky groaned when you tightened your hand. His hips were thrusting into your fist with small movements; you doubted that he was aware of doing it.

“Do you think I need a better look?” You asked him. Bucky let out a confused sound and watched you get off the chair, dropping on your knees.

“Oh shit,” he breathed. His chest heaved and he fisted his hair. You smirked at him and lowered your head towards his cock. Closing your mouth around his tip, you sucked gently. Your hand was covering the rest, jacking him, while you continued to suck, suck and suck. You could feel his balls tightening whenever you grazed them. Bucky was a moaning mess above you. He was trying to stay silent, but it was hard. Oh boy, you thought. I know the feeling.

You ran your tongue on the tip, twirling it, and continued to suck. Hollowing your tongue, you tightened your hand around him and heard him grunting like he was punched.

“I─ Oh, oh, shit,” he whispered harshly and his cock twitched in your hand and mouth twice, and then he came. His leg and balls jerked, cock twitched even more and his come hit the back of your throat. You hummed as you sucked him dry. Bucky pushed you off with a gentle touch on your shoulder. You pulled off, rising on your legs.

“That was a payback for the second one,” you said, grabbing the tissue and wiping your mouth. Bucky looked at you like he was already in love with you.

Hell, maybe he was. He’s been crushing on you for years now.

“Can I get back on you for those sounds then?” He asked, raising a brow at you questioningly. Your eyes narrowed.

“Depends on what you gonna do,” you answered. Bucky smiled, face softening immediately, he stepped closer to you.

“I’m gonna take you out on a date if you’d let me,” he murmured. You smiled at him back widely.

“Doc,” you mocked. “This might be best idea you ever had after that ‘let’s change your birth control pills to IUD since you’re memory is shit’ thing.” Bucky chuckled, going a little red on the face. You played with his fingers soothingly. “Yeah,” you said. “I would let you to take me out on a date.”

Bucky’s smile was radiant.

“Great!” He beamed. “I’ll, uh, I’ll call you. I, um, have your number, y’know, you gave it to me for emergencies?” You nodded. “Okay, I’ll call you. Or text you.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “I should go, now, though.” Bucky nodded, murmuring a soft ‘yeah’. You quietly changed into your clothes as he returned to his desk, scribbling notes on a paper. When you emerged, you frowned. “Was there really something?”

Bucky looked up with a frown on his face. “Huh? What?” Then a spark went off in his eyes and he blushed rapidly. “Um, no.”

You narrowed your eyes again. “Doc…”

“Stop,” he whined. You smiled and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll get back at you on that later,” you said, winking at him cheekily. He murmured something unintelligently, nodding you off.

You saw yourself out of his room, a spring on your steps because you had a date with the most handsome gynecologist you’ve ever seen.

He was also the sweetest one, too.

#bucky barnes x reader #doctor!bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagines #doctor!bucky barnes #doctor au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #kinktober 2020

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timelesslords · 3 years

Text

I’ve Got This Fever

Read on AO3

In which Annabeth catches the flu, and domestic fluff ensues

Annabeth woke up in pain.

This wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence. Being a demigod, Annabeth was no stranger to pain. She’d had broken bones, burns, cuts, stab wounds…. you name an injury, Annabeth Chase had probably experienced it.

But this was a different kind of hurt, a hurt Annabeth hadn’t felt in a long time. Her head was pounding. Her mouth was drier than the Sahara desert. Her muscles ached, and even the soft sheets and pajamas she was wearing felt like knives on her skin. Despite being under a mountain of covers, she was shivering, bitterly cold.

There was no doubt about it. Annabeth was sick.

Annabeth never got sick.

She groaned, sitting up. That turned out to be a bad idea as a wave of nausea rolled over her, and she lowered herself back onto her pillows, falling the last half of the distance. She felt Percy shift beside her, woken from her movement.

“Hey,” he said, the smile fading quickly from his face as he saw her own expression, which was probably nothing short of miserable. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like crap.”

She surprised even herself with how horrible her voice sounded, raspy and dry. Percy frowned, reaching out and touching her forehead. He normally ran hot, but now his fingers felt cool against her skin, almost painfully so.

“You’re burning up.” he said, frown deepening.

“I’m freezing.” Annabeth croaked. As if to prove her point, she shivered involuntarily.

“That’s the fever talking.” Percy said grimly, “Hold on.”

He climbed out of bed. His warmth left with him, and Annabeth was left just that much colder, trembling under the covers. Percy couldn’t have been gone more than two minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

When he returned he was holding a thermometer and a glass of water.

“Temperature first. The water might mess with the reading.” He said, apologetic. She wanted to hate him for that because she was so thirsty she thought she might die, but she knew he was right.

Annabeth sat up slowly. Thankfully this time she just felt a little dizzy and not nauseous. The thermometer was cold and uncomfortable under her tongue, but Percy kept a steadying hand on her back, rubbing small circles into her shoulder with his thumb. With her oversensitive skin it almost hurt, but she leaned into the contact anyways.

When the thermometer beeped, Percy traded it for the glass of water. Annabeth nearly downed the entire glass in one gulp.

“A hundred and one.” he announced, flipping the display so she could see. The number was lit up in red, signaling that she did, in fact, have a fever.

“I can’t be sick. I have class.” Annabeth said. Her voice was a little improved by the water, but she still sounded kind of terrible.

“Just email your professors and tell them you can’t make it.” Percy said, as if this were the easiest thing in the world.

For him it probably was. He did his best with school, but he also wasn’t opposed to ditching class every once in a while and blaming it on a fabricated stomach bug, something Annabeth found absolutely abhorrent. She hadn’t missed one class in her entire college career, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“It’s fine. I’ll just take some tylenol and I’ll be good to go.” Annabeth said. Percy gave her an exasperated look.

“Beth. You probably have the flu, you can’t go to class like this.”

“It’s just a little fever.” Annabeth protested. Really, she was already starting to feel better. It was just waking up that had been the hard part, and some ibuprofen would knock her headache and high temperature right out. Percy didn’t look so convinced, but what did he know.

“If you say so.” Percy said, crossing his arms over his chest. Annabeth looked at him suspiciously.

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” she asked. Percy just gave a shrug, though his expression was a stubborn one.

“Nope. You can go right ahead.” Percy said, gesturing his hand off the bed. There was no way he should be giving up this easily, but if he wasn’t going to argue with her, Annabeth wasn’t going to be the one to start it.

She swung her legs carefully over the edge of the bed, glancing again at Percy. He gave her a go ahead look, so she did. The second she tried to put weight on her feet, her vision blacked out and her knees buckled. She would have fallen flat on her face if Percy hadn’t been waiting there to catch her. Her headache immediately doubled in intensity, and Annabeth groaned.

“Still wanna go to class?” Percy asked. He at least had the decency to sound sorry for her, even though making fun of her would have been just as deserved.

“That was mean.” Annabeth complained. Percy lowered her back into bed, gently pushing her shoulder so she would lie down again. Annabeth didn’t need so much convincing this time.

“It was the fastest way.” Percy said apologetically, brushing some hair out of her eyes “You would have fought me on it all day, otherwise.”

Annabeth sighed, but didn’t deny it. She probably would have been unbearable. She probably still was going to be unbearable.

“How am I sick? I never get sick. I’ve never had the flu in my life.” Annabeth said. She glanced upwards at Percy, who was looking very much like he was trying to not say something.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.” he said quickly, but Annabeth knew his expressions better than her own, and she knew when he was holding back.

“You’re thinking something.” Annabeth said accusingly. A smile cracked through his holding-back face.

“Should I not be?” he asked.

“You know what I mean.” Annabeth grumbled.

“Okay. I mean, I’m sure your immune system is very high-quality. I mean, it's yours, how could it not be?”

“Stop trying to butter me up.” Annabeth said, but she couldn't keep a smile all the way off her face.

“Who said I was buttering you up? I was complimenting your robust immune response” Percy said innocently, still grinning.

“Now you’re trying to distract me, but it won’t work.”

This was a complete lie. If he tried a little harder, it probably would work, and he knew it as well as she did. He caved anyways, which meant he probably did actually want to tell her what he was thinking.

“Okay, fine.” Percy said, “I was just going to say, you spent most of your winters at camp, which is totally isolated from the outside world, which means you haven’t really had a real flu season since you were like seven.”

“I went to boarding school.” Annabeth reminded him.

“Yeah, and you spent winter breaks at camp, or at your dad’s.”

He neglected to mention that she had spent one such break kidnapped by Luke and forced to carry the weight of the sky, which would have proved his point further, but Percy was not so ruthless during little discussions like these that he needed to bring up every last piece of evidence. Annabeth envied that restraint sometimes.

“Are you trying to tell me that my immune system probably actually sucks because it hasn’t been exposed to anything real since I was eight?” Annabeth asked. Percy bit his bottom lip.

“You said it, not me.” he said, with an apologetic shrug. Annabeth groaned again, rolling onto her stomach and shoving her face in her pillow. The sudden movement did nothing to relieve her headache; in fact it started pounding away with renewed vigor.

“But I got my flu shot and everything.” Annabeth complained, “I wash my hands all the time.”

“If you hadn’t gotten your shot you’d be feeling twice as bad right now, believe me.” Percy said. Between his ADHD-induced forgetfulness and his living in the city during flu season, Annabeth was inclined to trust him on that one.

“What do I do?” she asked, turning her face halfway off the pillow so she could look at him again. The sympathetic look he was giving her did not make her optimistic for his answer.

“Drink a lot of water and wait for it to pass.”

“That’s it?” Annabeth asked in disbelief.

“And keep an eye on your temperature.” Percy amended, “If it goes over a hundred and three I’m taking you to the ER.”

“Modern medicine is a sham.” Annabeth said. That elicited a laugh from him, at least.

“Go back to sleep. You can send your emails later.” he said, brushing a few stray curls behind her ear.

“I don’t know if I can.” Annabeth said, and it wasn’t even a lie or her being stubborn. She was still freezing somehow, shivering even though she was under blankets again.

In response, Percy crawled back under the covers, wrapping his arms around her. She snuggled into his chest, stealing his warmth, even though she knew she shouldn’t.

“You have class.” Annabeth protested. She felt his laugh, a sturdy vibration in his chest, more than she heard it.

“Not anymore. I’m probably just as contagious as you at this point.”

Annabeth tried again.

“I’m going to get you sick.”

“Maybe.” Percy said, not sounding particularly bothered by it either way.

“But…” Annabeth trailed off. She didn’t want him to leave, but it also didn’t feel fair to keep him here, knowing she was probably condemning him to the same misery she was feeling now.

“Don’t worry about me.” Percy said, reading her thoughts, “I used to ride the subway everyday, I think I’ve had every strain of the flu known to man. And if you think I’m just going to leave you here shivering, you’re crazy.”

“I guess I’ll allow it.” Annabeth mumbled, scooting a little closer to him. The shakes were finally starting to dissipate, driven off by Percy’s warmth.

“Oh, you’ll allow it?” he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice, even if she couldn’t see it.

“For now.” Annabeth said, though she had absolutely no intention of changing her mind, and he knew it better than she did.

“Go back to sleep, Wise Girl.” Percy said, kissing the top of her head.

“Fine.” she said, too tired to think of a good retort. “Seaweed Brain.” she added sleepily, for good measure. She felt him laugh again.

It took a while, but eventually she managed to drift off to sleep again, curled up against his chest.

#i had a shitty day at work so have some tooth-rotting fluff #percabeth #percabeth fic #percabeth fanfic #percabeth fluff #percabeth angst #pjo #pjo fic #pjo fanfic #pjo one shot #percabeth oneshot #Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson fanfic #percy x annabeth

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caffeineforbucky · 3 years

Text

As Time Goes By...(Chapter three)

A/N: This one took a while to write. I've just been so busy doing absolutely nothing all while procrastinating, so special thanks to that. No, but I really hope you like this, fellow reader. If you like the series, let me know if you want to be tagged!

(Side note: I've been playing RE8, thirsting over lady D, and dying over and over...it's going great! It's part of the procrastination...)

Also, has anyone seen the Bridgerton musical tiktoks? I swear I've had the 'burn for you' song in my head all last month and if you've been living under a rock...here's the link:

https://youtu.be/EwY9_m5qeow

Word Count: 2,299

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

Warnings: I don't know....angst? As always, John Walker!?! AKA; Fake Cap. Umm...If I missed any let me know.

(A little PSA: I don't hate John Walker: or the actor. John is a well-written character. This is just strictly for the purpose of where my story is going. I'm more reiterating how Bucky treats him in the show. Thank you!!)

You groan, rolling from your left side to lay flatly on your back, arms spread out beside you. You inhale deeply, becoming aware of the moistened dirt and crushed wildflowers beneath you as they release their aromatics. Birds chirped around you, the busy sounds of traffic fading away while you lie still in the field, oxygen feeling heavy in your lungs.

"Y/N?!"

You barely heard the worrisome calls of Sam over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You lift your head, the view of icy mountains in the distance, blurry figures making their way towards you while you somehow managed to sit up. Your head was spinning, a sharp ache on the side of your thigh.

Your eyes flickered down, taking note of the small paring knife lodged in your thigh. You exhaled softly, nodding your head at the sight of it. "Okay," You grumble in agreement. With shaking hands, you wrap your fingers around the handle, bracing yourself by taking intervolved breaths before carefully pulling it from your thigh.

You worked fast, ignoring the crunch of rocks and dirt under the acknowledgeable footsteps of Sam and Bucky. Taking babochka, you cut off the end of your pant leg, wrapping the spandex around your wounded thigh before securing it with one of the holsters, tying the ends into a knot. You remain quiet, carefully pushing yourself up to your feet, transferring all of the weight to the opposite leg, eyes drifting up to meet the guys. "Are you guys okay?" You murmur, dusting off the clumps of dirt and dead leaves from your jacket.

"Are you?!" Sam exclaimed incredulously. "You're bleeding!" He points out, gesturing to the bright red staining the skin of your calf as it dripped down to your boot. The wrap might've held the wound shut, but that didn't mean blood wouldn't have soaked through.

"Oh, this?" You ask, glancing down at your leg, the wound throbbing in agony, but you did your best to avoid it. "I've had worse." That was true, from all those years fighting as an avenger. Getting shot, kicked, stabbed, beaten until you were purple, and undergoing mind control. This tiny stab was the least of your worries. It still hurt like hell, and you couldn't hide the discomfort in your features.

"Do you want a piggyback?" Bucky asks suddenly, slightly annoyed at your nonchalance and still concerned nonetheless. You weren't expecting it, the odd but kind offer, especially from the menace himself. Though you weren't one to pass up being carried. With a hesitant nod, you agree, watching Bucky crouch just a bit, allowing you to climb on his back.

The position was awkward for both of you. With his hands tightening on the back of your knees and your arms wrapped around his neck, neither of you could think straight. Yet, you were still thankful. The road to the airport was a long one, and you weren't sure if you could make it in your state. Bucky held you as if you weighed nothing, his super-soldier strength showing off while he carried you on his back, footsteps matching up with Sam. He didn't mind doing it, especially since he was the one who offered, and the proximity was just a bonus.

"Sorry about Redwing," Bucky muses, breaking the silence while the three of you sauntered down the empty road. There was nothing for miles, only empty plains of grass and dirt. Young trees scattered, lacking the greenery around them, evident of the cold weather in Munich.

"No, you're not," Sam remarks, narrowing his eyes to a pinprick at the winter soldier. "You've always hated Redwing."

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry about it," Bucky grumbles, tightening his hold on you as he felt you slipping. You gasp at the sudden strength, clinging better to his shoulders as well. "How're you doin' up there?" He asks, jaw clenching from your touch.

"All things considering," You sigh, pushing aside the butterflies in your tummy at how close you were to Bucky. "I've been better. We've gotta find out where that super serum is coming from."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in, glancing at you. "-And how the hell after 80 years are there eight super-soldiers runnin' loose?"

Loud honks of a horn ring in your ears, tires treading on the gravel as an army jeep slows down beside the three of you. "So, that didn't go as planned, huh?" John chuckles, pushing the door open only for you to keep walking, paying no mind to the man in stars and stripes.

"Okay, keep going," John utters, signaling the driver to keep up as he pulls the door shut. "Look, at least we know what we're up against, huh? And I'm pretty sure it's one of the big three...so,"

"Aliens, androids, or wizards," Lemar comments as John nods his head in agreement.

"There's no such thing as wizards!" Bucky grunts, keeping his eyes forward, hands on the back of your knees.

"Fine, aliens or androids," John settles, sharing a look with his best friend beside him. "Look, it's 20 miles to the airport, and you guys need a ride. Gary, stop," He instructs, the wheels slowing down. John opens the door once again. "Get in," He sighs, motioning all of you inside the jeep as Bucky and Sam's footsteps came to a halt.

Bucky gently sets you down, taking note of the small whimpers falling from your lips. No matter how tough you appeared to be, you still carried so much vulnerability. "You okay?" He asks, eyes filled with so much concern it almost scared you. He hadn't looked at you like that in a while. "Do you want any help?"

With a soft nod, you oblige to Bucky's ask, needing more help than you anticipated. You didn't want to add any strain or force to your injury. You didn't even realize it happened, and that part of it was Sam's fault for swooping to grab you while you had a knife in hand, but you weren't going to start pointing fingers. You wrap your arm around Bucky's shoulder, using him as support while he boosts you up on the jeep after Sam climbs up first, helping you settle beside him.

"Woah!" John exclaims, almost rising to his feet at the sight of your thigh, your hands stained with blood. "Are you okay?"

With a curt nod, you adjust yourself to relieve some of the pressure while Bucky takes a seat on your left, leaving you to be right smack dab in the middle as he pulls the door shut. You blow out a breath, knowing damn well if it hadn't been for the mishap, you would've walked the damn 20 miles.

"Lemar, hand me the first aid kit," John instructs, pointing to the steel case beside his friend. You wanted to protest, but even you knew that the strap wasn't going to work. Mouthing a thank you, you take the case from Lemar's hand and clip it open.

"Okay, so we got eight super-soldiers on a bulk supply run," John continues, the jeep beginning to roll down the road. You hand the case to Sam, asking him to hold it while you searched for gauze, medical tape, and butterfly bandages, you were probably going to need stitches, but you'd worry about that later. "Why?" John asks, watching closely as you patched up your wound.

"They say their mission is to get things back to the way it was during the blip," Sam answers, handing you another strip of tape. "Maybe they're just tryna help."

"They had a funny way of showing it," Bucky adds, his eyes trained on you, a hiss slipping through your lips as you roll down the remaining spandex. You sigh in relief, the ache becoming dull as you shut the case, giving it back to Lemar.

"Better?" John asks, earning a single nod as a response. "I don't think we've properly met. John Walker," he smiles, offering a shake of his hand, but you didn't move, only staring at the outstretched palm in front of you. "Does she talk?" John mumbles suddenly, looking to Sam or Bucky for a reply.

Your eyes cast down, gaze hardening at the sight of the shield in his grasp. Flashes of Steve running through your mind, the many times he'd catch you trying to throw it like he would. Steve Rogers meant a lot to you, having joined him in not signing the Sokovian accords, being an outlaw, and helping to clear Bucky's name with Sam. So, seeing a man who wasn't Steve hold the shield awoke something in you. Something unkind and hateful.

"When she wants to," You claim, John squirms in his seat, sensing the tension as your eyes flicker to his. "And frankly has no desire to speak to you."

"You don't even know me," John defends, glancing at Bucky, a sly smirk on his lips, and Sam, who rendered quiet, his eyes looking elsewhere. John sets his attention back on you, lips razor thin.

You scoff, shaking your head softly as you fold your arms over your chest. "Jonathon F. Walker," You begin, leaning back in your seat, your eyes never leaving his. "Former Captain of the U.S Army's 75th Rangers Regiment. Graduated at the top of your class from the United States Military and the first person in American history to receive three medals of honor, ran RS-one missions in counterterrorism and hostage rescue."

John's tongue darts between his lips, a frown spreading throughout his forehead at the information you were giving him. Either you did research on him or, you just read his file, which you had done both. You were not one to go into a mission without potentially knowing who you were up against. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"So you saw the news?" John chuckles, the frown falling from his features while he shrugs. "Big deal, so did the entire world."

"Custer's Grove High school alumni."

John's smile falters.

"There you met, Lemar Hoskins and your current wife," You tilt your head in curiosity. "Olivia, right? Or am I getting it wrong?"

Clearing his throat softly, John broke eye contact with you. So you did know him, and you probably knew more than you led on. "Do they always just stare like that?" He gestures between you and Bucky, who had displayed the same distaste for him.

Sam glances beside him, observing the matched body language you shared with Bucky, its no wonder Bucky had taken a liking to you, even if he'd never admit it. "You get used to it," Sam smirks, turning his head back to Walker.

"Okay..." John drags, eyes flickering to the more sensible one of the trio, and that was Sam. "Look, that serum doesn't have the greatest track record, no offense," He waves his hand, dismissing the insult directed towards the only super-soldier in the car.

"We need to figure out where they're going. How'd you track 'em here?" Sam asks, "The flag smashers."

"Uh," Lemar murmurs, scratching the back of his head. "We didn't track them. We tracked you through Redwing."

"You hacked my tech!?" Sam gripes, straightening out his back as he sat up.

"Sorry," John laughs, "It's not exactly hacking. It's government property...kind of the government. Alright, you know things have gotten kind of..."

"Chaotic," Lemar adds.

"Yeah," John nods in agreement. "The GRC, they're doing their best to get things up and running smoothly post blip. If you guys teamed up with us-"

"No." Bucky interrupts. He couldn't let Walker finish that sentence.

"I've got mad respect for all of you," Lemar praises, looking between the trio before him. "But you were getting your asses kicked 'til we showed up."

"And who are you?" Bucky bemuses, cocking a brow at the man next to John.

"Lemar Hoskins," You mention, "I could've sworn we've been through this." You shake your head at the old man, for being 106, he couldn't hear a thing.

"I see a guy hanging out of a helicopter in tactical gear," Sam shrugs, "I'm gonna need a lot more than Lemar Hoskins."

"I'm Battlestar, John's partner."

"Battlestar?" Bucky repeats, narrowing his eyes at Lemar as he nods, confirming his alias. "Stop the car!" Bucky shouts suddenly, brakes screeching as the wheels come to a stop in the middle of the road. Bucky pulls open the handle, ducking, as to not rail his head on the bar-frame above him before hopping off the jeep.

"Look, I get it, okay?" John sighs, calling after Bucky. "I get the attitude, I do. You didn't think the shield was gonna end up here. I get it, Bucky. And I'm not trying to be Steve!"

"Good," You interject, rendering John to settle his eyes on you. "Because you will never be. And just because you're the one wielding it..." You grab the bar above your head, using it to pull yourself up. "It doesn't make you Captain America." And with that, you carefully jump off the jeep, following after the heated super-soldier.

Sighing in frustration, he rips his eyes away from your retreating figures. "I'm not trying to replace him either. I'm just trying to be the best Captain America I can be." He explains to Sam, hoping the falcon would cut him some slack. "-And it'd be a whole lot easier if I had Cap's wingman on my side."

Sam's eyes widen in surprise, his tongue darting between his lips. "It's always that last line," He scoffs, shaking his head as he jumped off the car, following you and Bucky.

John's lips thin out, face scrunching in a scowl. "Let's go," He instructs. The sound of the jeep leaving making its way to your ears.

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

Deep into the Wilderness

Words: 4.7k (this was supposed to be short but, alas, i am an asshole)

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut, sex pollen :0, dubious consent (see: sex pollen), a bit of size kink ö, multiple orgasms :O, light descriptions of blood, magic nature if you’re in the mood, incredible coincidences if you’re not

a/n: i genuinely thought this would be a lil drabble :/, also fuck snakes all my homies hate snakes

There’s something wrong about the stars.

Nights in the Tatooine desert are usually dim and still, as stoic as the Mandalorian who’s been journeying across the endless dune sea with you in your little caravan of two. These past few days, you’ve noticed that the jagged difference between coarse sand and smooth beskar are no obstacle for his ability to blend perfectly into his surroundings. For days, you’ve seen the bounty hunter cruise the barren wilderness like he was born in it, climbing the mounds of sand leisurely and offering his hand when the treacherous ground gives in under your feet and you tumble forward. Ever the gentleman. Silent and observant, he tends to adapt to the elements around him and mimic their energy, until he becomes part of the landscape. Tonight is no different.

The normally scattered and shy desert stars have all gathered in a cluster right above your modest campsite, blinking down at you white and yellow and red against an electric blue sky, bright enough to spare the need of a fire. You feel watched. The stars’ ghoulish eyes above trail your every movement. Waiting to witness something.

Yes, a meek voice inside lies for you, it must be the stars, as you purposefully try to ignore the crushing weight of the Mandalorian’s trained gaze on you, much heavier than the strong beskared arm resting on your upright knee. The tube of bacta ointment moves awkwardly under your fingers and, Maker, you know it won’t be enough. The small holes on the wool covering his arm reveal two angry red pupils gushing blood where the snake’s fangs pierced him; pupils that stare amused at the medical salve that they know and you know and Mando knows will do little neutralize the unknown toxin. You sit so close to him you can hear the hitch of his breath when you pinch the tube and white balm oozes onto your finger.

“I—Mando, I-I think we should get help.” It doesn’t help your nerves that the man to your left hasn’t stopped staring at you since the ruby red viper appeared from under the sand like a conjuring, going straight for the Mandalorian’s arm and slithering back inside its hiding place beneath the dunes before either of you could react. It was unnatural; desert creatures tend to linger in the shadows and never attack unless provoked. Then again, everything about this particular evening—including the bounty hunter—seems to be slightly off, like when something in a familiar place is moved, but you can’t figure out exactly what.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” the voice under the modulator scratches at a lower register than usual, gruffier in a way that would excite you and warm your belly if you weren’t so worried about the liquid currently poisoning his bloodstream. It must be the pain. “Two days by foot to the nearest town. Just use the bacta.”

You gulp and nod as firmly as you can manage, trying to quiet the whisper saying that bacta won’t cut it this time as you get your finger closer to his arm. It’s strange that he asked for your help—the bite is right on the pulse point of his inner elbow, where he could easily do it himself. Maker, just focus. He must have had a good reason to ask you. Plus, you’re not about to miss the promise of even the slightest physical contact with the Mandalorian, even if the situation is not exactly as you’ve fantasized all these months.

Your finger presses lightly into one of the gaps, and with a bit more force when you hear a raggedy exhale leave him. The opening the snake left behind is too small for your finger, and most of the bacta gathers around its edges, while barely any gets to the wound.

“I, um…I need to cut it—t-the fabric,” you stutter and, stars, you sound like an idiot, getting nervous over applying balm when you’ve seen him cauterize his own injuries with a steady hand, much to your horror. You can feel the way his eyes feed from your words as they study you carefully, somehow strengthening the gravity pining you to the ground. A strange static crinkles in the air between you, so real you almost hear it, and for a moment you feel the weight of his stare move past your face, lower down your body. By the time he finally nods and signals towards the open medical kit with a tilt of his helmet, you’re warm all over.

Stretching your torso just the right amount so that his arm doesn’t slip from your knee, you reach straight for the scissors in front of you. Your fingers pinch the fabric to lift it while your other hand works the clippers, cutting with tiny snip-snip-snips that do little to fill the tense silence between you. Why it’s even tense to begin with is beyond you. Sure, Mando got bitten by some unknown creature that could potentially be lethal, but the invisible rope getting stretched from both ends more and more between your bodies has little to do with the mishap. Stars, it feels like it’s pulling you closer and pushing you apart at the same time, and the arm on your knee suddenly feels like it’s burning through your pants. What would happen, you muse as you crank your wrist, if the rope gave in?

The scissors close their circuit, and you lift a small circle of cloth, leaving the clippers aside. It’s a little bigger than it needed to be, but the Mandalorian doesn’t complain when you properly apply bacta on the lesion, sitting like a statue with the visor shining dark blue at your face. The stars reflect distorted on his helmet with judging eyes, like they can hear your thoughts. Like they just know how being so close to the man you think about to warm cold nights is making your heart pump more blood that you need. To places that definitely don’t need it.

You raise your other hand and rest it on his bicep. It’s only to pull the sleeve a little higher. To give you more room to work. And it’s only with that touch that he flinches.

You immediately lift both hands. “Sorry, I—I’m sorry, does…does it hurt—?”

“—No.” Mando moves his good arm and grabs your hand roughly, bringing it to rest on his bicep once again. He clears his throat, unable to wash away the grainy strain on his voice. “No, it—it’s fine.” His large palm stays over yours for a moment, before pulling away slowly. Reluctantly.

You nod and continue your ministrations, massaging a little more bacta than necessary on the bite. Maker, you never want to stop touching him. The patch of olive skin burns hotter than the planet’s twin suns under your touch, and you feel under your other hand how every shift of your finger makes his bicep jump in response.

His flesh absorbs the ointment fast, and you’ve now covered even the surrounding area around the bite, so you lift your finger, a bit disappointed that your little moment of intimacy is over. Until you feel him tug at his end of the rope.

“Cut more,” he breathes, and you freeze before you can lift the hand off his arm, staring right at the visor with eyes round as moons.

“Cut—cut more? More cloth? Wh—”

“The venom will travel up my veins.” Mando’s voice is a little steadier, but it still doesn’t mask a strange tint of something that doesn’t sound quite like pain. “You need to check how far up it goes. If…if it goes into my chest…”

He doesn’t need to finish. You shuffle to your knees—a little clumsily because of the sand beneath—and let his arm fall to his side as you squeeze his strong bicep a little tighter. For support.

“Tell me when to stop.” The blades cut away at the fabric, revealing a vertical line of lovely skin with each snip. They go higher and higher, higher and higher, and it’s you who decides to stop when they almost reach his armpit. You rest the scissors next to your legs. The slit uncovers the upper half of his arm’s underside, and you can’t help it when one hand moves to rest on the pauldron and the other slips under the crevice to caress his skin.

Mando’s chest puffs with more air and moves quicker, and—fuck—he looks so broad like this. Sitting and injured, he still towers over you with the beskar and the mass of muscle beaten into him through years of fighting.

He could crush me. The idea pools hot in your core.

“What, uh, what am I looking for?” Your own voice is thick. It’s wrong, but you’re honest enough to admit it’s arousal.

“T-the veins.” You hear him gulp and imagine the apple on his throat bobbing up and down. “Feel around. Che—check if they’re protruding.” You comply, dragging your fingers up and down his burning, strong arm, getting caught up in how he tenses under your touch. He’s pulsing, sure enough, beating like a drum under your hand—you even manage to raise goosebumps when you give a test squeeze—but you can’t feel any veins.

“No.” The hunter exhales with relief and nods once, but his arm doesn’t follow, as it remains taut as wood. You don’t remove your hand. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into you.

An soft breeze raises a small cloud of sand and cools your face, whistling past you while it orders you to do it. “If it’s not pain,” you murmur, deciding it’s your turn to tense your end of the rope a little, “what do you feel?” You scratch your nails down his arm.

The gloved hand furthest away from you balls into a fist, clutching sand. “It—it, uh. It burns.” The words are dragged out and gritty, like they’re forcing their way out. He shivers and shuffles closer to you. “But—fuck—feels good. You—you feel good.” Encouraged, your nails sink into his flesh, testing the waters. Finally, it earns you a grunt, deep and rumbling its way between your thighs. In a split second, his arms fly to his shoulder, tugging at the cloak desperately, and you remove your hand from the opening to help him. It takes a few rough jerks, but the cloak eventually rips away from his pauldrons, and the Mandalorian throws it back. His hand travels to the side of his torso closest to you and signals. “Cut here.” He doesn’t offer an explanation this time.

Shit, you probably shouldn’t. But wetness is gathering around your folds and you’re not sure if you’ll actually get anywhere, but, Maker, you’re willing to try. Your hand is trembling when it finds the scissors next to you and you crouch slightly to cut away, eager and desperate to reveal more of the mysterious bounty hunter. This time, though, you don’t make a crevice, but instead cut a long rectangle from his waist to the side of his chest. You drop the scissors and the piece of fabric on top of the cloak and waste no time before your right palm crawls into the opening. Boiling skin welcomes your hand as it explores his naked torso, up a sturdy chest rising and falling rapidly, and back down again, savoring the sensation of soft skin over firm muscles flexing under your fingers. You stop at a trail of hair near his navel.

The Mandalorian growls. You scratch the hair lightly. The rope snaps.

Your hand slips outside when two hands grab your hips to lift you, setting you down to straddle Mando’s lap. You fall ungracefully, wobbling and grabbing at him to find your balance, until his steel arms wrap around your waist to press your chest to his. You grab his shoulders for support, and your warm breath clouds the beskar of his helmet. Your hips squirm unconsciously, making your core accidentally rub against something hard between the hunter’s legs. His grip on your back tightens and grinds you against him again, making him release a deep, primal moan against your ear. Fuck, you feel how hot liquid plops on your underwear as he ruts you against his erection, but somewhere in the back of your brain a puzzle solves itself in a snap and sends a pang of guilt to your chest.

“M-mando.” You sound whinier than you intended. “Mmando, I—I’ve heard about this, you’re poisoned, y-you don’t know what you’re d—”

“—Shut up,” he spits at you and pushes you roughly against him as a hand unwinds from your waist and wraps over your mouth. Your moans are muffled against his glove when a current shocks your body as your clit rubs just right over his bulge. You glance up at the stars, looking for guidance around the overwhelming pleasure threatening to break you, but they only stare back, burning brighter than before.

Suddenly, Mando pulls his hands away and pushes you off his lap. You fall back kneeling, worrying you’ve crossed a line somehow, but your anxieties disappear when you see him rip off his gloves and pull at your clothes hastily. You take the hint and help him undress you. The top garments he removes, but your underwear is ripped away and thrown to the side.

He whips around and finds his cloak, laying it on the sand and silently ordering with a finger to get on top. You shuffle on your knees until they reach the soft material, and—just when you’re about to turn around and beg him to touch you—the Mandalorian lifts the rectangle of cloth you cut away and wraps it around your eyes. Your vision gone but impossibly turned on, you feel his hands shove you back until you lay on the cloak.

Sand and hair tickle your face, and maybe it’s not the best idea to lay completely naked in the middle of a desert where you already know dangerous animals hide. The thought is quickly washed away by the heat of humid breath on your stomach. It throws you off for a moment, to feel a human gasp so clearly against your skin, but once you put two and two together the realization hits you so hard you slump limp on the ground.

The helmet…

You barely have time complete your thought. The Mandalorian climbs on top of you, a tuff of hair tickling your stomach. The trail of heat stops at your tits, where he takes a nipple into his mouth and bites down hard. You whimper to the sky.

“F-fuck, what—” He cuts you off when he laps at the injured nipple with fast, wide strokes of his tongue, before sucking hard on it. One palm holds down your chest, as the other comes up to squeeze your other breast, kneading and pulling the soft flesh like dough. You try to bite down your whimpers, but it’s too fucking much and they tumble outside urgent and needy.

Fuck, you should push him away. You both need to calm down before he forgets your body is attached to a living, breathing person and tears you apart. You—you—

The atmosphere seems to fall down on top of you when two thick fingers sink to the hilt inside your open hole effortlessly. You hum at the bliss while Mando’s wet tongue travels between your breasts, up your sternum, and leans into the curve of your throat, stopping only until it reaches your chin. You’re starting to cramp beneath him, trying to push down on his digits, but his body is too heavy over yours and fuck, fuck, you want him inside you.

His hand wraps around your cheeks and presses them together, making your mouth give in to the pressure and open up wide. His tongue—still salty with the taste of your own flesh—barges into the cave of your mouth and messily drags across its walls, your tongue, the roof, somehow everything at once with aimless movements that lack rhythm or pace.

And then his fingers start pumping. They start fast and hard and only get faster and harder, as they curl into a hook and hit something that makes you see the stars outside through the blindfold. Mando moans against your teeth, and you swallow every vibration.

“Yeah? T-there?” His mouth moves away from yours and trails the edge of your jaw, stopping at the edge and biting your neck. The two fingers working inside you push upwards to make room for a third one, and the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your clit up and down. Your scream echoes in the empty space of the sterile desert, now buzzing with life. “R-right there? Hm?” His voice hangs thick in the air, mixing with the loud static in your ears. Through the haze, you wonder momentarily what his face looks like right now. Probably red and sweaty, popping a vein or two.

“Fuck, I don’t k-know…I—I have to…” The Mandalorian removes all three fingers at once, making you yelp at the emptiness that they leave behind. Your pussy clenches a second too late and pulses around nothing, as you move in the darkness to find him again. You open your mouth to beg, but he grabs your shoulders before you can even gather some broken vocabulary together and he turns you around, pressing your chest and face against the cloak.

Resting your cheek on the cloak, you grunt at the abrupt change of position. Five fanned out fingers press down between your shoulder blades, restricting your movements and compressing all the air out of your lungs. You can’t breathe and you can’t wait, too stimulated to backpedal now, but not enough to be satiated.

An arm wraps around your midriff and roughly lifts your hips. You hear heavy breathing behind you and some incoherent mumbling, as a zipper lowers.

Something round and smooth pokes at your entrance.

Is…is that…?

It definitely feels like the head of his cock as it runs up and down your folds gathering moisture. It even twitches a little against your clit and he’s grunting with every movement but…but even without your sight to help it feels so big. It can’t be his cock, in what universe would he be that fucking bi—

A grunt and a slight retrieval of his hips for impulse is all you get as a warning before he slams into you, lurching you forward. It knocks every single thought out your head, jamming what little air you’d managed to inhale on your trachea. The stretch bites, straining against your walls at an uncomfortable angle. And then he grinds further inside, deeply and hard as the bulbous head of his cock stimulates just about every nerve inside your pussy at once. You choke on your own cry, desperately trying to hold on to some sanity as you focus on processing the burst of pleasure that casts a dark shadow over the pain. The feeling secures every muscle on your body so tightly you think your spine is going to snap.

And he holds there, pulsing angrily and breathing down hot against your shoulders. You feel a slow trail of flames burn your insides with every strong sequence of thum-thum-thums of his thick cock against your walls.

Stars, did he cum? Is that why he’s throbbing so violently, did he cum? It’s hard to tell when you’re so wet you’re sure you’re going to dehydrate tomorrow and fuck you only get wetter with the strumming and Maker you know the snake was poisonous but…but could he really want you this much?

He sucks in a gulp of dusty air through his teeth, grunts and holds you tighter, his arm strong as beskar around your midriff and a burning palm pressing you against the cloak, sinking it deeper into the sand.

Finally, the Mandalorian pulls out with a grunt, your hips following his with a sucking sound because of the grip of your walls against his girth. He stops right before the tip slips out, its ridge catching on your opening. And maybe whatever venom running through his veins dissipated because he doesn’t move for a second that feels like an eternity. Fleeting disappointment surges inside you because maybe…maybe it was just the serpent. Maybe he doesn’t really want you. You are the only fuckable thing for miles, and you’ve heard enough about the toxin to imagine how desperate he’d be. Stars, you feel like such an idi—

Mando’s hips suddenly crash against yours, sinking himself to the hilt.

You feel him everywhere. Fucking everywhere, even where he isn’t. The fat cock hammering into you randomly with no pace or metric, seemingly determined to taste every inch inside your cunt takes most of your attention, but the hand on your back kneads and pulls the thin skin there as best as it can. You try to brace yourself against something solid—anything—but when your hands form fists they find only handfuls of sand, and the delicate particles do nothing to steady you from the animalistic thrusts of the Mandalorian.

So you moan, long and high to try and release all the pleasure stockpiling inside of you with no exit routes. Mando answers with grunts all the way down in his glottis. A deep and angled snap of his hips hits you somewhere electrifying, and you feel something hot and liquid knot your pelvic muscles tighter. His skin slaps against yours obscenely, paired with the squelching of your pussy trying to engulf him deeper and deeper in spite of his size.

“T-take it,” you hear him growl behind you. Barely. Your ears ring and you can’t even listen to your own whimpers anymore. His length keeps coming, restless and infinite and fuck, you need to focus on something else, something outside to keep your head from slipping away. “Just—just f-fucking take me whole, you—"

Fuck, focus. Focus, count to ten, do something—

You grit your teeth and you can’t even warn him. Something drops into your pelvic muscles and you swear you can see the blue desert sky in a flash behind your eyelids and feel the blinking stars prickling the nerve endings on your back, making you spasm desperately. Your head spins, and you only feel pleasure. Only him.

Still half-passed out from your release, you hear it before you feel it. The wet sound contrasting the dry dunes of how he keeps using your cunt to get himself off. He’s not letting you come down, fall to the natural next step of your cycle and relax. Breathe. No, he keeps filling every last inch of you, faster now with the help of the additional wetness and holds you in that state of euphoria that keeps hitting you like a tide. Shit, are you cumming again?

“F-fuck—fuck—d-did you—ngh—cum? W-was that—” Another wave hits you and you clamp down mercilessly around him before he can get an answer. His long moan gets you wetter somehow, and you can’t even savor it before the strong forearm holding your waist pulls you upright against him.

Up is down as you try to figure out in the darkness where your body ended up. Something slumps behind you and pulls you down with it hard against the cushioning of the sand. You find yourself impaled on the Mandalorian’s cock, his chest to your back. He bends and opens his legs to grab yours, pulling them back and hooking them around his cuisses. Propped up with most of your weight on Mando’s hips, your feet barely graze the cloak below them.

You reach up to touch him but he beats you to it, wrapping his arms around your torso and grabbing the surely bruising skin of your tits. Your eyes roll back and you try you best to keep your head above the water, which proves incredibly difficult when you feel his lips on your jaw, his drool trailing down your neck. You turn your head and he doesn’t miss a beat before his tongue slips between your lips, tasting and exploring and almost drinking from you like you’re water in he’s been stranded in this desert for years.

Mando thrust up at you, resuming his senseless fucking. And maybe you’re a little greedy. Maybe it’s wrong, especially because you don’t have an excuse to act like this, but you roll down into his cock, wanting him everywhere and for as long as you can get him. His thrusts are almost impossible to meet and his thickness catches at your opening, but you work diligently—determined to have him buried as deeply as he wants to go. The beskar of his chest trembles against your shoulders with a vibrating, noiseless moan.

“You—you pretty t-thing,” he breathes lowly against your mouth. You grab his knees for support and push down harder. “I’ve want—wanted this—w-wanted you f-for so—so long.” He bites your lower lip. His voice sounds delirious.

Maker, it’s ridiculous. You’re bouncing your pussy on his stiff cock like an animal in heat, but his words warm your chest more than your core. You know it’s probably the poison talking, but you indulge in it. You let your hand cradle his cheek and bring your lips sweetly against his, pretending you’re his lover and not just a vessel for his release. He gasps into the kiss.

It’s with your lips that he finally lets go. It happens midthrust, so his cum spurts out of you and dribbles down his cock. It smears on your folds and, surely, on the cloak beneath. Stars, you’re shaking. Your legs spasm with the promise of another orgasm that almost—almost happened. Still holding you, Mando pulls out, and the rest of his seed spills on wool and sand.

What now? If not the sweat and the fucking, then his release surely evacuated the venom by now. The Mandalorian pants behind you, just as spent and exhausted, and what the hell are you supposed to say to each other now? You squirm uncomfortably at the dilemma, and your slit accidentally drags against something upright beneath you. Mando winces at the contact.

Maker, is he still hard? How—?

Fingers dig into your arms and force you forward and away from him. You fall on top of the cloak, barely pillowing your fall with your forearms before you feel the Mandalorian turning you around to face him.

You lay open below him, ruined and confused in the darkness as to what he’s planning for you next. Your clit pulses with equal parts arousal and apprehension at the uncertainty, but it decides for the former when you feel him dip his fingers in your entrance and scoop his cum and yours. The sound of him pumping himself faster and faster is muffled by his moaning. It’s filthy gibberish: loose words of everything he’s dreamt about doing to you; of how he’s going to fuck you over and over again; of how you’re going to take every drop of him; of how good it’s going to be for you.

Four fingers land on your clit and work it wetly up and down. A whine escapes you and you’re so sensible it almost hurts and your head swims and he’s still talking but there’s something…something sincere about his words. Something that hides beneath the frantic movements against your bud that feels almost reverent. Like the snake’s toxin only lifted a veil, revealing the Mandalorian’s pent up lust and primal instincts below his layers of unyielding discipline.

“S-so, so fucking good for me, so—"

You cry out when your walls tighten around nothing with powerful contractions, deciding at some point of the frenzy that consumes you that you’ll take advantage of this queer land and the limbo its night has thrown both of you into. Deciding you’ll let the Mandalorian explore his more primitive urges and fuck you into tomorrow, whatever “tomorrow” may mean for your relationship with him.

The sound of him fucking his hand quickens and you hear it closer to your body. You can’t tell exactly where.

“I—I—gonna c-cum.” His voice tightens in his throat. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” you answer breathlessly, and you mean it.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian smut #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #the mandalorian sex pollen #star wars smut

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zet-sway · 3 years

Text

Spiritual Shrios Summer - EMBRACE

This is a prompt fill for @rosenkow’s Spiritual Shrios Summer!

PROMPT WORD: EMBRACE - | - WORDS: ~6100

Rated: “E” for “Awkward but Spicy” [NSFT] AO3 Link: "Too Much and Not Enough” Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

A/N: This fic is a god damn hot mess, and yet I have literally *never* revised anything so heavily in my entire life. Was supposed to be part of a slow burn but I'm impatient. I literally can't tell if this fic is worth reading. You decide lol

Thank you @quietonewisp for your feedback on my first draft! It's unbelievable to be in the same fandom with such talented writers after all these years. Thank you also to everyone who shared encouraging words while I was pulling my hair out over this fic :) this is my first attempt at writing Shepard as a thought out character of my own creation. As a result it's pretty awkward.

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"I don't know how you do this," Shepard grunts through clenched teeth.

Every third day is yoga. And today, she thought it would be a good idea to try a headstand.

Thane guides her feet into the air, resting her knees against her elbows. Her hands are planted on either side of her head, elbows bent at a right angle to form three points of support against the floor. Truthfully, he hadn't thought she would struggle so much with this pose, given her strength.

"Push with your hands. Distribute your weight."

Slowly, he releases her calves and repositions himself behind her as she pulls in a sharp inhale, holding her balance.

"You better not be staring at my ass, Krios."

He raises a brow ridge. It's hard not to stare at her ass, thrust in the air as it is.

"You forget that I have perfect recall," he says dismissively. "I can reflect on the image of your backside at any moment of my choosing."

"So you admit you've been looking?"

"Shepard," he admonishes, "Just because I've seen your ass does not mean I consciously seek to see it." It's a stone cold lie, but an easy one to sell, especially when she makes a point of training her glutes every day during their morning PT.

Slowly, she lifts her knees into the air, shaking with the effort to retain her balance. "I bet you're an ass man," she grits out, one leg finally pointed straight into the air.

Thane sets his hands on her calves to steady her as she wills through the pose.

"I'm unfamiliar with the term."

She huffs, swallowing down a breath before speaking. "A man who prefers ass over breasts."

Only humans would have a word for something like this, he thinks. "As you know, women of my species do not have breasts."

"Yup," she hisses, slowly and carefully straightening her other leg. "That's why you've gotta be-" another shaky breath, "-an ass man."

Well… she's not wrong.

In truth, he finds breasts no more desirable than any other mundane part of the human body. The appeal, he suspects, comes from actually touching them - something he hadn't considered at all until she'd launched herself at him in the airlock weeks ago. He's replayed the experience in his mind hundreds of times by now. The insistent press of her mouth on his, her smooth human hands clutching at his shoulders... and the soft crush of her body against him. He hadn't pulled away, but he hadn't kissed her back either. Right now, he wishes he had.

There's a curious connecting thread between his return to the Normandy and her sudden urgency to speak to him - frequently. Even more curious - neither one of them has broached the subject of her impulsive kiss before his procedure.

With a relieved sigh, Shepard finally manages to straighten both legs and complete the pose. Toes pointed toward the ceiling of the shuttle bay, she trembles. It's all he can do to not close his hands around her thighs to feel every rippling muscle under her skin.

"Excellent work," he says, voice perhaps lower than he intended.

"My head hurts."

Thane shakes his head. "You're not distributing your weight through your hands. Push down, and lower your knees slowly."

She makes a strained sound, tenses her legs, and the motion is just enough to pitch her center of gravity backwards.

He catches her, but not before the rounded curve of her ass is pressed with distracting persistence against his hips. If he could have blushed, he very well might have. Looking remarkably contorted beneath her splayed hands, she grins at him.

"How's your perfect recall going to handle this one?"

He should say something, but he doesn't. With steady arms, he lowers her to the mat and she flops against it, sighing heavily. There's a familiar quiet about her, something he's come to recognize as the silence before a storm.

"...can we talk about this?"

His deflection comes instinctively. "Your mastery of the headstand will take some practice, but-"

"No," she says firmly. "This." She waves a hand between both of them. "I kissed you goodbye and we're both acting like it never happened. It was inappropriate of me. Did I upset you?"

This time he needs a minute to think.

"Shepard, I… no, you did not upset me."

"But...?" She sits up, knees drawn in a loose spread against her chest, arms looped around them. The same focus he'd seen in her face on Tuchanka is there now. But this time her expression is uncharacteristically open, visibly hanging on his next words.

She's not even trying to hide that she wants him.

So why does he resist?

Ten years ago he swore he would never love another, and he meant it. The compulsion to remain ascetic is by now second nature in him. But although the years have not dulled the memory of his beloved Irikah, they have brought a new perspective: the fires of one love are not dulled simply because the fires of another are kindled.

"I've recalled that moment more times than I can count," he says, finally.

"So... does that mean you liked it?"

"I enjoyed your kiss enough to admit that should the opportunity arise... I may not let go."

She leans closer, fingers lacing together with visible anticipation. "And what if I didn't want you to let go?"

The look in her upturned face is what does him in. In a rare display of impulse, he drops to the mat and kisses her. And this time he intends to savor it.

Somehow, the same humility that drove him to his knees before Irikah now folds him again as he gazes into the unknown with Shepard. A purpose, a reason to fight. And now perhaps... a reason to love. He's not sure if he would call it love just yet, but kissing her awakens his body like hot tea on a bitter cold morning. She draws him between her knees, lips parting eagerly beneath his seeking tongue. She tastes like coffee with an undertone of alien unfamiliarity, and his pulse quickens. He's already eager for more.

Shepard mumbles something against his mouth and he pulls away.

"You taste tingly. That's normal right?"

He smiles gently back at her. "Normal for humans, as I understand."

They lean together for another kiss before she releases him. "We still haven't done cardio."

He slips his arms around her waist and tugs her tighter against him, using his strength to pull her up with him as he stands.

"A quick jog around the hold, then?"

"...or," she says coyly, all suggestive eyes with a cautious smirk blooming across her face. "A quick jog upstairs?"

He shouldn't. At least - old habits tell him he shouldn't. But his heart says it doesn't much matter.

"Promise me one thing," he says with caution, taking her hands in his. This is not how he’d imagined his morning. After all the time they’ve spent seeking each other’s company, he hadn’t dared to think...

Shepard tips her head, listening, fingertips idly exploring the subtle texture of his scales. His throat feels dry and the words are stampeding through his mind so fast he can barely catch them.

"Embrace her memory as I have. Smile upon her with favor." The memories mingle together, threatening to overwhelm him. Shepard has already given him so much, and he still asks more of her.

"Your wife?" She leans into his neck, kissing his shoulder softly.

"Yes." He squeezes his eyes shut. His breath threatens to choke him. "I cannot and will not stop loving her. She is with me always."

Shepard smiles at him, as though he's asked the easiest thing in the world. Her next words are an intimate whisper against his lips.

"What kind of Commander would I be if I told you to stop loving your wife?"

Her breath fills his chest with warmth and wanting. Cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her glistening lips as though they were crafted specifically for him. They inhale each other, her tongue sliding against his as he breathes in her kiss. The word murmurs through his mouth and mind as a soft wind sighing through trees and grasses. "Siha."

This could be his second chance. An opportunity to fight side by side with a warrior angel, as he should have done years ago. Irikah was not a trained soldier, but she damn well could have been. She would have given everything to defend the innocent, and by all accounts, she had. Their son, alive because of her and her alone. He can taste her in the kiss, a familiar and soothing encouragement that makes his heart soar. Perhaps if he survives the mission, he will have learned something of her bravery.

There's a gentle tug on his shirt. Shepard leads him toward the elevator.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When they stumble into her cabin, her eyes are already bleary with his venom. Thane presses her into the bed, one hand cradling her neck while the other winds into her hair. His lips are slow but strong, kissing her like he knows nothing else. She's never felt so wanted before.

"How far do you want to take this?" she gasps when he trails her mouth down her jaw.

"This was your idea," his mouth is scorching on the column of her neck. She leans back to give him better access. "How far do you want to take this?"

Her insides are on fire at the feel of his mouth alone, and logic says she's crazy to jump into bed with another fucking species so suddenly. But she doesn't care - she's spent enough sleepless nights imagining this very moment. She wants his hands on her bare skin, she wants the forbidden unknowns of his alien body. With every fiber of her being, she wants. But it's easier to think about it than to say it.

"More," she says finally - breathlessly. Words are fleeting. Her hands fist the edges of his shirt and he obliges, pulling away so she can lift it off before she begins pulling off her own.

And then he surprises her by playfully rolling her on to her belly, kissing the back of her neck, her spine, palms trailing an electric line down her sides.

"I confess," he murmurs between kisses, "You were right to accuse me of being, as you say, an 'ass man.'" She moans as those strong hands settle on her backside, fingers kneading her flesh with delicious strength. Good god.

Words are difficult, but she manages. "Don't get any ideas, I'm not letting you fuck my ass."

"It wasn't my intention. Is that something humans do?"

Shepard snorts. "Don't act like you didn't know that."

He laughs like she's never heard before, a rich and jubilant peal in that dark voice she's come to savor. She can nearly feel the soft vibrations of that laugh through his hands as he presses his fingertips between her legs. “I’d rather know where you burn hottest,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he strokes her just hard enough to make his intentions understood.

"Oh fuck yes."

His palms return to her backside, sliding up to hook his fingers into her waistband. "May I?"

She nods furiously, her own hands closing over his to push her clothes off.

When she's firmly on her back again he drags down the zipper on the front of her bra. It's flung on the floor with the rest of her things and then she's bare before him, biting her lip under the heat of his hungry gaze. She wonders if he can see her body vibrating in anticipation.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, settling his knees between her thighs. He crawls up to kiss her. "For weeks, I've thought about touching you."

She hums as he strokes the rounded edges of her breasts.

"Your body is so wonderfully soft, will you tell me if there's something you don't like?"

"Yeah," is all she can manage before his mouth returns to her neck, his hands wandering like a dying man searching for water. She's certain to have hickeys by the time they're done.

Curious, she brings a hand up to stroke the delicate flesh of his throat. His answering groan confirms her suspicions, and suddenly his questing hands are not so chaste, closing with suffocating warmth around her breasts.

Shepard bites her lip. "Please don't tell me you think breasts are gross."

He shakes his head. "I'll admit I find it strange that human breasts are erogenous, given their purpose. But they aren’t ‘gross,’ as you say. Just... new." She pushes her chest into his palms and that gets a rise out of him - a lovely trembling purr in his throat. "And so soft, Siha."

"Feels good," she murmurs. With parted lips, she breathes her pleasure as he kneads her breasts in slow, sensuous circles, dipping his head to kiss along her sternum and at the tender underside of her flesh.

"I think I might like them,” he says, lips twinged upwards.

Her need flares with that simple statement and she pulls in a breath, straining against him.

"I hadn't imagined how... tempting they could be. Soft curves... ripe like fruit at peak season." A strained moan falls from her mouth when he punctuates his statement with a more appreciative squeeze and draws a thumb over one sensitive peak, his mouth close enough to make her whimper in frustration.

“You’re teasing me.”

"I’m exploring you, Siha. There’s so much to learn." He circles his fingertips around her nipples and they tighten in response. The visual alone has her reeling, electric sparks of need slipping down her spine and straight into her core. "Your body shows me what it wants," he murmurs. "My mouth begs to taste you."

He flicks his tongue out, sampling her in light, infuriating strokes, teasing until she's keening beneath his hands, eyes shut tight and panting over clenched teeth. It's hard to think about anything at all except his hands and lips and that rumbling voice shimmering across her sensitized skin.

She strangles out a moan when his lips close around her nipple and he hollows his cheeks, drawing it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft, wet pop. Her arms clamp reflexively around his neck in an unspoken order to keep still.

"Do that again," she gasps.

He complies without question, textured fingers on one breast and wet tongue on the other, toying with her. Her back arches, hands holding herself like an offering to his mouth, every touch like a phantom crack of lust between her legs. There's a low rumble in his throat, he's practically purring into her skin and she can feel it, thighs clenching together in desperation.

She whines when he finally pulls away.

"I'll be back for those," he promises. "I hadn't expected such enthusiasm."

Fingertips brush her inner thigh and she leans into the touch, wanting more - for fuck's sakes - more - gasping out a shuddering breath she didn't even know she was holding when he flattens his fused fingers into her seam. Face buried in her neck doing god knows what with his lips and tongue, he's exploring her by touch alone. Each press of his hand is excruciatingly gentle, pushing slowly into her slick channel, gliding upwards to her clit. She's so sensitive that she flinches when he brushes over it, clutching at his shoulders.

"Too much?" He asks.

She hadn't even realized her eyes were closed. Her throat is dry, but she rasps, "Not enough."

His full lips curve into a smile before he strokes her again and this time she moans, pushing back on his hand as much as she can manage. Her mind is chanting "please, please," but she won't beg. Not yet, at least.

His voice rouses her from her desperate thoughts.

”Your species makes great effort to avoid using definitive terms for this part of your body."

"Do we?” She asks, willing her thoughts to clear enough for her to speak. “I mean, there's pussy, snatch... cunt, if you're feeling profane."

His voice drops a register lower, and he leans close enough for her to feel his hot breath when he speaks. "Shepard, I believe the technical term is vulva."

She groans. Loudly. "Fuck off."

He huffs out a stiff laugh. "Perhaps you'd prefer something new. Ara'te. Chalice of Arashu."

She tries - and fails - to hide her impatience. "Really?"

"Do you find it repulsive?"

"No, I just... mixing religion and sex is kind of..." She fumbles with her answer, not wanting to offend, but the words are gone from her when he leans in and draws the flat of his tongue in a wide sweep between her legs. "-Jesus, Thane."

His voice is thick with amusement. "How interesting that you invoke the name of a god you don't believe in, if I touch you just so."

Shepard's mouth snaps shut and she looks pointedly away from him with a huff.

"But I digress," he says, fingers rippling along her seam. Scaled hands smooth over her slickness, spreading her with gentle consideration. His mouth is dangerously close, gaze fixed on her with eyes like gleaming onyx. Something in the way his voice drops sets her heart racing.

“You feel like the softest silk,” he whispers, each word rolling off his tongue in a veil of hot breath that cools over the heat of her wet center. Her eyes flutter closed as he presses his exploration, teasing her entrance with his joined fingers.

"Your body is a wellspring," he murmurs, slowly penetrating her with his hand. "Drenched with arousal… begging me into your depths."

She gasps when he takes the opportunity to flick at her with his tongue. Hips grind against his hand, desperately seeking more.

"What the fuck," she moans. "Don't stop."

He withdraws only to enter her again, this time sheathing an extra finger in her heat. Those fingers crook inside her and she damn near twitches off the bed, drawing a sound from him somewhere between amusement and arousal.

"So sensitive, Siha."

It feels like she's melting under the intensity of his touch, a thumb moving in teasing circles around her clit. She hisses, thighs clenching.

"Holy shit just touch me."

"Like this?" he asks in a tone that's infuriatingly playful, barely skimming his tongue across her clit.

"God damn it, Thane, you know what I want-"

He interrupts her, his voice suddenly more serious.

"Show me."

There's silence, and then Shepard blinks at him. "What?"

"Show me how you like to be touched."

"You want to watch me?" her mouth goes dry and her answering tone is more accusatory than she intends. "Because you're a freak, or because you don't know how to touch a woman?"

"Yes." He says simply, dodging both of her questions with irritating smugness.

Her knees twitch inward, uncertain, and with a deep inhale, he withdraws.

"Siha," he murmurs apologetically, taking her hand. "You've left all your confidence on the battlefield.”

The words slip straight through the cracks in her armor. It's painful, but he's right. Cerberus didn't bring her back because they wanted her, they brought back Commander Shepard. The woman she used to be is an afterthought. There's only the mission. The Hero of the Citadel. The Commander.

But here they are, Thane's enormous black eyes boring holes into her defenses in a silent plea for… something. His hand finds hers and their fingers intertwine, resting together on her hip. His expression is more unguarded than she's ever seen, eyes asking a silent question: Do you trust me? Do you want me?

"All my victories have been on the battlefield," she says, looking away.

His thumb soothes back and forth over her hand.

"Intimacy is not a war. What do you hope to triumph over?"

Still unwilling to meet his eyes, her face twists with discomfort.

"I haven't had a lot of partners. I'm laying here naked and you're playing games. I can't tell if you're just teasing or looking for an excuse to drive me off."

His expression softens. "Our differences are not merely physical, then."

She isn’t certain what he means, but Thane shifts to lay next to her, kissing her temple. His fingers tighten around hers in a gentle grip that doesn't let up, finally summoning her eyes back to his.

"On my heart, Siha, there is no place I would rather be than right here with you." There's a genuine apology in his tone, prying her heart open one painstaking centimeter at a time. "Do you want this?"

Her voice is small, but she doesn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Show me what you like," Thane's lips brush against her ear. "Remember that I won't forget." The way his voice rumbles makes her shiver.

He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm before setting it atop her thigh. It’s a relaxing gesture, indirect enough that he's not backing down while also letting her choose the next move. His lips are unhurried, traveling up her neck, against her ear, along her hairline.

Years of lackluster partners have tempered her expectations - she’s never shared herself with anyone as intense as Thane; and although she'd never admit it, his sexual confidence is damn near intimidating. But his hot breath against her ear and his endless, patient kisses are an irresistible pull of wanting.

This man is far from bored, she realizes. He's only awaiting her permission to give her something she's never experienced.

Her chest rises and falls in deep, shaky breaths. "No games," she whispers.

"No games," he agrees.

Biting her lip, she guides his hand back to the apex of her thighs. He offers no resistance, humming his approval when she slicks his fingertips through her heat and sets them carefully against her clit.

They move together then, her hand on his, teasing herself while he kisses her neck and shoulder, slowly making his way across her chest. How long has it been since she found release beneath the hands of another? The quiet intimacy of their joined hands, the subtle texture of his scales leaves her breathless, delirious with pleasure, his fingertips sliding effortlessly against her slick center. His mouth wanders over her skin, her breasts, every touch so electric she’s almost not ready for how fast her release sneaks up on her.

"I'm close," she whimpers with eyes squeezed shut, "Oh fuck, Thane, I'm so close."

"Yes, Siha,” he whispers. “Come for me."

She breaks. Every cell in her body clenches in a singularity of pressure before she's launched out in a million pieces, shimmering in the dim light. For once, it doesn't feel cold in her cabin. Waves of heat ripple under her skin, pulsing with every second she spends teasing the tail end of her climax.

She doesn't realize she has a death grip on his hand until she's gone completely still. If it hurts him, he says nothing, only wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close. When she looks back at him, he's watching her with a knowing, lustful smile. She reaches for him, stroking his delicate neck and earning an appreciative hum that makes her heart beat just a little faster.

"Not that I didn't like you before, but..." she brushes her fingertips along his jaw, tilting his head toward her, "God damn."

Maybe human biology actually is as interesting as he proclaims, if one good orgasm can flood her with this much oxytocin. Like crossing a proverbial threshold, she feels her confidence returning, if only just to tell him we are definitely doing this again. As soon as possible.

"The privilege is mine." His voice is flecked with desire, words she believes so wholeheartedly she can almost see them in the air.

"How are you still wearing pants?"

He growls approvingly as she climbs over him and her fingertips slip beneath his waistband.

"Let's see what I'm about to get myself into," she says with a sly upturn of her lips.

"Or, if you wish - what you're about to get into yourself, " he retorts with no small amount of innuendo.

Immediately she wishes they'd done this sooner. He's... gorgeous. It isn't so much that she thought he wouldn't be, but his anatomy is every bit as colorful as the rest of him and that is a surprise. His length blooms from its internal sheath, a strong and gently ridged gradient of red and purple, nearly glowing in contrast against his green scales.

"Nice," she breathes, reaching for him. "Sorry if I don't have any pretty words to explain how much I want to put this beautiful thing in my mouth." Then she has a thought. "Do you have any fancy words for 'dick?'"

He puffs out an amused laugh and cracks a smile. "I seem to recall you saying something about religion and sex..."

"Humor me," she says, leaning in close enough to make his breath catch from the proximity of her mouth alone.

"Amo'ti," he says. "In your language-"

"Spear of Amonkira?"

He raises a brow ridge at her. "I'm impressed."

She gives his length an appreciative squeeze, testing the give of his ridges, humming at the surprising velvet texture of his skin.

"Maybe," she says slowly, matching the intensity of his gaze, "You can tell me how impressed you are after this." And without any further pretense, she engulfs him with her mouth.

In an instant, his head tips back, and she feels a familiar confidence returning. Men, she thinks, are hopelessly predictable in their pursuit of a hot mouth to fuck. And exactly as expected, Thane's hips are rolling gently forward. She slips her tongue around his length, watching the dancing iridescent scales along the shifting planes of his thighs and stomach.

In the back of her mind, she wonders if drell even do this as much as humans do. But it doesn't seem to matter when he sets his jaw in rapt concentration, visibly struggling to keep his eyes open and fixed on her. She doubles down, flattening her tongue against the underside of his shaft and hollowing her cheeks on the upstroke. His hands thread into her hair, sweeping it from where it falls in front of her eyes and gathering it around his fingers.

Tempted to tease him, she pulls back until the very tip of his length rests against her lips and sweeps her tongue across the head with a seductive smile. Their eyes lock and the sound he makes causes her core to fucking throb with wanting. One hand working him with each teasing swipe of her tongue, she slips lower, plants her lips on the base of his shaft to kiss him with an open mouth. He's shaking now, he's got to be close-

With a strangled gasp, his hips twitch away from her and she stills herself.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," is his breathless response. "Quite the opposite. Come here."

She climbs astride him, pressing the length of their bodies together as his arms enfold her. "That good?"

"Join with me, Siha," he murmurs, his voice low and laced with need. "Find your release in mine."

An unexpected chill slips through her, tingling every nerve with an onset of understanding. She can hear it in the undertones of his voice: I want you. This was never a game. We will be whole, together.

He rocks against her just enough to grab her attention. The brush of his length between her legs is electrifying - his eyes searching, his body asking.

"I'm… uh…" Shepard bites her lip, processing the words slowly. "I haven't been with anyone since I... came back."

His fingers intertwine with hers for the umpteenth time that morning. It's a gesture she's rapidly coming to adore for all its patience and admiration. He kisses the back of her hand, voice low and steady. "You're in control, Commander."

There's something in his well-placed acknowledgement of her authority that placates her. Maybe it's the traces of venom in her system or maybe it's just him, but this man beneath her - this assassin, feared and infamous for the lives he's taken - swells her heart with trust. It's a new and curious thing, so different from the trust shared between brothers in arms. It's simple intimacy, and maybe… just maybe… something more.

Eyes never leaving his, she steadies herself and sinks down on him.

They join together with delicious slowness, his hips willfully unmoving beneath her as she takes him in. The pressure is exquisite, edging somewhere between too much and not enough, each ridge of his florid length finding its place within the scorching depths of her body. She's nearly sweating as their hips go flush, eyes tipping closed with the sweet pulse of their joining.

One painstaking second at a time, she adjusts. It doesn't hurt, but she's afraid it damn well might if she starts riding him like her lust-fueled mind is screaming to. She stifles her own desire, wills her body for control as she twists and flexes herself to banish the lingering anxiety about her reconstruction. It might even be embarrassing - wriggling against him like a damn virgin - but there's no judgement in his eyes. If anything, he's holding back his own pleasure, unmoving while he waits for her. Hands braced against his shoulders, she pushes up, finally bottoming out with a low, wanting moan. His length lodges against her deepest reaches. It feels fucking perfect.

"Fuck," she breathes with a cursory flick of her hips. "Holy shit, Thane."

Features painted with pleasured focus, he's stone still beneath her, hands patiently cradling her waist. Thane, her unlikely but disciplined lover, waiting for her next order.

Her voice is a whisper against his lips.

"Let's fucking do this."

And with that, he begins to move with her.

The groan in his throat vibrates through her entire body as she begins to ride him. Her fingers clasp around his shoulders, afraid to put too much pressure on his transplant scars. He grasps her hands in his own, holding her firm and letting her weight fall against him, hips rolling with her as she finds her rhythm.

His voice is a breathy sound somewhere beneath her. "Siha… don't hold back."

She gasps when the next thrust hits home.

"Shut up," she huffs, slanting her lips over his.

Despite their hours spent together on the battlefield, his strength is shocking. It's near impossible to tell who's riding who, his hands firmly on her hips, his body moving beneath her like the rolling ocean, all muscle and sinuous control. Either sex is way better than she remembers, or he's just that good. He ripples in and out of her depths, each of his gentle ridges strumming her like a harp, sweat rolling down the back of her neck.

His venom is already refreshing its hold on her mind when she breaks their kiss for breath. There's a kind of weightlessness to the high - she floats up, baring herself to his wandering hands. They slide against the plane of her stomach, cupping her breasts, plucking teasingly at her nipples. It's enough to make her cry out, heedless to the rest of the world, grinding on him for all she's worth. She feels the hot coil of release building within her, sensations concentrated in every point of contact. The texture of his scales against her inner thighs, his teasing fingertips on her breasts… his burning length buried within her, filling her to completion like no other.

In the throes of his venom, her cabin disintegrates, and there beneath an endless veil of stars, they are one - chasing release in the arms of the other. Words can't describe this perfect headspace. Later, all she'll be able to say is how he feels so good, wishing she could borrow his eidetic memory if only for these few perfect, fleeting moments, to revisit at her behest.

She slips one hand down to massage her clit and pitches her head back in a gasp, walls clenching involuntarily around his length, drawing a low rasp of pleasure from his beautiful, perfect mouth. Their voices are a litany of breathless sounds, a chorus of shared ecstasy - the desperate succession of skin meeting scales, the trilling of his ruby throat and the expletives that fall from her parted lips. She's close - unbelievably close - and damn near unwilling to finish if it means this moment will end, a rare second climax bearing down on her as she folds against him. Even with her hand trapped between their bodies, the sweet pebbled friction of his scales threatens to push her over the edge whether she's ready or not.

She releases with a scream, his name barely intelligible in a strangled half-sobbed cry of bliss that can't be silenced even as she buries her face in his shoulder. Thane's strong arms wind around her waist, holding her as he drives into the silken, pulsing clench of her heat with abandon. The sound of him illuminates the darkness behind her closed eyes as he spends himself within her and she can feel it - a glittering tingle of sensation radiating between her legs, up her spine and blooming into a full scale high.

And then she sags against his chest, heaving breaths in tandem with him, unable to give two tenths of a shit about her hand going numb between them.

"Thane..." She whispers. "Thane, holy shit."

"Are you hurt?"

"...No. I feel... tingly. It's good. It's so… just, good. Holy shit." Her head lolls against his shoulder. She won't open her eyes - not yet. Whatever's going on out there beyond his embrace - for once, it's not her problem. She feels over-relaxed, tinged with unreality. Like a dream. When had she gotten so damn high? If they'd barely -

...Oh, she realizes.

Drell toxin. Inside her.

Thane hums in contentment, his familiar alien hands soothing through her hair. She wonders if he feels just as sated as she does.

"Tell me it was good for you too," she whispers softly against his aural ridge.

"Siha," his voice is quiet, as if murmuring a secret, "It feels unfair to tell you how many times I will revisit this memory."

"I'll allow it, if you tell me we can do this again."

"As if you even need to ask," he chuckles breathlessly. "Yes, I’d like that."

"I don't think I've ever been fucked like that. I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk straight.”

“Not the word I would use, but I’m glad to hear I’ve pleased you.”

She feels his mouth move in a smile and takes a strong inward breath, raising her head to look at him. She can see her own silhouette in his fathomless dark eyes.

"Say it," she demands.

His brows - those gorgeous, expressive, glittering emerald brows - raise in curiosity. It must be the venom making him so vibrant.

"Pardon?"

Shepard extends one finger to gently prod his chest. "Say 'fuck.'"

He laughs beneath her and it feels like her whole body is bouncing, joining him in his mirth.

That laughter reaches his eyes and his expression softens. "I think perhaps we've overindulged. I didn't expect you'd be so heavily affected."

Her eyes widen in mock incredulity. "Overindulged? Don't you dare tell me that was too much for you."

A viridian palm settles against her cheek, his lips curled in a soft smile so rare it seems like a gift. "What I mean to say is it may have been too much for you, Siha."

She pauses, pushes herself up on shaky arms and sits back on his thighs. He's softening within her, and the retreat of him leaves a trail inside her that feels... not exactly, but... Sort of like someone stuck a breath mint where it doesn't belong. Shepard smiles inwardly. It feels kind of great.

"I'm Commander Shepard," she intones, setting her hands on her hips in a dramatic display of confidence. "I can handle getting dicked down by the most deadly lizard in the galaxy."

Thane is damn near grinning now. “My apologies, Commander. I will think twice before underestimating your abilities in the future.”

"I'm not moving until I hear you say 'fuck.'" She retorts, arms crossed.

"You're wrong, if you assume I want you anywhere but right here."

He reaches for her arms, trailing down her to her wrists to clasp her hands. Above him, she watches as though entranced, the dim light of her cabin blurring the edges of her vision and bringing the slow intertwining of their fingers into crisp focus. For all their differences, they fit together so beautifully. Her heart feels full.

"Thane..."

Their eyes meet as he kisses her fingertips.

"Fuck you, Siha."

#zet writes things #thane krios #shrios #spiritual shrios summer #fshrios #o boy please dont judge me too hard cause ive never worked on a fic so hard in my life and i have no idea what i'm doing

35 notes · View notes

marsophilia · 3 years

Text

OF WAR AND FATE - an introduction

Chapter O.5

masterlist ->

pairing :: royalty!seonghwa x reader

word count :: 1.3k

warnings :: blood

The moon was shining brightly, no clouds in the sky visible. It was fairly quiet, even the birds were fast asleep instead of chirping away, disturbing the sleep of others. There was a single sound that broke the silence, barely audible yet still there.

Your pants echoed around the forest while your hair was wildly flapping behind you, a few unlucky strands sticking to your face. Your hands were tightly gripping onto your dress to make running easier. Although that wasn’t the problematic part - the lack of shoes was. Unfortunately, to not make a sound while climbing down a castle window, you had to be barefoot. Even horses were out of the question since it wasn’t your goal to wake half of the kingdom up.

Oh God, you weren't late, were you? No, you left early enough. Maybe you took a wrong turn? Impossible - you ran the same path as every other night, it was tattooed in your brain at this point. It was unfortunate how this was the only time possible for something like this but those were the times you were living in.

Just at the moment when your thoughts started to get overwhelming, you reached the well-known spot. Well, known to you. And it didn’t take even a second to spot the other person that was there, back facing you while fiddling with the sword in his lap.

A mischievous grin spread over your lips soon enough as you started tiptoeing on the forest ground towards the figure. Getting close enough you leaned down to let your lips ghost over his ear while whispering, “Your guard is down again.” The boy seemingly jumped out of his skin to turn and face you which only caused you to burst out laughing. You didn’t have to worry about someone hearing you here, you were deep enough in the forest. This was probably the only time where you didn’t feel suffocated, a place where you could finally breathe.

“God’s sake! Y/n! What are you trying to do? Speed up my death?!” Seonghwa's hand was firmly pressed over his chest, more specifically heart - which was beating out of his ribcage by the way. You managed to calm down your laughter sooner than later, still grinning his way. Never mind that he just got scared to death, if it meant he could hear your melodic laughter, that was enough of a reward to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting too reckless.” Your words were spoken in a teasing manner as you leaned down to pick up one of the two swords. Seonghwa's eyes were still glued on your figure, appreciating every moment he got to spend with you. Not like he would ever tell you that out loud.

You’d call him cheeky for that.

Finally pushing himself up to his feet, his hand also reached to grab the other sword, “Let’s go pretty boy, the night isn’t forever lasting.” You informed him, already getting into a position to attack. “Unfortunately you’re right.” He sighed out his words while bending his knees to get in position. “Care to dance?” “With you? Always.” You didn’t hesitate for a second after Seonghwa's answer, pouncing with the sound of swords clashing with each other.

And just like you asked, you both looked like you were moving in sync, dancing gracefully over the forest floor while the sound of metal clashing with each other followed and accompanied them. Unlike the situation, you both wore smiles on your faces. You were probably both holding back from giving it your all but God forbid you ended up accidentally hurting each other. At one point, you’ll probably be forced to do just that so for now… you're holding back as much as possible and simply enjoying the moments under the moon you get to spend together.

Getting carried away in his thoughts for a second too long, in the next one Seonghwa's back met the ground with a grunt, the sword flying out of his hand. Wide-eyed, he stared at you in bewilderment while you were now seated on his waist. Courtesy of taking him down in a moment of weakness.

“Can you at least, try to make the fight look believable? You’re not fooling anyone with that kind of acting.” Your comment finally snapped him from his thoughts, blinking at you confusedly at first before a smile broke away on his lips. Without a second thought, Seonghwa pushed his head upwards for his lips to meet yours in a second-long peck. That was apparently enough for your ears to turn red - this was too out of the blue for you. “That certainly won’t make it more believable Hwa…” You slightly grumbled while getting off of him.

“What can I say, sometimes I can’t control myself around you.” He cheekily replied while standing up himself. Never mind being shorter, you smacked him on the head, “Yeah, well one day it might cost you your life!” Out of the two of you, you were the one that took the whole situation far more seriously. And why wouldn’t you? It was your lives at stake! But neither one of you could say you were worried about your own life, more so the life of the person you learned to cherish and hold close to heart.

The person that became your biggest weakness and strength.

Your encounter was all in all a fun game of faith and a complete coincidence. You were both certain it wasn’t even meant to happen but yet here you were playing against destiny. Somehow, you both got fed up with everything on the same night, running to the forest that played as the border between your two kingdoms. Your first meeting is quite memorable too - the one where you both tried to kill each other. But what else was expected from children of royal blood from two kingdoms at war? All you ever learned was how you were good and the other one is bad. It was simply programmed in your minds.

You grew past that though - obviously. And that led to your secret encounters in the forest under the moonlight. From born enemies… To best friends… To people that you loved with their whole hearts. "Like you could get rid of me that easily." Seonghwa let out a small hum, running to you to pick you up. Sneaking his hands around your waist, he twirled you around. You let out a yelp before a melodic laugh filled his ears.

"Hwa! You're taking it for granted!" You let out a whine when he finally let you down, turning to face him only to smack his shoulder in warning.

And he was.

Because it took only a second for you to push away for a sound of a flying arrow to be heard. It took only a second until the arrow reached Seonghwa. And it took only a second for his mind to register what was happening.

Your eyes widened in shock and fear before you started wildly turning around trying to find the source of an arrow. It didn't take long until your eyes fell on a hooded figure that started running away. A glint caught your eye. It was your kingdom's crest.

You were followed.

"Shit!" You cried out before turning to run towards Seonghwa. Falling to your knees, your hands hovered over his arrow impaled wound. "Wh-what do I d-do?" Your voice shaking, eyes filling with tears as panic started settling inside of you. "Don't- don't take it out-" He warned, his eyebrows furrowed in pain before trying to push himself up.

"What are you doing, you can't move?!" Panic was certainly evident in your voice by now before he groaned, "Y/n… Help me up, I know where to go." His voice was strained but you didn't hesitate to pull him gently up this time. Seonghwa was quick to motion you in a certain direction and you immediately started helping him walk while leaning his weight on you, swords laying on the ground long forgotten.

What will you do now?

65 notes · View notes

luvlyrv · 3 years

Text

Duel | Seulgi x F!Reader | Knight!AU

Request: Okay so I have a request 👀 you don’t have to write it if you want want to, but the idea came to my head and I thought why not request it from one of my favourite writers! 🥺

SO, knight!seulgi. Or basically Seulgi with a sword and being bad ass 🥴 maybe a small bit of enemies to lovers, who knows? But just Seulgi. With a sword. 😳🥵

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: i hope you like it! i'm not big on action scenes so they were kind of rushed, sorry :( also sorry that it took so long my dear!! hope you're doing well <3

Date: 4/11/21

You uncomfortably roll your shoulders back, a phantom pain gradually enveloping your body. Somehow the mere sight of Seulgi was enough to send shudders down your spine as your body recounts the sensations of the many fights you've had with her. Maybe defeat has already etched itself into your muscle memory.

You let out a quiet breath as you observe her sparring session with a fellow damoiseau, a knight-in-training. Your mind feels a bit torn by the sight in front of you. On one hand you are entranced by the fluid motions and contortions that Seulgi managed to make her body do. On the other hand you struggle to not make an obviously unsettled face. Your mood sours at the disappointment you feel when reminded of the fact that despite how much you try to observe and study her, you have never bested her in a duel.

Besting the people around you had always come easy. You've enjoyed the pain of your training, knowing that it would be proven a worthy investment of your time when you see a pitiful body laying on the floor in front of you. When you get to see the face of defeat, hear the admittance of it. For all you know you are the perfect warrior. A noble knight worthy to serve the monarch.

You're better than everyone. You know it. Except for her.

What was it? What did you she have that you didn't? Every time she bested you in a duel it dealt a bastardly blow to your ego. The words 'second best' would make your eye want to twitch. For all your strength and endurance, your familiarity with the motions of battle, Seulgi just seemed to understand it more.

You recount the many times your body would strain itself after being dealt with many sharp thwacks. The throbbing pains from falling and rolling, again and again. The sense of hope and excitement as you pushed yourself to take on a stance and seemingly deal a final blow, only for Seulgi to easily and gracefully step away, just to kick you back to the ground.

You hate her. You hate the weaklings underneath you too. You swear you can hear them snicker when you lose to her, that treacherous woman.

You stop your thoughts when you suddenly hear the booming voice of your master calling for you. Your grip strengthens around your training sword as you slowly make way towards Seulgi. It's time for the two of you to repeat the process. This time though, you are determined to win. Certain of it. Seulgi, the best apprentice in your regiment, would not longer make a mockery of you.

Your jaw hurts as clench, barely containing your anger. You try to calm down and refocus on the situation at hand. You look at Seulgi as she stands in her own battle-ready stance in front of you. You wonder how her blows deal so much power when her frame looks so delicate.

Focusing on calming down your breathing, you slowly advance forward. Your opponent does the same and soon enough you're circling around each other. It's the same story again. The same beginnings.

You want to end things quickly and dive in for the first blow. One blow should be all you need, you think to yourself. You force yourself to go as quickly as possible, everything around you a blur except for your target herself. All of a sudden though, she disappears and suddenly you feel your training sword facing resistance, threatening to escape your grasp.

You grunt in frustration and reorient yourself to find Seulgi. You spot her and balance yourself waiting for another opening. She is always on the defensive it seems, but you are never one to wait. As the seconds go by you deem it the right time to go for a slash. It feels as if your body is moving through molasses as you watch Seulgi glide out of your weapon's way in horror. You see her sword and a painful thwack is given.

It's the same story again. The same middle.

You repeat and repeat these motions. You going in for a hit only to be countered. Sometimes you'd get one in, but like you your opponent is hardy and gets back up. After a brutal pummeling you must resign yourself to defeat, as much as your heart hates it. The same ending as always.

This time though you can't seem to hold your tongue back.

You storm up closer to Seulgi and roughly hold onto the collar of her training attire. "What the hell is it? What's your secret?" You shake the woman a bit until her hands come up to your wrist. She pushes them down and you decide to let go. "Rematch tonight. I'll prove my worth." The words come out viciously but quietly. They were a promise both to her and yourself.

The crowd of spectators around you stay quiet after your outburst, and Seulgi doesn't say anything either. Not bothering to look at anyone's faces you leave the grounds to change clothes. They stuck to you with sweat and the gritty dirt that covered it bothered you

You can't think much for the rest of the day. The thoughts of your failure prevents you from enjoying training or beating other people. Soon enough you find yourself looking at a bowl of measly soup and bread in the mess hall all by yourself.

The warm soup makes you feel marginally better, but you don't pay much attention to it. Instead you take in your surroundings. This scenario is routine. You sit by yourself somewhere among the crowds of people interacting and enjoying their meal together. Even if people were nearby you simply would not speak. Why waste your breath on them?

In contrast to you though, you notice how hordes of people flock around the number one apprentice. Vying for her attention. Are you jealous? You can't tell. You just wonder if people would act that way towards you if you were the best.

Soon enough you hear the familiar yelling of a commander telling you all to return to your bunks. You quickly put away your bowl and utensils before hanging back from the line of people walking back towards the measly barracks that housed you all. Through the large body of people you see the crowd finally thin out as people their respective barracks. As you get closer to yours you finally spot Seulgi towards the entrance of the building. Coming up behind her you speak out.

"You didn't forget, did you?" She takes a moment to think before huffing.

"I suppose I should humor you after all."

You turn without letting her speak further. There's a silence between the two of you as you go to retrieve your training swords. You'd expect to hear loud padded footsteps behind you, but surprisingly Seulgi's footsteps sound faint. Nearly nonexistent.

The night sky of course makes it hard to see things, but your years of training has ingrained the layout of the entire area into your heart. It also helps that the moonlight allows you to see just enough as well. You make it to your destination with ease, picking up your weapon you watch as Seulgi grabs hers too.

"Where are we going to fight?" She questions you tiredly.

"Out in the field." Your answer is curt as you once again lead Seulgi, this time to the middle of the field you had fought in earlier in the day. When you arrive you distance yourself farther away from her and take your stance.

"You ready?" You ask her as you plant your feet into the ground and focus on your breathing.

"Mhm." Seulgi, unlike you, decides to stand there. She seems uncommitted, like she doesn't care about the fight. How dare she do that when your pride is on the line? When you're taking this so seriously?

Frustration builds up inside of you as you take her attitude as disrespect. You move in to give her a quick jab. Extending your arm, you feel your weapon graze her before she moves out of the way. A popping noise fills the air as she strikes down near the hilt of your weapon, trying to make you loosen your grip. It almost works but you quickly readjust your hands. You force up your sword in retaliation, breaking away the contact between your two swords.

With your sword so high up you decide to go for a horizontal swing towards Seulgi's body. In the early moments of your swing though, Seulgi ducks down and gives you an upwards jab towards your chest.

You heave as air forcefully leaves your lungs, a pain exploding around your chest.

"God!" You wheeze out loudly. Seulgi stands in front of you while she lowers her sword. You get down to your knees and look at the ground. Your breathing normalizes quickly but you try to get your bearings before rising again.

"I still... don't get it." As quickly as your breathing returned to its normal state, your voice quivered as your eyes felt hot. The disappointment that you seemingly always felt around Seulgi had made its reappearance. This time it hit harder than normal. Hard enough to make you start crying.

As your breathing began to become more uneven you finally raise your head and stand up. The form of your opponent gets closer to you. The only sounds between the two of you is the noises escaping your throat as you broke down again.

"How can you manage to fight like that?" You notice Seulgi has put both of her hands out to you. Your hesitance to take them spurs her to speak.

"I'll show you." Her voice touches you somehow. How have you never noticed how angelic she sounded? How gentle she was being with you right now? "Just take them."

You allow her to take your hands. She carefully clasps her similarly calloused hands around yours and begins to move. Her body sways, you don't quite understand why but you try to follow suit.

"I don't get it." You say as you try to mirror her movements. You fumble in embarrassment as Seulgi moves with confidence and grace. You're like a fawn who hasn't learned how to walk next to her.

"I'm a dancer, don't you see?" She momentarily lets go of your hands and walks backwards. You miss the feeling of her hands but you're entranced by the short show she puts on.

She performs for you, the dance itself was beautiful as she created curves and angles with her body. The moonlight enhances it, bouncing off her body and allowing her to glow.

Why have you never noticed how delicate her features looked? How it looked as if she was hand sculpted by the gods?

She returns back to you, taking your hands in hers and leads you back to dancing. You focus harder on trying to mimic her correctly. Eventually the both of you are gracefully dancing across the vast field. You're calmer now, happy even.

"See?" Seulgi says after a while of silent dancing. "The battlefield is my dancefloor, and I'm simply dancing around your blade."

"You're an incredible dancer, Seulgi." Seulgi has brought the two of you closer now. You notice how her lips tug up a bit as you pay her a compliment. That was the first time you've complimented her, perhaps even anyone here. It was the first time you said something without malice to her.

"I try." She laughs a bit. "I wanted to be a professional dancer at first actually. My family wanted me to go into a more noble field though, for the sake of our reputation. I protested at first of course. As I thought more though I decided I wouldn't mind protecting people. I still try to dance everyday though."

"Oh." Shock is laced through your voice. Listening to Seulgi was a humbling experience to say the least. You had wanted to become a knight for your own honor, to attain glory and recognition. You hadn't paid much thought towards protecting other people.

It was also strange to see Seulgi treat you like this. Her kindness was unprecedented. Was your hatred and spite one-sided all along?

"Hm?" Seulgi is curious to your shock as she quirks her eyebrow.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"I've..." It hurts you a bit to say sorry, let alone apologize correctly. You force yourself to do it though. Maybe, just maybe, you need to change. "I've certainly acted coldly towards you and others. My actions have been... conceited." You here a soft giggle before Seulgi speaks again.

"You're cuter when you're not being awful, you know?" You're glad that the sun has set and that Seulgi can't see the embarrassment on your face. Seulgi hums a tune as you continue dancing together.

"Try smiling more and scowling less. You'd be more approachable that way, along with some attitude changes of course. Aren't you lonely?" She tries to advise you, and normally you'd lash out if anyone made comments about your behavior, but you can't help but to listen to the soothing voice of Seulgi.

"...I can try." You whisper. "I think, if I may speak frankly, I would be okay with being second best under you." Seulgi laughs again.

"Oh? Was dancing with you all it took to make you earn some humility?"

"Maybe... can we dance again another time?" You ask with hesitance before you quickly elaborate. "To get better at fighting, like you! Of course. Only if you want to."

"If this would effectively make you learn your lesson, then sure."

This was the first time you could talk to someone like this, and you like it.

"Thank you, Seulgi, for your patience."

You understand why she's the best apprentice out of all of you. Why people flock around her. Who wouldn't want to be near the giving soul of Seulgi?

#seulgi x reader #seulgi #red velvet x reader #red velvet #red velvet scenarios #red velvet imagines #red velvet reactions #red velvet seulgi #gg imagines #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop writing

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srose-foxfire · 3 years

Text

Damirae Week 2021 - Day 7 (part 1)

“Finding Our Happily Ever After: Part 1” Day 7: Soulmates

All Raven could recall was standing before Damian about to confess she wanted to stay with him and his family, if he allowed her. The moments that followed after were in a blur, she had felt a pull from the skies and before long she was rising in the dark grey skies at a rapid speed. Raven looked down to see she was being pulled away from her friends and Damian. Scared, the young maiden called out for him, she heard him call back and bark an order towards her captor. Raven could also faintly remember seeing Sombra, trying to attack her captor but was wounded. The next thing she remembers was trying to punch and free herself from her captor, but she was then struck on her head rather hard making her lose conscious throughout the flight.

Overtime Raven would briefly wake up catching glimpses of the surrounding lands, as they approach a mountain.

When her senses came back and she fully awoke, Raven found herself to be inside a dark cave. It was too dark for any mere mortal to be able to look through but the part of her that held demon blood allowed her to see in the darkness. Raven slowly turned her head, skimming the area, as she tried to stand, she notices a tug come from her wrists and ankles. Looking down on herself, Raven had been tied onto a wooden chair, her wrists and ankles were tied rather very tightly, she notice red bruised marks stain her wrists . Raven tried to wiggle from her chair, when from the darkest part of the room, she heard the grunts of an older man.

The cave was lit with floating wax candles holding a green flame on them, making the room glow in green. Raven managed to see two figures standing close together from the direction she had heard the man come from. One was tall and well built, a man with his face hidden behind a black and orange mask. Next to him was an old woman, though she had a devil look in her eyes as if she shouldn’t be easily trifled with. This woman was dress in grey rags, almost appearing to be her dress, her long grey-hair was in locks pointing in different directions. She wasn’t pleasant to the eyes and might as well frighten any child.

Raven exhaled carefully, “Who are you and what do you want with me?”

The man laughed lightly, he took a step toward Raven, “my… you really cut to the chase, my dear.” He then bowed towards her, “I am Slade Wilson, and I have a proposition for you.”

Before Raven had a chance to inquire, the old woman next to him, place her weary old boney hand on Slade’s arm, “my lord, I must advice not to deal with the likes of her. Contracts with them come at a price, perhaps-”

“Quite hag,” Slade hissed through clenched teeth, then glanced at Raven who had her brows lifted, he gave her a gentle laugh, “apologies my dear. Like I was saying I have a proposition, if you choose to accept it, and I will free you from those binds.”

Not allowing herself to falter, Raven held her head high and spoke with a stern voice. “Listen, I don’t have anything to my name, if you know who I am, I’ve been exiled from my father’s lands. I hold no value-”

“Oh, but you do my dear, you absolutely do and that is why you should be wise to choose this offer of mine.” Slade clapped his hands together, looking over to the older woman, who mumbled some incoherent words and a large wooden chair appeared right in front of Raven, Slade then sat down, she could feel he was studying her through his mask.

“Which is?” she then asked him.

The masked man, sighed heavily, “you have been staying with a certain and very peculiar family,” She could feel her heart picked up speed as she listened, her chest rised with disdain, and her face was starting to flush with anger as Slade continued, “the youngest child of said family… well he was given a birthright he did not deserve, well to make it short I want to employ you to help me bring him to ruin-”

Enrage, Raven glared and spoke the truth in her heart, “You are wasting your time with me; I will never turn against Damian or his family! They have given me more than my own father ever could… besides Gotham has been with the Wayne’s for generations, its Damian throne to take-”

“Shut her up.” Slade commanded with a hiss, the old woman who stood behind him muttered some words in another language Raven didn’t understand and her lips were sealed, Slade then rose from his chair and walked around her.

“Apologies but I hate interruptions. Yes, the little brat is the heir to rule over Gotham, but he was also given another birthright one he very carelessly gave away to his cousin. The kingdom of Nanda Parbat, a land inhabited by the world’s most elites of assassins, it’s former ruler was Ra’s al Ghul, had chosen his grandson, the one you know as Damian Wayne to take over his kingdom!” Frustrated, Slade then kicked the large wooden chair, across the room with a powerful kick.

The noise frightened the harpy as it screeched and flapped it wings from a corner, hoping around the room. The old woman hissed at it to quiet down, with a flick of her fingers tips the chair was rebuild and place across from Raven. Slade grabbed it and sat down, he clasped his hands on his lap and studied her, noticing Raven had her brows knitted together.

“You must wonder why I hate him so much, correct? Well I was the ‘Demon Head’s’ right man, he almost treated like a son… he once told me I was going to marry his daughter Talia, but what does he do instead? Create a ridiculous alliance with the kingdom of Gotham, King Bruce takes Talia in marriage and she gives birth to the little brat. That boy has stolen what was rightfully mine and gave it away like nothing.”

Slade then stood up, remove his mask to reveal a dark skinned man, with short white hair and a left eye covered by a piece of black leather, placed his hands on either side of Raven’s chair leaning ever so closely to her face, “I needed to have my revenge. That boy took everything away from me, so I took away everything he came to love. I had a cursed place on him, his family, and soon everyone came to forget that the kingdom of Gotham ever existed. Its people became like wind, it was like they never existed. I found pleasure knowing he would never get to experience true happiness… that is until…you came along.”

Raven’s chest was heaving as she strained to breath steadily, she could feel her blood start to boil and her head throb with rage. “You somehow manage to worm yourself into the castle and lighten the darkness I so perfectly designed for them. I had to come up with something else, something that would really bring that boy to his knees, and that is making you my bride.”

Slade started to caress her cheek with his hand, she turned and tried to lean away from his vile touch. Her mouth was beginning to fill with saliva and just for a split-second Raven felt strange. She had a feeling like she could overpower whatever had been placed onto her lips, she locked gaze with Slade’s, glared at him from underneath her lashes and then spit at him.

The older man groined and wipes his face with the back of his palm, the old woman gave out a horrible angry cry as she screamed, “you filthy wench! How dare you break my enchantment?!” Raven’s chair was lifted and flung towards the ceiling of the cave, Raven cried at the impact as she was dragged to the floor and up again. Then she was floating just above the old woman, with a flick of her old wrist, Raven was thrown across the cave, causing the chair she was tied on, to break at the impact.

“Stop it!” Slade yelled as he lifted his servant by the throat, then releasing her harshly. He turned and pointed his finger towards Raven. “You! Do you think you could ever live happily alongside a beast like him? Don’t you want to live a normal-human life with someone like me? I can give you that and so much more.”

“No… you can’t.” Raven strained to speak as her whole body was aching, she lifted herself off the ground with great difficultly, “Damian may be trapped in a beast’s body but even he has shown more compassion and kindness from any demon I have ever met! He is no beast, you are!”

“Enough! I employed this witch long time ago to curse him, now for being a thorn on my side you will perish!”

The old woman cackled and her fingertips sparked with green magic, “oh, what great pleasure you give me my lord to slay a sorceress of Azarath.” Azarath?

“Don’t you dare, hurt her!”

That voice! Raven turned around to what was hopefully the cave’s only exit and to see him magnificently riding on Titus, like a white knight riding on his noble steed. Damian hopped off from Titus, as they both snarled and growled at Raven’s captors.

“Damian!” Raven cried happily.

Slade laughed, “Well now, isn’t this a sight! The beast man with his beast dog!” He then unsheathes a sword he had on his hip and pointed it towards Damian, “You want the girl, you will have to go through me!”

“You will pay for what you did to her and to my family!” Damian yelled. He leaped towards Slade, swinging his claws to land a hit.

The harpy who had been standing nearby flew up and dive to attack Damian but was interrupted as Titus manage to bite one of its winged arms. The harpy cried out and kicked Titus on his muzzle, then tried biting him in return. When she missed used her clawed feet to puncture his shoulder. Titus effortlessly evade each attack, then lodged its fangs onto one of the harpy’s foot and swung it in his mouth like a doll. He then let go, causing the harpy to be thrown across the cave, it shrieks and cried painfully flying away, abandoning it mistress.

Titus barked proudly and ran towards Raven as they watched Damian continue to battle Slade. “You cause me my pet!” Raven turned around and notice the witch was flying towards her, Raven through herself away from the attack and Titus tried to swing his paw at her. The witch shot a bolt of her green magic and Titus whimper as he was struck. Angry, Raven stood and ran towards the witch as she managed to tackle her to the ground. They rolled on top of each other, Raven had the upper hand given to her youth and her own will to survive this terrible ordeal. But the witch had magic and she started chanting some words making Raven float away from her and then launching her like she had done before with the chair. Raven rolled a few feet away, she glanced up as the witch floated slowly towards her.

“Your mother turned me into this! She took away my beauty because I used it to lure men to their dooms, now it is time for me to have my revenge!” She raised her hands up, green sparks going off as she chanted a spell. Raven lifted her hands to shield herself, when she heard a whoosh sliced through the air. Slowly Raven, opened her eyes and widen them when she saw that the witch had been impacted by Slade’s sword. It had entered through her back and the tip managed to pierce through the front of her chest. She slowly floated down to the ground, standing still. The witch then slowly turned around still with the sword embedded through her as she glanced towards Slade. “My lord? Why…?”

“Our deal is off; you are no longer any use for me.”

Damian quietly moved around Slade as he approached Raven, he used his body to shield her from their enemies. He slowly pushed her towards the path he and Titus had come from. The witch continues to walk towards Slade, then pointed her long pointy finger. “You traitor,you dare double-cross a witch, all of you will never see the light of day, I cursed thee all to be buried in this cave!” Her whole body illuminated and burst into green and black ashes, the cauldron started to boil and erupted around the entire room. Which cause the cave to rumble and some stalactites fell all around them.

“Let’s go!” Damian yelled as he grabbed Raven’s hand and together ran along the path to exit the cave. Titus ran up ahead, managing to evade pillars of rocks tumbling down, at some point Damian lifted Raven in his arms and carried her off most of the path. As they near the exit, some rocks came lose, falling right at the foot of the entrance to the cave. Damian stopped, placed Raven down and then jumped on top the nearest boulder, he turned and reached for her hands to help her climb. Titus effortlessly jumped and stood near an opening big enough for them to pass through. When Raven reached the top, she reached out her hand to grab Damian’s paw, for a second her looked at her and couldn’t help but smile towards her.

Then out of nowhere Damian screamed out a roar of pain, one hand clawing the air around him. Raven glanced to Damian’s side and saw Slade had reached them and had use a dagger to pierce Damian. The young curse prince had lost his footing and grip, causing Raven to hold onto him as tightly as she could and not let him fall. Slade used this opportunity to stab Damian again, but he too lost his footing and pulled Damian down with him.

“Damian!” Raven cried as she watches him tumbled down and roll a few feet away from where they had started to climb. She and Titus hopped down the to the floor and running to Damian’s side. She knelt down and gently picked up his head in her hands, trying to shield him from the small debris. Titus stood next to them, using his own large body as a shield for his master and the young girl. The only entrance they had was covered by more rocks, trapping them inside the cave.

“You lost, you lost it all!” Slade exclaimed happily as he tried to stand up straight, with shaky legs started walking towards them. “I was never going to let you live a happy life! You deserved this; oh, you so deserve this!” Slade chanted madly, all reason was gone, now before them was an old man filled with utter madness. Above them a large cracking sound was heard, gazing right above him a large stalactite broke from the roof and landed right where Slade had stood.

The cave continued to crumble around them. Damian was heavily panting, trying to minimize how much in pain he was in. “Save yourselves,” he whispered through painful breaths.

“I am not leaving you.” Raven answered him as she cradle his face. There has to be a way. Raven thought. She turned and turned her head all around her hoping to see something that could save them. But there was nothing, all was truly lost as Slade had said, was this truly what they were fated for from the start? Was the grand design of the universe this cold-hearted towards them in wanting to have a happy life? Wanting to hold on to what had brought her happiness for a short moment of her life, Raven felt that feeling again when she had broken the witch’s enchantment on her lips. It felt peaceful and warmth almost, just like when she had been visited by that strange woman cloaked in white. Without even knowing it herself Raven whispered;

“Azarath… Metrion… Zinthos.”

A dark purple circle suddenly appeared on the ground around them. As more cracks were heard from the cave’s ceiling, she saw some stalactites break, coming down rapidly targeting them. The circle then emitted dark looking shadows that looked like black tentacles wrapping around Raven and her friends. She closed her eyes waiting for their death but then opened them and looked at Damian. If she were to die, she wanted to see him one last time. Then they were all engulfed by shadows.

#damirae week 2021 #damirae #beauty and the beast au #Damian Wayne #raven roth #raven and robin #raven and damian #damian and raven

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cherishingstydia · 3 years

Text

5 times Buck helps Eddie+1 time Eddie helps Buck

“Come on it’s easy.” Buck laughed.

“Maybe for you!” Eddie sighed.

“Look Eds you’re not gonna learn if you just stand ten feet away.”

“Fine.” Eddie said coming closer peeking over Bucks shoulder. Which now Buck was regretting having him so close.

“See it’s so easy. You boil the water, and then add the noodles. Then we’re just gonna add the Alfredo sauce. This really isn’t anything I need to teach you Eddie you know how to boil water and open jars.” Buck laughed.

“Yeah, but we’re starting out easy and then we’ll let things get really hard.”

Nope. Not thinking about what things He wants to get hard. Buck cleared his mind as he watched Eddie picked up the pan, and head to the sink to strain it

“Shit!” Eddie said as the boiling water burnt his hand. “This is why I don’t cook.” Eddie shook his head.

“Let me look at it.” Buck said. Buck gently grabbed Eddies hand examining it.

“Let’s go. I have some cream in the bathroom that should help.”

Eddie followed Buck and then sat on the side of the tub like Buck told him.

Buck gently rubbed the cream on Eddies hand careful not to hurt it. He then wrapped it up and with out even thinking he left a soft kiss on Eddies hand. His lips touched his skin...well a bandage over his skin.

“Um I’m sorry I don’t know why I did that.” Buck blushed.

“Kisses are supposed to make it all better right?” Eddie smiled.

“Still I don’t think you needed it.” Buck said avoiding eye contact.

“Here.” Eddie said grabbing his hand and leaving a soft kiss on Bucks hand. “Now we’re even...don’t worry about it.”

Buck felt like his brain short circuited, and he couldn’t help, but think of all the places he wanted to feel Eddies lips.

“Also sorry for pushing you to cook.”

“It’s ok I really do need to learn.” Eddie smiled.

Buck arrived at Eddies and knocked. He was in shock with how little clothing Eddie was wearing. Just some small shorts.

“Man I feel a little over dressed.”

Buck managed to say with a forced laugh.

“Ha ha.” Eddie said sarcastically. “I’m sun burned, and I can’t wear clothes comfortably.

“Well did you put aloe on?”

“Most places. Can’t reach my back.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Thanks.” Eddie smiled handing Buck the bottle.

As Buck looked at the muscular body in front of him he realized maybe rubbing your hands all over your best friend who your feelings aren’t strictly platonic could be a bad idea.

Bucks hands began rubbing down Eddies shoulders and back reaching every muscle.

“Uh I think I got too much.” Buck said after covering Eddies back and shoulders.

“You can put it on my chest...I mean no need to wash it off and waste it.”

“Uh yeah.” Buck choked.

Now his hands were rubbing all over Eddies chest and abs and the look in Eddies eyes made it really hard not to make a move, but he’s not crossing the line when he knows Eddie doesn’t want it.

“Done.” Buck blurted before rushing to the bathroom.

“You ok?” Eddie asked following after.

“Great...I Uh just need to wash my hands.” Buck said....and control what was happening in his pants. Buck had to think of the grossest things possible to calm him down, and luckily it worked.

Buck looked at himself in the mirror as he rinsed the aloe off his hands. He let out a deep breath.

“Um I forgot I gotta go.” Buck said pushing past Eddie to leave.

“You ok?”

“Great I’ll see you tomorrow.” Buck said. Yes he was ok in most senses but his thoughts weren’t ok, they weren’t what you were supposed to think about your best friend...that’s gotta cross some line right?

Buck could barely handle the tension he’s sure he’s imagining. Eddie leaned against the kitchen counter sipping on a beer eyes looking right into Bucks. Buck had to break the moment.

“Uh let’s go finish that movie now.” Buck said clearing his throat walking away.

“Buck....I’m stuck.” Eddie said. Somehow his pants had latched on to a loose nail. “These are my favorite jeans I don’t wanna rip them.”

“Eddie you have a pair of favorite jeans.” Buck smirked. “Didn’t know you cared about clothes that much.”

“Yeah I do, and I know other people like them too apparently they make my ass look great.”

Buck agrees, but he can’t tell Eddie that. Definitely can’t tell Eddie how his ass looks great all the time no matter what he wears.

Buck walked up reaching his arms behind Eddie, standing chest to chest hoping Eddie couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating or see how red his face was turning. When he finally got Eddie loose Eddie stumbled forward practically pining Buck to the fridge. Eddie turned his head lips brushing against Bucks neck.

“Uh thanks.” Eddie said quickly taking a step back.

“Yeah...anytime.” Buck said trying to control his heavy breathing.

Eddie had one too many shots. Buck knew Chris shouldn’t see him like this and even though Buck was drunk....he wasn’t so drunk to think Eddie going home was a good idea.

Buck called Carla explained what happened and she didn’t mind staying over with Chris.

The Uber ride was interesting. Eddies hand was creeping up Bucks thigh and as much as he liked it he had to stop him every time. Eddie is drunk and doesn’t even know what he’s doing.

“Let’s go.” Buck said leading Eddie into his apartment.

“What are we gonna do?” Eddie asked with a smirk as they walked inside.

“Going to bed.” Buck said.

“Ooh sounds fun. What are we gonna do when we get there.”

“You are sleeping on the couch, and I will be sleeping in my bed.”

“That’s no fun.” Eddie groaned.

Against his better judgment Buck decided to push this a bit. Ask some more questions.

“What um what did you want to do?” Buck gulped.

“You. I wanna do you.” Eddie said before flopping on the couch and not speaking again.

Buck rushed up to his room. Knowing he shouldn’t have asked, but as much as he wants to be with Eddie, wants to have sex with him. He would never do it unless they were both sober, he wasn’t so drunk not to know right from wrong. He’d never take advantage of anyone, especially Eddie.

Buck woke up to clanking in the kitchen. He went down stairs to see Eddie trying to cook.

“What’s going on?” Buck grinned.

“Trying to thank you for helping me last night, and not letting Chris see me drunk.”

“You were pretty wasted.”

“Is cereal ok?” Eddie laughed.

“Probably the safest option.” Buck teased.

“By the way I wasn’t that drunk.” Eddie whispered against Bucks ear as he sat a bowl of cereal in front of Buck.

He can’t mean he knew what he was doing. Knew he was flirting and coming on to him....can he?

After work Buck was stopped by Eddie.

“Hey buck could you help me out? Abuela needs a new fence put in, and she insists it’s a two man job.”

“Yeah of course.” Buck smiled.

“You really don’t have to I can do it all.”

“Eddie you asked for help and I’m gonna give it to you...ok. So when are we doing it....I mean the fence.” Buck blushed.

“Tomorrow?”

“Ok I’ll see you then.”

Buck hadn’t thought much about how hot the days can be if you’re outside working. Eddie had on a white shirt that was clinging to his skin from all the sweat leaving little to the imagination, which Buck already has every inch memorized. Which some people might find sweat gross, but with Eddie it’s incredibly sexy.

Eddie ripped off the shirt tossing it to the side and Buck is sure he literally whimpered just from the sight of Eddie.

“You ok?” Eddie asked.

“You’re hot...I mean are you hot. I think it’s hot. Like really hot out...I can’t stop sweating.”

“Take off your shirt.” Eddie said Buck didn’t know if it was a question but he liked to think of it as a command. He loved the idea of Eddie telling him what to do. Like Eddie ordering him to drop to his knees.

“Boys come get some water.” Abuela said bringing out two bottles.

Buck was incredibly grateful Abuela had interrupted his train of thought.

Eddie sat down on the steps running a hand through his hair he’d just recently grown out. Buck loved the longer hair on Eddie.

“Maybe I should cut my hair.” Eddie said.

“No!” Buck blurted earning a confused look from Eddie.

“I mean I don’t see why, unless at work you get over heated.” Buck said nervously.

“Maybe I’ll keep it. Sorry it’s so hot out today, but thank you for your help today.”

“Yeah no problem, although there are a lot more fun ways to work up a sweat.��

Buck said. He didn’t mean to, but the words just slipped out.

“Yeah, a lot more fun.” Eddie said leaning over bumping Bucks shoulder with his.

Eddies signals are really hard to read recently if he did t know any better he’d think maybe Eddie is interested in him.

+1.

“Can I have your opinion?” Buck sighed.

“Of course” Eddie smiled.

“On a scale of 1-10 how bad is this.” Buck turned on some music and started slow dancing with the air. “Maddie wants to dance with me, instead of dad, and I just I don’t know how bad it is.”

“You want my honest opinion?” Eddie asked and by the expression Buck knew it wasn’t great.

“How bad am I?”

“You’re about a 5 maybe 6...I can teach you.”

“Wait Eddie you dance?”

“Duh.” Eddie got off the couch and started swiveling his hips and thrusting in the air.

“Ok magic mike turn it down, I need to know how to dance with my sister at her wedding not something random girls bachelorette party.”

“I was just proving I can dance. Here.” Eddie said pressing his body into Bucks back one hand on his hip the other on his shoulder. “Just follow my lead.

Buck let out a deep breath the heat coming off of Eddies body, the warmth of his breath on his neck.

“Eddie I think this is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“You really don’t know...how I feel.”

“I’m not sure if I know for sure, but I know how I feel.” Eddie said nuzzling into Bucks neck leaving soft kisses. “You drive me crazy Buck. It’s unfair how you’re not only an amazing person, but also ridiculously hot.”

“Eddie.” Buck panted turning around grabbing Eddies hips and capturing Eddies lips with his. “Feelings mutual Eddie.....I like you so much, I actually more than like.”

“I more than like you too.” Eddie grinned as he put his arms on Bucks shoulders and started swaying. “We’re dancing see it’s this isn’t hard at all.”

“It’s a little hard.” Buck said pressing his body against Eddie.

“Oh, um well maybe that’s enough dancing for now. We wouldn’t want to rush this.”

“Good things are worth waiting for.” Buck smiled. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah.” Eddie smiled.

“Thanks for the help.” Buck said.

“Thank you for letting me help. Look where it got us.” Eddie grinned.

“So uh you wanna be my date for the wedding. I mean you and Chris both obviously. If not I mean we’d both be there any way, or we could just call it carpooling.” Buck rambled.

“I’d love to be your date.” Eddie said kissing Buck. “Now let’s watch that movie.”

#buddie #cherishingstydiawrites

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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years

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reunions

post mag 196 spec/au fic: jon and martin emotionally reunite and hug: the fic

this is entirely self indulgent and not at all meant to speculate canon. playing into my trend of writing the season 5 scenarios i want to see in the world, i wanted to write a fic that's entirely just martin and jon reuniting and hugging, just in case this never happens in canon. this assumes things go relatively all right after jon and basira arrive at htr and everyone gets a chance to talk things out. also can be found here at ao3!

The moment that Annabelle's explanation ends, when she steps away from the spot where Martin is held down, Jon lurches forward to free him. The web stretched over the abyss wobbles precariously at his sharp movements, and the way Martin's eyes widen with panic makes Jon's chest ache. "Careful," says Annabelle, voice thick with amusement, "or you'll bring the whole thing down."

" Martin, " says Jon, clutching at Martin's hand from where it sticks out of the strands of web. Martin clutches back, his grip desperate around Jon's hand.

The sick feeling that had emerged in Jon's stomach when he and Basira arrived to see Martin stuck in a precarious web (that almost resembles the ribbons of a tape recorder) hasn't subsided yet; it sharpens, actually, seeing how far the fall is. He hasn't taken his eyes off Martin since he got here, hasn't been able to stop staring at the web and the strands around Martin and the whole of it, his relief at Martin being alive coupled with his panic over where he is. His voice is still raw from where he'd shouted at Annabelle to let Martin go.

Jon grips Martin's hand tighter, and fumbles at the places where the web is holding Martin down. He wants to believe Annabelle when she says that she won't hurt them, that her plan will actually help them, but it's hard, considering all of it—especially with Martin suspended thousands of feet above a chasm to nowhere. "Martin," he says, voice strangled, "hold on, just… it'll be all right, j-just..."

" Jon, " Martin chokes out, his fingernails digging into Jon's wrist.

Jon finds a knife, somewhere in his pocket, and snaps through the strands around Martin, hands shaking with the effort of trying not to cut through the web that's actually keeping them from falling. The whole thing is shaking, suddenly, as Martin is freed—either because Jon has cut too deeply or from the exertion of their movements—and Jon's hands close in a frantic motion around Martin's wrists, as if he can actually pull Martin back when they're both balanced on the same precarious ledge.

For a moment, it feels like it's just the two of them, clutching at each other's wrists, staring desperately at each other as they tremble on the edge of a cliff, and Jon can only think, panicked, that if Martin goes down he is going with him. But then he feels a hand close around the back of his jacket and yank backwards—Basira, from her spot on the edge of solid ground, hauling them towards solid ground. They both scramble back with the motion, Martin's feet scrabbling uselessly against the strands of web, Jon yanking upwards so hard that his muscles ache with the strain of Martin's weight. But something gives way, and they manage to land on solid ground just as the strands of web keeping them up snap free.

" Christ, the two of you," Basira snaps, wearily, her hand landing reassuringly on Jon's shoulder for a moment. "Can't stage a rescue mission without both of you almost collapsing into some… s-some other dimension. "

"I wouldn't have expected anything less," Annabelle says pleasantly, still sounding like she might be laughing at them.

Jon rolls onto his side, panting, and wrenches himself into a sitting position. His eyes yank immediately to Martin, picking himself up, pulling strands of web away from his wrists and ankles ringed in red from the restraints. Martin's head swivels towards Jon; his own eyes are wide, nearly brimming with tears.

Jon isn't sure which of them moves first. Maybe it is both of them at the same time. All he knows is that a moment later they are colliding together, on their knees, embracing. Martin's arms are so tight around him that Jon's ribs ache, but he doesn't care. Jon's clutching at the back of Martin's jacket, his face pressed into Martin's neck—Martin's pulse, Martin's heart beating because he is alive —and he's mumbling frantic apologies: I'm sorry, Martin, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It takes a few moments to register Martin's voice, warm and cramped and frantic in Jon's ear, murmuring apologies of his own.

"We'll give these two a moment," says Annabelle to Basira.

Jon barely registers this, either, or the sound of their retreating footsteps. All that matters is that Martin is here, here and whole and warm in his arms. Jon shuts his eyes, feels the warm slide of tears down his cheeks. Tugs Martin a little closer, somehow, holding onto him tighter. A part of him had really thought he might never see Martin again.

He says this—voice breaking, fumbling upwards to press a hand against Martin's cheek, he says, "I-I… thought I might never see you again. Martin, I was so scared. "

Martin makes a choking sound. He leans into Jon's hand, covers it with his own shaking one. "Jon… Jon, I'm so sorry. I… I didn't mean it, I… I was afraid I'd lose you, a-and I overreacted, but I… I didn't… and then I left, and I-I-I didn't mean to…"

"Martin, n-no, Martin, I…" Jon jerks back a little, looks up at Martin. Wipes a tear from Martin's cheek with his thumb. "Martin, I'm sorry. I… You were right. I w-wanted to tell you that, you… I shouldn't have… I-I came too late, I never should've left, but I wanted to tell you…"

"No, Jon, you don't understand, I…" Martin shakes his head. Links his fingers with Jon's, squeezes his hand and kisses the palm gently. "I left on purpose. W-well, not really, Annabelle, she… bl-blackmailed me, or something, she said she'd leave if I tried to find you, she… but I left willingly. I-I tried to hang behind, sl-slow us down so you'd be able to catch up but I, we, we were too fast and I… I'm so sorry , Jon. I wasn't thinking. I didn't know what else to do, b-but I never should have…"

"Martin, don't… it doesn't matter, all right? I-it doesn't matter, it… you're here, you're all right." Jon wraps his arms hard around Martin again, turns his head to kiss Martin's cheek. He'd thought he might never see Martin again, he really had, but here he is. Here he is, alive, and the rest of it doesn't seem to matter somehow. Martin's here now.

Martin seems to soften in Jon's grasp; he kisses Jon's fingers again before hugging him back just as tightly. "She… she said she had a way out," he says softly. "Annabelle. One where we don't… die, o-or take Jonah's place, or… T-that was why I went. I… If there's any other way, I…"

"I know," Jon says quietly.

Martin's fingers tangle gently in Jon's hair. "Do you… can you… See? Is she telling the truth?"

"No. No, it's too muddled, the Web is clouding my vision. But…" Jon shudders a little, presses his face hard against Martin's shoulder. "I-it's not good, I don't think. Not entirely. I… I-I don't know what… maybe we'll both make it through, maybe… b-but I don't think it'll be something we… want to do."

Martin sighs, his eyes sliding shut. "Of… of course it isn't. Of course it isn't."

Jon sighs, too, pulls back a little to look Martin in the eye again. "But… if there's any chance…"

Martin nods. "I… I meant it, Jon, when I said I wouldn't doom the world for you. Or I… I wanted to, I thought I did, but I… I didn't think…" He swallows hard, sniffles a little and seems to compose himself a little. "B-but, yeah, if there's any chance of… of you, o-of both of us…"

"Y-yes, yes," says Jon. "Anything. Any chance at all. W-we'll hear her out, we… m-maybe it really can fix things."

Martin laughs a little, softly, and Jon can't help but laugh, too, the stunned, awed sort of laugh. They're here, they're both here, and maybe they have a chance. They press their foreheads together, breathing in time; Jon squeezes Martin's hand again. "I love you," he whispers. "A—and I won't leave you again. I promise."

Martin squeezes back before letting go. "Wh-whatever happens?"

"I promise," Jon repeats. "Whatever happens, w-we'll be together." For a moment—here, back with Martin again—he allows himself to hope that things might end all right for them. Maybe.

Martin pushes hair away from Jon's face, brushes his fingertips over Jon's jaw. Smiles just a little, wobbly, and Jon smiles back. "I… I can live with that. I—I love you, too. I love you, and I promise I won't leave you, either. Not again."

"Guys." Jon turns to see Basira, standing a few feet away, the expression on her face somewhere similar to what it was in the Wonderland Hospital, after the Hunt domain, when they'd taken a moment. She shrugs at them, a bit sharply. "Annabelle says it's time."

Jon sighs again; a large part of him is unwilling to step away from this, this brief peace they've created at the edge of a chasm at the end of the world. "All right. We're… we're coming," he calls. He slides his hand down to take Martin's again and holds on tight, like the webs are going to snap up and pull Martin away again. He isn't sure how much time they have left, but he knows he doesn't want to lose track of Martin again in the process of it. Not that, never again. He won't let it take him away again.

Martin leans into him, just a little, before they get to their feet. "Together?" he whispers into Jon's hair.

Jon nods, presses a kiss to the soft crest of Martin's shoulder. "Together," he says.

They get to their feet, still clasping hands, and follow Basira across the sharp landscape of the cavern at Hill Top Road, to where Annabelle Cane is waiting.

#tma fic #jonmartin #mag 196 #the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #i wrote this #cant decide if i like this or not but here it is!!

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greenroseunderglass · 3 years

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To Your Hands : Fanfic - Star Trek TOS (Gen)

@sicktember2021

@sicktember

Prompt# 14 - Aches and Pains

Summary: Jim Kirk rescues himself from a hostage situation, of course, but he doesn't do it unscathed. His friends want to catch him even if he refuses to fall.

2 Parts: Bones and Spock

Bones

They had been taken after a pitched battle in the transporter-shielded Hall of Commerce, Kirk and five junior officers from security, and one aide from the Federation Ambassador's party. They had been held three nights and well into the fourth day before Kirk led their escape into an absolute deluge. There had been so much communications interference, natural and man-made, Spock never should have beamed them aboard, not from a planet of shapeshifters, but something had made him certain of their identities, and they'd avoided imminent capture for the familiar corridors of the Enterprise. With a thousand things to do, Kirk hadn't been the most cooperative patient until Bones had nearly shouted him down in front of the main ward in Sickbay. He'd gone with what grace he could still find after that. Kirk would have admitted only if asked twice that he did feel better once he let himself change into soft, dry sweats and the nurses put warm re-hydrating fluid into his arm. But then, it took Bones about seven seconds to be back over once that was set up, so he didn’t get to enjoy the simple pleasure of it for long. McCoy was a healer, though, a real doctor when he had a real patient. Once Kirk stopped resisting he slowed down, his grumbles softening, his voice finding a quieter, deeper register that radiated authority and safety in a way that affected even someone as familiar with him as Jim Kirk. The doctor went over Kirk with his big, warm hands after he stopped whirring at him with the scanner. He was careful, and thorough. Everything hurt, either when touched or when moved, but those hands left bruises and strains feeling not only cataloged but better somehow as McCoy passed gently over them. Kirk started yawning, though, as McCoy moved over him again, this time with a protoplaser. He made himself go up on his elbows as McCoy reached his shins, and that was the end of the idyll. “You just lie right back down there and go to sleep," McCoy snapped. "All the other hostages are in for a night of observation, and it won’t hurt you for once.” Kirk just yawned again and smiled at him to prompt a suspicious look, because getting Bones annoyed early over nothing in particular was always good tactics. “Oh, I plan on being asleep, soon. I do have some things that have to be done first, though. And-“ "You are not-" Without pause, Kirk repeated himself, enunciating over McCoy’s objection, “And. It will be done sooner if you cooperate. Send Rand and Johann in here, and Sumani. “ He stretched a little and squirmed. “And another couple of pillows, so I can recline in state.” “Back still bothering you?” McCoy asked, small whirring scanner immediately back in his hand. "You never let me spend enough time with the protoplaser when you have deep bruising like this. You must still be sore all over." “Yes," Kirk said dryly. "Every thing I own is bothering me, doctor.” He huffed a laugh, dismissing it. “I am tired, and I've been told sleeping on stone floors is not good for me. But unless you plan on running one of those things over every inch of me at every depth, I think I'll just have to sleep it off.” No, sleeping on cold stone floors was not good for him, McCoy thought, or good for his aching body. Neither was three nights in clammy damp, or an hour getting soaked through during their escape, or the slight fever Kirk was running from the cold he was definitely coming down with. McCoy huffed back at him, frustrated. He would be laughed at if he suggested Kirk spend some time in one of the hot spa baths, and that was really the only prescription he had at the moment, for all his training. He couldn't give any of the hostages much in the way of pharmaceutical pain relief, not after their captors had drugged them so extensively. And Kirk was right, damnit -- he would end up resting more quickly if McCoy let him work unhindered for a little while. The doctor stiffly left the room, but he did grudgingly call the Captain’s yeoman and left her to manage the rest of it. He forbid her from giving Kirk the fresh uniform she turned up

with, but decided to look the other way on the coffee. It took less than an hour after that for Kirk to fight himself free, of the fires in his command and the solicitude of the nurses. He had a lot on his plate in about ten hours, but being involved with a planet with deeply held taboos about actions taken in the night hours, and sitting in geosynchronous orbit above its capital, had its advantages. Caught up and feeling human again, Kirk leaned against McCoy’s office door to wave his way out, but McCoy peremptorily pointed at a seat while finishing a consult with M’Benga. Finally McCoy sat behind his desk and pulled a bottle and two glasses from the cabinet behind him. Kirk took the rich brown liquid he was being offered and breathed deeply over his first sip, settling gingerly back in the hard chair. “Oh, that’s good,” he said, then set it neatly back on the desk to turn his head and sneeze lightly, twice, into the crook of his arm. McCoy tch’ed at him and tossed him a box of sickbay ‘tissues’. “I should have made you a hot toddie, if you’re going to start that. I should put you back on the biobed. ” Jim gave another of his wry, dismissive laughs at that, but his voice was probably more serious than he meant it to be. "You can't confine me for the common cold, Bones, and you can't treat it anyway." "Can't cure it. You've already had a shot to make sure you're not contagious, and one to shorten the duration. There's another one that will help stop inflammation in your sinuses and your chest, but that one makes you sleepy, so you only get that when you're actually leaving." "Which is at the bottom of this glass," Kirk told him. "And yes, I'm actually going to bed." He hesitated, and looked into his drink before taking another sip, then, "They are all going to be all right, Bones?" "Yes," McCoy said simply. "The ambassador's aide--" Kirk held up a finger and raised his voice slightly. "Ambassador Goddard, join us, please." The man had been loitering in the corridor, half eavesdropping and half nervous about disturbing them. He was there for an update on his aide, who was doing well physically but would probably need some trauma counseling. After earlier arguing on the Bridge that the Captain's party not be beamed aboard, citing security risks, Goddard did not feel he should linger around any of the officers at the moment. He drank off his whiskey like a good diplomat and was leaving as quickly as he'd come, but paused to watch when the Captain started to stand also and was pinned back into his chair by a vigorously pointed finger. "You, you wait until called for." Kirk wobbled his head in apparent amusement and eased back down. He saw Goddard watching him and grinned. "Never cross a CMO during a multiple casualty event, ambassador. Rule number three of Captaining a starship." Goddard was a beat slow, but training kicked in and he obligingly asked what the first two rules were. He couldn't believe how lightly Kirk seemed to be taking the whole situation, even his own abduction. He couldn't imagine how to talk to the man about his legitimate concerns, but agreed to join a debriefing at 0800. Kirk was 'called for' minutes later by the formidable First Officer, which made Goddard wish he hadn't dawdled. Spock arrived just as Kirk was saying something about his aide's fortitude during the escape, and Spock apparently took that to mean the ambassador was grilling Kirk. "Surely, gentleman, there is nothing about the hostages' escape or confinement that can't wait until the 0800 debriefing." His voice was even, his face was mild, and Goddard felt a wall of solid dislike hit him like a burst of steam. Vulcans were only touch-telepaths, that couldn't be a real energy he was feeling, but he exercised the better part of valor, made his goodnights, and fled anyway. He caught a glimpse of Kirk glancing after him with a look of surprise as he went. "What did he do?" Kirk asked, sliding to the edge of the chair in preparation to stand as McCoy returned and went to get the hypo on his desk. "I cannot imagine what you

mean, Captain," Spock said evenly, then offered his arm to help Kirk up. He didn't need the help -- he was sore and achy, not impaired -- but he bit down on his pride and accepted it, just to get himself on his feet. Spock needed to feel like he was doing something, too, however small the gestures. McCoy glared at them both and gave Jim the shot in the shoulder. "That's going to be a little sore, sorry, but it'll keep your cold from becoming a misery. Now you just have to get him to bed before he starts tipping over," he addressed Spock. Anger flashed and was forcibly cooled in Kirk's mind. On a normal day the two of them thought he needed a keeper, but this wasn't a normal day, and he had no right to the familiar annoyance. He'd been lost to them for almost ninety hours this time. As his friends, they had a right to manage him a little. He'd keep allowing it. Tonight.

Spock

As he and Spock walked down the corridor, Spock still in possession of his arm, Kirk began to be glad he'd been so high-minded about the whole thing, because he was definitely beginning to sway. In the turbolift he said, "McCoy wasn't kidding about that shot," just as he sneezed and his knees tried to give. Spock moved to catch him more firmly, but Kirk waved him off. "I'm all right. I only have to get to my quarters." His cabin was cozy with two in it, if luxurious for a Starship – he patted Spock away by catching hold of the screen divider and clinging. “Shower first, then bed. Despite McCoy’s solicitous comments, I will actually be all right from here.” He smiled and waved Spock back toward the door. Spock gave ground, but only to the other side of the desk. His expression was determined, yes, but mostly… unimpressed. Kirk surmised he must look about like he felt. Spock could always see through him, anyway. Before he could even plead his case, Spock said calmly, “I am aware that the only active attack on your health at the moment is from a simple cold, which is not a serious affliction. However, the depth of your exhaustion makes any further impairment concerning, and I will not feel I have complied with the Doctor’s orders until I have seen you to proper rest.” Kirk gave him a bit of a side-eye. “You’re going to stay here until I fall asleep, whether I like it or not?” “Might I suggest you allow my assistance in certain matters, strictly for the sake of expediency?” God, he was so, damn, tired. And he had spent three nights as a captive, the better part of four days slightly ill and soundly beaten and responsible for crew and civilian lives despite his helplessness to secure even his own. He had managed to get them all to safety, but he was. He was so tired, and there was a gentleness waiting in Spock’s hands if he would just give in, the expression of feelings his Vulcan friend could never express any other way. And he trusted Spock, didn't he? Spock could take the watch, he could take the burden, for a little while. When his knees wobbled this time Spock caught him and carefully peeled him off the divider to sit him on his bed. A quick hand ran through the hair of his bowed head, a gesture they would both deny. Spock helped him out of everything he could get off while sitting, then went to make sure the water shower was a good temperature. Kirk got a look when he toddled into the bathroom unassisted and naked, but Spock merely reeled him in with one long arm and made sure he was steady in the shower before turning his back to give him privacy. Kirk woke up enough to realize he really was out of it enough to be worrying the Vulcan, and regretted it. No words could fix the situation, either. Spock didn't need reassurances. He just needed to see Jim cared for and at rest. He turned his face up into the hot water and groaned with pleasure. That didn't sound like such a bad idea at the moment, at that. He washed quickly but let himself soak slowly. The steam-filled stall and hot water pouring over him reached into him, soaking out the cold of the day and easing the bone-deep ache from the creeping chill of three days in the cellars. When he shut off the spigot he still felt exhausted, he still felt slightly sick, he still ached all over, but it didn’t feel like it could take him to the floor, now, none of it. His muscles felt looser and his joints less stiff -- maybe he could actually sleep. He set the cubicle to hot air cycle, which was almost as nice as the hot water had been, as targeted forced air wicked the water from skin and hair, until some inner threshold was quite suddenly crossed and he found himself caught in a flash of over-heated ill-feeling and sudden dizziness. He shut off the dryer and cracked the door. Thankfully, the relatively cool air in the small bathroom cleared his head again. The patiently-waiting blue-clad back finally turned to offer him a towel and a promise of steadiness if he couldn’t find it himself. Kirk smiled a little, appreciative and too tired not to be warm about it,

gave his hair one last good towel and went to find sleep pants and a shirt, and an over-shirt. He made it to the over-shirt before sleepy dizziness sent him to sit on the side of his bed with the warm garment in his lap. He took a long breath, curled in on himself and shuddered, once. He let his eyes stay closed for a moment, just a moment, to clear his head and steady his breath, before straightening out very slowly. For Captain Kirk, this level of pain was a blessed relief. For exhausted, depleted, off-guard Jim who just wanted desperately to sleep it was almost more than he could handle. “Captain,” Spock said very quietly from right behind him. A gentle hand touched between his shoulders. "Jim. Allow me to help you, so you may rest.” He put his hands on Kirk’s shoulders and dug carefully into muscle with his long fingers, thumbs tracing downward in mirror arcs. “Let me help.” Spock was capable of spectacularly effective back-rubs, the kind of shock-and-awe attacks that annihilated knot after knot efficiently and then gentled it just enough before moving on. That was not what he was offering now. No painful return to function. This was an offer for comfort. Kirk’s head immediately dropped forward in pure animal desire for release from pain. “You’re needed –“ the protest was less than half-hearted. “I’ll be contacted if I’m needed, Captain. We’re in a unique position, with the Ariz’ strict adherence to daylight-only activity. We have a minimum of ten point two hours before we may expect movement from those in the capital.” Just the tips of Spock’s fingers dug in all across his back, and Kirk arched his back and tried to remember what he was saying. He mostly wanted to groan, already.

Kirk closed his eyes and gave himself up to the shoulder rub, at least, almost falling asleep within perhaps a minute before he woke himself with a light sneeze and decided to give in completely. He shifted, and Spock did most of the work in pulling back the covers and settling Jim full length on his front, hugging a pillow. Jim murmured something he knew would have embarrassed them both if they'd been face to face, but he was utterly giving his body into Spock’s hands now. God, so much strength in those hands, to be so careful with him. Jim had been trying not to be too vocal in his appreciation but he couldn’t repress a long, quiet noise as something at the base of his neck - that had been tied directly into a pounding in his temple for the last two days - let go all at once. The momentary pinch of pain in the muscle was skillfully rubbed out. He was drifting toward sleep, and closing his eyes again seemed like the natural next step. Spock had him, and the ship, and he could sleep for awhile. The occasional sharp kneading ceased. Now Spock was applying just enough pressure to keep him wanting to groan, all over him in turns, and Kirk could feel pain he’d become so accustomed to he barely noticed it rise into consciousness just long enough to be soothed away. Oh, Spock was good at this. Finally, the long-fingered hands came to rest on his near forearm, just above his hand. Spock pushed Kirk's hair back from his face and asked quietly, "Are you awake enough to eat something off your meal card? The doctor did say you should take nourishment. Then you can rest." He found one of the tissues in time to sneeze into it as he rallied on autopilot, “I refuse to accept chicken noodle soup as a prescription.” Spock ran a hand through his hair again as he stood up, plausible deniability in that it made it easier to see his face, then folded his hands behind himself and looked down on Kirk, who made some effort to look awake. He couldn’t seem to care enough to succeed under Spock's carefully stoic expression -- Jim could feel the warmth and fondness radiating out of it, in the little quirk at the corner of Spock’s lips and in the soft brown of his eyes. "Yes, Captain. Something warming, though," he hmm'd. "You've done enough for tonight, Spock." Kirk smiled at him, warm, god, how could cool Vulcan skin have gifted him with such a sense of positive warmth? "I can synthesize my own cup of soup. If I can move at all." Kirk smiled and gave a low groan as he stretched himself to feet on the floor and himself more or less sitting up. "Captain --" Spock demurred. "The doctor did insist on this." So he let Spock synthesize him a cup of soup without too much grumbling -- Vulcan aureg, thank you, not chicken noodle. And Spock did more or less end up putting Jim to bed, when he couldn't seem to coordinate his limbs anymore -- exhaustion, release of stress, sleep deprivation, ha! Jim was blaming it on McCoy's injection. The lights dimmed and he could feel Spock sitting on the side of the bed. After a moment he felt a cool hand pass through his hair again, rest for a moment at the nape of his neck, then Spock rose quietly from the bed and walked away. The moment after that, Jim was asleep. End

#sicktember2021 #sicktember #Aches and Pains #Star Trek #Fanfiction

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atmostories · 3 years

Note

Congrats on NaNo!!! More Greg please 🥺

This is the continuation of my previous Greg Tolan x Reader which was also requested by my dearest Anons, and the inspiring @suis0u x Tags: Rape/Non Con, Female!Reader, BDSM, Injury, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Greg Tolan x Female!Reader You couldn't. . .you couldn't believe what he did to you. It had been almost a week and you were still in a state of disbelief, not quite accepting what happened. It didn't seem real. But the bruises on your arm were proof enough. They were still on your skin, though they were almost faded now. The bruises had turned blue and purple at first and you were almost in awe of the way the colours kept changing day by day. There were hues of green and yellow too.

You were so fucked in the head. If all that wasn't enough, you started dreaming about him too. Every night. He'd make you come over and over and you'd beg him to stop but he'd just keep going, no matter how much it hurt. The pain made the pleasure more intense. You avoided him at all costs like your life depended on it, and in a way it did. To prevent running into him in the corridor, you kept being late for class. Two days ago, he almost hunted you down in the library. For once your luck held true and a librarian accosted him, giving you time to slip out through the back. Your heart was pounding from the close call, your body shook from the adrenaline. Last semester, you spotted some seniors meet under the bleachers to hang out, the entrance was concealed so you had to move a panel out of the way and crawl through. Those seniors had graduated though, and you hadn't seen anyone else discover their secret hideout, so you figured it would be a safe bet. After eating your packed lunch, you were sitting on the ground with your knees against your chest, smoking a joint. There was graffiti everywhere under the bleachers, initials and dates and phone numbers and badly drawn faces of teachers which you still recognised. Maybe next time you were here you could bring a marker and add to the collection. You took another long drag. What were you going to do tomorrow? You had to skip biology, there wasn't a choice, you couldn't sit next to him again, not after. . . Placing your head on your knees and closing your eyes, you tried to ignore the ache in between your legs. The mere thought of him was making you wet. What the fuck was wrong with you? He'd hurt you, he'd grabbed your wrist and marked you with bruises. He wouldn't let you go. He pinched and twisted at your skin, forcing you to look at him while tears streamed down your face and then all he did was squeeze your cunt and you came. How did that even happen? How the fuck did that even- The joint fell onto the ground, dammit. Letting out a sigh, you started to look for it, but all you could see was a pair of sneakers, his sneakers. No, no, no, no. You glanced up in horror and took in the sight of him casually smoking your joint like it had always belonged to him. Scrambling to your feet, you were about to flee in the opposite direction, but two words had you frozen to the spot. “Sit down,” he told you. Without any conscious thought, you did exactly as he said and sat how you were before, knees drawn up to your chest. Your mind was blank. Before he spoke, you had been panicking, desperate to run, frantic to get away, but now. . .you were just staring at him. Greg took another drag of the joint before flicking it off to the side. He knelt down in front of you and wrapped his arms around your knees. Even though you were wearing jeans you could feel how warm his skin was. You tried not to shift away from him, he was too close. “Have you enjoyed this little game you've been playing?” He asked, tilting his head at you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What was he talking about? What did he- “See before you were at least trying not to make it so obvious how much you wanted me all to yourself, hiding in the library, making sure there were witnesses. But now?” He chuckled, flashing his teeth. You shook your head, not understanding what he was saying. “Of all the places to hide, you had to pick the only place where no one was going to disturb us at all?” “No. No, no-” “Don't even try to deny it. I've seen the way you look at me,” he murmured, your heart aching at his words. How did he know? He wasn't meant to notice, he wasn't ever meant to see. Though your cheeks were burning with shame, you couldn't look away from him. “You really shouldn't lie to yourself,” he chided softly, one of his gloved hands started to slip down the back of your thigh. His hand got lower and lower, you were about to panic when he worked his way up to the back of your knee. “But don't worry, I know exactly what you want. Lie back.” What. . .what was he gonna do? Why couldn't you move? Why weren't you trying to get away from him? It was like he had transfixed you. He had rooted you to the spot and you could only move if he explicitly gave you permission to. He pushed against your shoulder, urging you to comply. You laid your back onto the ground, clenching your thighs together. Greg reached around your legs and started unbuttoning your jeans. Without any consideration of the consequences, you began to squirm away from him, your hands latching onto his to push him off. As you tried to kick out your legs, he wrapped an arm tight around your ankles and dragged you closer to him. Placing your feet on his lap, he pulled something out of his jacket pocket. Oh fuck, oh fuck, was that a cable tie? This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening. No matter how hard you tried to break free, he easily held onto your ankles and secured the cable tie around them. When he looked at you, the expression on his face made you freeze in place. He was. . .inconvenienced. There was something about how his lips were gently pressed together, how one of his eyebrows was raised. He was completely unbothered your attempts to break free, he didn't even look mildly irritated. You did not register as a concern to him. Blood rushed to your ears. He was going to do whatever he wanted. Nothing you did was ever going to change that. He had a cable tie secured around your wrists before you realised what was happening. Gripping onto both of your shoulders, he manoeuvred you down onto your back, but this time you didn't resist. You blankly stared at him as he finished off unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans, his movements delayed and almost teasing. He pushed your knees over to the ground so you were laying on your side. Something changed in his eyes, it was like they had darkened somehow. That was when he pulled down your jeans and underwear, he didn't take them off completely, only far enough to expose your ass. You awkwardly clung onto the front of your jeans, desperately hoping he wouldn't take them off completely. He started to run his gloved hand over your bare skin, either distracted or nonchalant to what you were doing. It wasn't like it was going to make a difference. “You shouldn't have run from me,” he told you gently, pulling back his hand before spanking you on the ass. You held back a grunt. The noise from the impact was loud, it almost hurt your ears. He smacked you again, harder this time, and then gave you a third spank in quick succession. The initial pain was immediately followed by a stinging sensation which dissipated outwards across your skin. You managed to be silent again, you tensed every time his hand left you. By the fourth and fifth spank, groans escaped your mouth. He seemed pleased by the noises you were making, and began to gently knead your ass, as if in reward. The way his fingers dug into you felt so good compared to how he was hurting you just a moment ago. You almost gasped when you realised how wet you were. Fuck, fuck- Another hard spank had you focusing back on the pain. You clenched your thighs together, your hands were straining against the cable tie as you tried to keep your jeans from slipping down any further. He then began to spank you in a unrelenting and constant rhythm without any respite. There was barely a second between each one. He wouldn't let up. You were getting light-headed. Your body shook from every impact and the sensation had your clit throbbing. The continual barrage of pain was making it harder to differentiate between each spank. It was becoming an intense blur of agony. You thought he had hurt you last week, but this? This. . . You kept crying out in pain. He kept going. He concentrated on the exact same spot on your ass, like he was trying to imprint his hand into your skin. Everything was getting hazy. From the constant noise you were making, you couldn't take in a proper breath. He wouldn't give you a chance. It felt like. . .it felt like you were gonna. . . “Breathe, little tulip, breathe,” he murmured, his fingers were under your chin, tilting your head back. “Come on, take a deep breath.” You blinked several times, trying to focus on his face. “Deep breath. That's it. And another one. Good. That's good. Keep going.” You must have been doing what he said, he only praised you when you obeyed. Why did it sound so fucking good whenever he was nice to you? His thumb carefully brushed away a tear on your face. It was less confusing when he just hurt you. You were almost laying in the foetal position, you wanted to bring your knees up to your chest and pray that you were going to wake up. But this wasn't a dream. Things were starting to get clearer again. Your ass was burning, your fingers hurt. How hard had you been clutching on your jeans? He must have noticed that you'd recovered enough because his hand moved back down, he was going to hurt you again. Your body jolted when his finger gently traced over your ass. He let out a soft laugh, his bright eyes examining your expression before he looked over the damage he'd inflicted. As he began to take off his gloves, your gut writhed in panic, this wasn't over, this wasn't over. You clenched your eyes shut, trying to brace yourself. Fuck this was going to hurt, it was going to hurt so bad. When you felt his knuckle run along your inner thigh, you gasped. Your eyes flew open, you stared at him mindlessly. Your body was starting to shake but it wasn't from fear, it was from arousal. “I can't believe how wet you are,” he almost whispered, pride tinged at his words. The ache in between your legs was agonising. You let out a whine as he brought his hand to his mouth and enveloped his lips over his wet knuckle. “Mmm, fuck. This is all for me, huh?” He braced an elbow on your legs and began to slowly lower himself down, his mouth parting open, his tongue resting on his bottom lip. Understanding what he was about to do, you frantically kicked out, and tried to get away from him, but he held you steady. His bare hand grabbed onto your ass, spreading your cheeks. The moan you let out when his tongue dipped inside of you was half a strangled cry. He pulled away, eyeing you with fascination as your body continued to tremble. You were so close, you were so fucking- “Come for me,” he ordered softly, before his mouth began to suck on your clit. You screamed as the pleasure spiralled out of control, your head lifting off the ground before slamming back down. His tongue kept playing with your clit, even as you naturally bucked away from him. A few moments later he finally relented and lifted his head up. You took in his wet mouth incredulously, your cunt aching from the aftermath. Your body was shaking, tears started to stream down your face as you felt a sob bubble up your throat. When he sat back on his heels and pulled you onto his lap, you began to cry, unable to control the outburst of emotion after coming so hard. He hushed you gently, his arms wrapping around you. You had always been so scared of how strong he was, but now you appreciated it. If he wasn't holding you so tightly, you'd probably fall apart. One of his hands rested against the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your hair. “My little tulip did so well,” he praised you, making you cry a little bit more. It took a few minutes to stop. That was when his arms moved away from you. Rather than shift you off him as expected, he took of that necklace he always wore. He threaded it through the gap between the cable tie and your wrist, then moved the necklace back and forth until the cable tie broke. He did the same with the cable tie on your ankle. He looked over the marks on your wrists before pulling up your sleeve and seeing the faded bruises on your arm. Your eyebrows furrowed as he kissed each bruise. The expression on his face was different, you couldn't quite make it out. Your confusion deepened when he put his necklace on you and pressed his lips against your forehead. The smile on his face when he pulled away was almost nervous.

#greg tolan #greg tolan x reader #just one of the guys #william zabka #atmo-x #yall so thirsty for greg #i hope this whets your appetite

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